she is sweet like antifreeze

Oh baby,

we are unstoppable.

Let no man put us under.

Do you hear me?

We are unstoppable!

We are the brides and the beasts of the planet.

We are desire and discourse.

We are virgin sin red and ripe for the plucking

but far beyond the reach of the tallest suitor.

We are wet dreams and sex tapes destroyed in the fire.

We float in the air on heals made of iron.

We are in control of our everything.

They cannot bring us down.

unless we let them-

unless we want them to

We will exist dancing in black cat-suits
on marble floors
alone to the sound of a jazz bass.

We will be cigarette smoke on the dark street corner
disappearing through the billows of underground steam
when they look back to see
if our image was real.

Woman,

your feet have been stuck in sugar for too long.

Their hands are knotted in your hair and
you think the tearing out will hurt too much-
that you need their help or, a compromise.

I tell you,

you will cut their hands at the wrists
and leave them with a gift of black-silk sutures.

We will set out with the wind for our tangles
and the rain for our breath.

They will try to follow, convince us, call to us,
and grab tight to the strings of our hearts-

but we will drop them on asphalt

turn heal to the night

and leave them with a fading memory-
the desperation of poor eyesight-
the image knocked out of focus in the moment of exposure.

We do not need anything they have to offer us.

We do not need anything at all.

we have each other

we have our bodies

we have our unified voice;

and we will not be pulled down drowning.

We are the ones who do the killing.

We are the ones who trick the hand of dice
with red lips and white thighs.

We are the ones.

We make them weak at the side of their wives
and oblivious to their own children.

We pull the shots and drink them down just the same.

I think you have forgotten where you've come from.

I think you have forgotten who you are.

I think we have both forgotten

what we can become.

We are unstoppable.

Pt.. 1

A dreamless buzz and the pickle song
ringing silent- in and out of my head.
The tragedies of too young blood
are washing themselves over my hands
while my eyes have turned through fire
and beaches- to glass.

I cannot cry a single tear for them
that will not ring off the floor,
bouncing in its high pitch "ping!"
and scatter into the corner
with the needles and breakfast crumbs
and all the other diamonds
I cast off there before.

I am filling a stagnant ocean-
breathless in its current-
but beautiful by sight.
What am I to do
with all these frozen waves I've made?
Unfit to swim in and
far too priceless to touch.
I am inconsolable.

With each tiny ringing
gems hit the floor
building castings for my ankles
and making me breakable.
My veins are pumping heat
into linoleum- but,
no one here is brave enough
to wade out across these gemstones
and melt these waters by my side.

I am glass on existence and
broken only in my solitude.
I am desolation with her hand on a gun
and wondering who will clean up her messes
after she's gone.
I am still too young to understand
the permanence of anything.

I am to love, and be loved,
and reaching for the buzz
of a message from another world.
I am barely conscious
in my state of old scars
and dreams put straight to rhythm.
Play me a melody and I will dance for you.

I am fire on the streets
emulating the light of the earth
that will illuminate even
the darkest parts of the moon
on the cloudiest of days.

Collaboration with Brett Nelson.

She opened the door and stepped into the bright blue glow of neon. Sin spread out before her like a beacon containing non but the thoughts of her flickering light of a mind. Bodies shifted past her in shapes and shadows. She sucked it in with a wavering breath and spilled into the madness that spun around her; pulling her in and sharply down into the whirlpool.

As she descended, the blur of bodies began to focus and warm arms reached out to brush her face like hushed summer wind or the soft hair of a lover. She stretched her fingers out into the warmth and blew a heavy breath upon the naked shadows. Her teeth split as a grin spread across her face with the growing glow of the given.

Seen in the shape of the bodies- the curves of hips reflecting her own and the incline nested in the nape of her spine. She curled back into the expanse, shutting tight her eyes as it enveloped from spine to eyes and the shadows became brightly lit and slowed with the colors and breath of the cradling wind.

She opened her eyes and she was immediately bombarded with heavy shining light. Flowing out of the dim shadow of her whirlwind mind- a stare, intensely firing the ground about her toes with Autumn leaves, hot with the ashes of the months of steady grins, tethered sleep, and unquestioned footsteps now to be kicked into the brisk dusk.

Night was fast approaching, and with it those neon lights will shine brighter than ever.

111708

The daytime soundtrack is replaying in my stomach- on repeat-
growling with 3AM hunger and calling me to let go of the day.
"Let down your hair and release into the calling; into the sleep."
It tells me that here- here I can be with and what I want,
I can do and see and have it too; to the sound of strings plucked
fingers pulling tone; and those dreams will tell me the secrets
of my slicked back conversations and daylight interactions.
Celebrities and concubines- tangerine summers and winters
filled with satsumas tumbling. Thick skinned lemons in spring.
Which is the season for citric? They all are! They all are!
I can smell your oranges in my bed sheets with a shiver-
my lips pucker with a burn sharp in the base of my jaw.
Your body is aloe on sun-scorched skin. A counteract to acid.
I am dreaming of playing instruments on street corners
and the music is pouring from your eyes- flooding the streets
and bringing the dank and darlings of the city crashing
down onto my doorstep.

Your memory will be wiped in ten minutes. What do you want to remember?

My teacher posed the following assignment in class: Your memory is going to be wiped in ten minutes. You have that amount of time to write down anything you want to remember afterwards. This was my response: A letter to myself.

You love purely and completely. The people in your life are beautiful and you appreciate that beauty. You are mesmerized by the awe of nature and you travel without a plan in order to experience that awe. You express what you take in through the process of writing and you want to spread that intake across the planet.

Coffee, music, wine, and boardgames are the keys to happiness on the weekend; and if you find someone to share that with- you are golden.

Your mantra is passion and your gravity pulls to the moon. You drive for hours without destination and find yourself with a friend on the coast watching the stars. You are a mother to the world and all it holds. You breathe the energies of others- take caution to the air around you. You take each day for what it can offer. You reflect fondly on your memories and tend to find yourself lost. You are falling in love.

If you ever feel uncomfortable in your own body, go swimming- you are more natural in the water than on land. And if the music moves you, you dance- alone or with others, you always dance.

Your family consists of the people you love around you and nothing could keep you from finding them. Try not to worry. Your angels are red, black, purple, and brown- and those hands will bring you home.

103108

Lady baby-
and I love you
ancient times with
urns and scattered
leaves across the breeze

and breath across
your arching neck
and kiss me with
a mother nurtured
her face against the babe

and toes to crunch
sand and ashes
dusting on the hearth
feet on fire's warmth
of chocolate dripped-

melted chips
a melted heart
and soft hands- lovely
intertwined and tugging
the corners of your mouth

with inappropriate laughter
a burst of collision
when I drove all night
to sleep under the skyline
my hands in your hands

under the tie-dye
the ripple of tie-dye

Where are my angels?

I am missing you through all my angels-
through summer's shades of sunlight
filtered by Evergreens and glinting
down to light your face.

By the spread of coastline
reflected in