Shirt & Pants

Your Cleavage Is Like The Sun, I Can't Stop From Looking

2006-06-22T22:57:00.000-06:00

I can take care so well
little baby hawk with two heads and two throats
we bathe together,
we see other folks and couples in the moat
or maybe goats

Let it all come true for Chavi Chori
let the sun reign skin through her story
a black haired girl, she gave her glory,
and she was a skeleton
our love was poor
the phone'll ring and snap
clickity damn clack, clickity damn clack

Wet yer lips, baby swipe cards while you switch
and roll shoulders to fix straps from a twitch
your bra has roses on it,
it's june and your violet breasts are all the rage
like the sun
and I can't stop from looking
that's a mauve crush, feign tone and blush
and every eye to eye bleep is a war
watch over lust, watch over lust

I'm heavier than most,
but lighter than I'll ever give myself credit for

Let it all come true for Chavi Chori
let the sun reign skin through her story
a black haired girl, she gave her glory,
and she was a skeleton
our love was poor
the phone'll ring and snap
clickity damn clack, clickity damn clack

written on 6/20/06

Don't Go For It, Electric Girl!

2006-06-18T23:32:00.000-06:00

And several times, in the dream that hopped into me just after three,
you would come by my trailer home and give handjobs for free
It was cautious, and I could repair every blade of grass
inside of my breath, my words were kept
The balcony was a crying mess, but for rent's sake, we kept it,
and fished out laughs in the summer's sweet breeze
The sweaters still smell like him, and
the dog hair is still mucked into the places I forgot to clean
But I say it every day, that all is well
but I say it every day, that the rain is his way of saying he's not really in hell
I am a tractor here, but I keep wheels on ice
I won't forget to try all the things I've painted about, or written about

It's so easy to sleep away into comfort
it's so easy to forget about techtonic plates

Her mouth, just after four, is a perfect curved grin
while she grips me and I surpress vision's of Andre's kin
don't miss anything round here,
and the bushes above olympia keep me out of pop's gate
and my socks are minty fresh, like the lost memory after the wait
even in a fog, my actual love is loud and lights the way
I miss Brooke, and she's still not here
so my blues creep out of pours, fingernail clippings, and goatee shavings,

come on over to be with me
come on over so we can shine

It's so easy to sleep away into comfort
it's so easy to step hard
and forget about Rat island's techtonic age old fright

written on 6/18/06

Dymond Serrano

2006-06-03T08:59:00.000-06:00

Reach up, stars blush as fruits do
that tree of life or what have you,
breathes in your eyes, and twines itself
through the beauty in your prose
so wrap your heart in memories,
plaques, winks, and laughter galleries
that sun won't die, I'll promise you that
and may my words act as the stones,
or the carved wood under ev'ry step
where all things are love, and caution is asleep
walk with your grace tucked into every mile
and this world stays beautiful because of your smile

written for Lenisha, on 6/2/06

April

2006-04-26T17:45:00.000-06:00

I won't miss the emotions that
I leave behind when I find glory,
They will breathe inside of my loved ones
attack the heart, and kiss the brain
of my wife, my children, and everyone else

I will live throughout every tune,
every horn, every breath
I will be all music, sewn through every moment in time
and from here, the next step will be
just beautiful

Cry,
or don't cry
Smile,
or don't smile
wave to me in any way that helps you along,
that can be our song

I will meet you,
again with that little-boy glee
sparkled with hints of nervousness,
because you were so respected
but this time,
after I've said my goodbyes,
like you've said your goodbyes
we'll never have to say goodbye,

and we'll laugh & strum on guitars forever and ever and ever

written on 4/26/06

Mock Tones Left Misled

2006-04-05T17:39:00.000-06:00

I'll plant my past into the dirt
and the daisies might remind me of mistakes
a petal shaped like a car crash
a petal shaped like adultery
a petal shaped like time running out,
and a petal tatooed with female grudges
the greenest of leaves blow by my face at night
and manage to crush my skull with softness
and my brain is flicked out through my toes
returned to earth's grip, I'm tree-trunked in thought
and throughout every change,
my direction will scarcely be caught

While I remain
that avenue caked with mistake petals
so drenched in better blessed opinions,
reading the talent of steps,
above my blank suit
my head, stitched in permanent bloom
while I remain
a god called out for impersonations,
to impress the skies,
or the clouds that cuddle my very own lies
below my tasty spit,
the wine they drink from my space

and concrete isn't hope,
so I can never shake the thought that
maybe I enjoy the backward steps
and the planned, learned heartbreak
paint a new road,
give disease some life,
and regret buddying up with crows and mice
you will never find anything under my laugh
but a haunt of sexy tears
and it's these tears that intice me into complacency
a heart's doom smells of salt
a heart's doom spices up a dish
and a few hours after the meal,
you'll expel your myth
and jot down tales of mistakes and impossible petals

written on 4/5/06

Tear's Point Of View

2006-04-05T17:27:00.000-06:00

looked down
too see my toe bleed

dreamed that after the snow parade
I ripped off my own two toenails
and I screamed in lie,
cause it didn't hurt

so I woke up and
wondered why I'd do that

my fish said, "well,"
"you do it all the time
when you're awake
you do it all the time."

written on 4/5/06

Fields + Treadmills

2006-04-05T17:23:00.000-06:00

you feel that wind
from time to time
and your heart stops
or your heart breaks
that strecth coils you
sparks your flare and
yup yup
tells you that you can do
fucking anything

plight won't doze off
she's too steady
and awake
but she's a lush,
so fool her up on charm,
make her think your
smile
is whiskey
she'll take you out of her hold
for a while,
and night can be your slice of bread
when your heart stops
or your heart breaks

think
swallow the trampled fields,
where the football games got played
and you felt that wind
that was a time
that was a time

don't break your mistakes
coddle them in jars
just don't let them out
or you'll be broken,
and lazy

kiss futures
puff up in the chest area
pretty up yer eyes
and you'll
feel that wind
from time to time
as your heart stops
and your heart breaks

written on 4/5/06

Fever With The Green Tea

2005-09-10T15:30:00.000-06:00

Sometimes my love for life distracts me
when I burn ideas in my socks,
and keep on going where i'm lead
Oft-times I make the worst mistakes
but, I sleep with lights under the pillow
and I make it safe

I'm older than I remember
I cared too little for nature
and in my absense,
all the animals died out

Gorillas from Tori
Polar bears lived with Sally
hamsters died they
ate wood chips
french names and rare b-sides

Maybe I need an extension
a reason to put my loss behind
even though I'm nicely placed & groomed
Everytime I come back here
the leaves chastise my feet
and remind me not to leave

I've got new tides waiting
in the wings
I built them up north,
now i'm ready to fly

written on 9/10/05

A Polite Devil, With Wooden Forks Point'd Up

2005-08-15T03:50:00.000-06:00

Wheeling around the sexes, bending down low enough,
to touch the ice they hide in the foosteps,
hold it close, before we race off
to catch glimpses of balloons in the blue,
this is aurora, and the end times I can't tinker with
pushed up into a fine suit
tailored by plyers,
they have a hint of rosemarry,
rosemarry,
and with the ancient clunks & crimps,
we'll sing until the fire dies out,
we'll hug & laugh & strum about

There are smart ways out,
we can be gone in mere seconds, if you'd just stop fiddling
with that birthday beak,
leave it behind
we're out,
and we can't imagine how anyone could ever stop running
into the molases of being alive.

Written early morning, 8/15/05

Some Say That Newsprint Can Be Linked To Cancer

2005-08-08T22:05:00.000-06:00

Tasting
crupmled sweat
upside everything, the umpteenth time
trickling behind an excess
of an acorn's plumped up story

the speaker,
muddling around
just to be severly trivial
and every sound
coming from the back-bush, the hymns in the forest
become scary in their silence

tasting barley
in soup's femer, the brushed up bruise
of an amp house, or an ego
long stepping
in big hushes
and fat wind seams

laying out in your exhaustion,
arms stretched out in newsprint
and your face,
it's getting inked up, and cancer'd up!
You know that it's getting
inked up and cancer'd up!
by an article in the healthy living section
about how not only smoking
can lead to cancer

written on 8/8/05

A Cubist's Bedroom

2005-08-08T21:54:00.000-06:00

An empty room is
full of dull carpet and
ideas and thoughts that
bounce and smash,
in cubist form
mingling, all while
crushing up a body to dust

Yeah, it's the saddest thing around
your heart will turn around and turn around
seeing through the plainest kind of sound
your heart will turn around and turn around

They're pointing to you,
you're a painting
alientaed into a dusted up frame,
with etchings
a four corner dome
slope out in cries
paint will come to dry,
he said "why, baby, why?"

Yeah it's the saddest form of completion
your heart will turn around and turn around
yeah it could be the meat we've eaten
your heart will turn around and turn around

a scream
quiet for a minute,
so you can hear a scream

a scream that heard me in my space
and held me safe from every race
wait
and your heart will turn around
your heart will turn around

written on 8/8/05

Brown Archangel

2005-08-08T21:47:00.000-06:00

She's built up anew,
flipped up comprimises from a blotted page
a pulpy devil's whelp
in a ridiculous box

her wings were steel
and her face made it seem like she was
a brown archangel
with missles,
to blow my rejection up

but they say I'm smarter than that
I keep my dreams under my hat

and I learned how to advertise,
without being and advertisment

she would fail,
choking on cat hair
or words,
or feet,
and break down after every growl,
making way for roads
into better pastures

the shade of the root,
us, and not us
her wings got
sold
on e-bay

written on 8/8/05

Priority

2005-08-08T21:40:00.000-06:00

Mess up
your locks,
and vomit on all the letters

renew your pitch
and un-twine
your sexy-ass stitches
hands,
pinned up to white blips
& bops
to take in every scent,
and twist her hips 'round

facing
facing dire seconds
before it walks into another catch phrase
kiss her and get
kiss her and get it over with

then you can smile,
or frown
whichever you like

written on 8/8/05

Twenty White Hives

2005-07-31T23:42:00.000-06:00

weighing back of the neck's shivers,
the steps on graves,
or spits
trips around goody goody ships,
cushioning a theatre in the nest of the best old cramped up
breasts
now shove aside,
using rakes on my faces twenty white hives,
lives,
lives,
a special kind of brrrrrrrrr
up in other lives

written on 7/31/05

Half Hearts Reverse The Demolition

2005-07-24T19:49:00.000-06:00

In
quiet paces
pauses, and heart beats
when wind is asleep
and trees
have all the freedom to move,
I take
advances o'er the wake
and tread
or levitate
to apologies

Being this absent,
keeping this still
is a way
out of demolition

I'm so sorry
In light, as well as dark
I'm so unkind
It's kind of a lark

I'll turn the cold around
make it
a slingshot
and be whipped out of this,
into your arms

taken from the poetry book: The History Of Hate or The Perfectly Misunderstood Mate, on 7/24/05

Chr

2005-07-22T22:21:00.000-06:00

Watching
to watch your step
around the sabretooth
snoozing in
the concrete with candles
cobblestones in the breath
of the boredom

a little bit of fret
in the petals of my sweat
but the drips are all meant for her
lying out on the studio floor

Art is the perfume
the deepest
recollection
of lovers in a piss cup

the shadows of misunderstanding
the shadows of grace

all crushed up
into cups
and steps

taken from the book of poetry: The History Of Hate or The Perfectly Misunderstood Mate, on 7/20/05

Weather

2005-07-22T22:18:00.000-06:00

Knew her limbs
they spoke highly
of my touch
We busted up some seats
some toilets, and livers hiding inside the slime
Another piece of
her
is leaking under my tear
all salty
with drugs
and old words
that make me
wish
and twitch
outside in the weather

taken from the book of poetry: The History Of Hate or The Perfectly Misunderstood Mate, on 7/20/05

Carlesimo

2005-07-22T22:14:00.000-06:00

Time
Is filling out

I'm lying as quietly
as luck will allow
in bent grass

My high notes
appearing
like fat crop circles

and on my ears
inside of a fig
butter stains
and sloshes

Time is a reward
that nobody can claim

taken from the book of poetry: The History Of Hate or The Perfectly Misunderstood Mate, on 7/20/05

I Will Miss The Polka-Dot Dresses

2005-07-06T11:47:00.000-06:00

nervous
'coz the streets are bent
and crushing everyone
but its
but its
but its a dream that I dream when im sore
from arcades
and wishes
of being held by
flutes with eyes the size of breasts

pouting
'coz the cat said closed
and the softest
hardest
memories of swinging out
and polka dot dresses that flow
its smart
its smart
its smart to reherse what needs to be whispered
behind ears
infront of love

the changes
requested I join them
for a crisp cold
beer
and I left my gears
in her lungs
that's where I want to live
in
in
in her lungs

written in medicated bliss, on 7/6/05

The Croon Of The Blisters

2005-07-05T15:26:00.000-06:00

The wood
and shoddy window panes
that lived behind my eyes
get opened from time to time
and let things in
like
the funny things my friends say
and the way
she looks when it's pitch black
and several webs
float up to the junkyard
so everything
is clean again
and the croon of the blisters
time, or wind under a thought's tapping foot
lay me in a sheet
of the happy kind
the happy kind of blood that you ignore
when headaches call in sick,
and starched euphoria is a
viable excuse
and still,
I continue
to stretch out all of my love
hoping it will stick to a sturdy wall
like that mucky colorful toy
we used to play with
years ago

Written on 6/21/05

Jeruseruseruseru

2005-07-05T15:23:00.000-06:00

Epoch in the soaked tree tops,
madening on thoughts uncanny
alien, perhapsmore moody
than the crisp burnt skins below
Perched atop a whistler's theme,
the invisible tune,
unless it's performed with cartoon's fortune,
some straight lines, and music keys
but without sound, it's quiet
even when he chews the queen
and one million triplets demand attention
doors in dirt, color hurts
so he thinks and thinks and thinks and thinks
and thinks and thinks and thinks and thinks,
coming close to sun's de-railing
so epoch sleeps away the show

from a collection of poems entitled "Chaper III: A Green Pepper", written on 5/31/04

Sleepwalker's Art

2005-07-05T15:20:00.000-06:00

I am not gone
I am inside of me
I am fixing
I am mangling
I am not safe
Sleepwalker on the mellow surface
no face to call adorable
Sleepwalker on the mellow surface
baby, please don't look at me
I am not gone
I am inside of me
I am fumbling
I am repairing
I am in no danger
Sleepwalker
I can't keep going on wheels
that everyone but I have fixed-up
I am not gone

poem for self-inspiration, from a collection of poems entitled "Chapter I: Poems About Love", written on 4/4/04

Elk Formulas

2005-07-05T15:17:00.000-06:00

Sad
and inept
for the words don't mean a god damned thing
and celestial memories
ones you killed, killed, killed
sit like little viruses
masked in the bacteria
of your lip
as you sip
the hot chocolate
a summary
of my good times
a summary
of those white lines
shaken violently by a friendly muse
or tape recorded to hades
my cries
my crippling love for distress
moves me to speak
moves me to
sleep
so I danced under the simple lights
that appeared to be
so sad
so sad
so sad

written in a hole of disbelief, on 7/6/04

Her Love Is The Lone Ranger's Violet Mask

2005-07-05T15:16:00.000-06:00

Don't milk dead cows,
don't wear old shoes,
don't tell me the lights are still on,
just write a sweet love song
Don't sell the ranger's mask,
don't fail another task,
don't tell me that you approve,
just make an attempt to move
You said it wasn't gone,
and I believed you again,
You said it wasn't gone,
and I believed you again,
You said it wasn't gone,
but I think I was right,
all along

written with a series of poems called "The Good Poems Are Killin' Me" to a friend via email on 9/30/04

Wood Drifting On Colin's Deer Spine

2005-07-05T15:12:00.000-06:00

Out of the waves
Correcting those who won't pass go
Hairy arms on the biker crow
Cooking up drifters with the plastic hogs
the preferable, the daunting underspawns
suffocating in the gravel
Another deer's spine lay on the overpass
I hit it
I hit the son of a bitch.

(A small poem about the horror of the moment before death)
From the poetry book "Never Shake a Lady", written 8/20/02

Her Palms Explode

2005-07-05T15:08:00.000-06:00

In terms of passion
I never happened
some batteries
heaved up in common trees
in the oldest neighborhoods
and held as purses
by birds
& chipmunks
calling out the real mission
and fashions
behind them
every moment of omission
several light crunches
in time's grass
a slight kind of
twist
on the postures
of piped up bliss
and her palms explode
in dramatic prose
written asleep
by thoughts I hold
a permanent place with peanut wood taste
some neglected lace
rolled
into a face
and we remained stone
just incase
there would be more limb-wreckage on the gymnasium floor

written on June 9/05, as part of a 50 poems in 1 day project.

Yellow Rose & Dust

2005-07-05T15:05:00.000-06:00

You love yellow rose
you love yellow rose & dust
you love crooked mouse treats & fire on the lakes
Sundays retreat for the souls of double takes
you love murder
you love murder & dainty ducks
drinks in your teeth
baked bread in your trucks & feet
cycling apart with painted poor heat
you love cotton carts
dumping out safety buckets & cardboard hearts
in the mucky silly named mud
everything is in the mud
the loved & the other loved
yellow rose & crud
strangers in the stars
they ride & crash & burn & bust
like yellow rose & dust

written on June 9/05, as part of a 50 poems in 1 day project.

A Salmon's Skeleton

2005-07-05T15:01:00.000-06:00

A widow's window pane
is full of pain

falling into the icy sea
the little swimmers speak

"You can live without feet
wipe away the tears and step into the heat"

Into the water
she goes
throwing herself
flailing

but accidentally
the swimmers were long dead fish
and the dead
are known to lie

so she dies
wrapped in salmon skeletons
for as long
as the sea can remember

written on June 9/05, as part of a 50 poems in 1 day project.

Kokkinem

2005-07-05T14:57:00.000-06:00

Every touch inside this Rhino's lips
to bite off the love that feeds you
with grim paces through muddy-grape fences
broken down by smooth night-time wind
we must fancy a conclusion
memorizing a doctor's memory
doctoring a memories doctrine
behind the buttertubs, I hear crashes
sounds under the medicine tongue
pink yellow is the flavor for the children
lovely tots, lovely tied in knots

I'm a sweet box
I'm a sweet box
I'm a sweet box

You have never seen my sky,
and my clouds are folded
inside of my chest
like cripple cardboard
you can't see

I'm a sweet pure fox

written on 9/9/04

I Am The Every Golden Robed Eagle

2005-07-05T14:38:00.000-06:00

I have been reinvented
thousands of tries on the shape of my cries
constructed by gods, devils, fiends, and saints,
lovers and haters, and crooners and baiters
conclusions vary, too many scenarios
once with wheels, once without arms,
and every version will do itself harm,
the blinded one, the boneless one, the ones who sleep at night,
the bonded ones, the careless ones, the ones you suck young dry,
No, I'm not so many things uncovered,
hidden away by slaves grinning bird of prey,
plotting the day, to fuck the evening away,
in queen sized beds, or stacks of hay
or racks and trays with apple slices and clay,
outside of town, near the travelling puppet play,
I'm afraid
He goes then, the infinite possibles,
to wake another year, under the slightly different sun,
and to wonder if ever there was another one,
but deep inside, dear love, they know,
they are reinvented, or so and so

written on 6/23/04

Hyper Black Eyes

2005-07-05T14:34:00.000-06:00

My eyes are borrowed,
they belong to the ravens
but to watch the stars
with black, flesh eating eyes
overwhelms me like a crucifixion

written for a friend via email on 12/7/04

Jokes

2005-07-05T13:34:00.000-06:00

Jokes
tend to build up walls
and trap men in
make shift homes
where they become comfortable
forgetting
how they came to live inside a riddle
but winter comes
and ices up the windows
so they can't look outside
and it's easy to forget
so they forget

written on June 9/05, as part of a 50 poems in 1 day project.

In The Pause Of Lover's Lips

2005-07-05T13:27:00.000-06:00

A slow river grows
compact
in the trust company
of cold months
and turkey breast-brooms
for shoddy stunts
held sturdy
in sweet tunes
and fine fine tones
trespassing
and delightfully
tap-dancing on that sweet beam
saying
with every step
throw my smile onto the fire
of nighttime lust
where roses & wine
are all a fellow needs
to stay deep
and focused
in the pauses of his lover's lips
this
is where it lives
in the lips
the pout
the speak
the mmmmmm kisses

written on June 9/05, as part of a 50 poems in 1 day project.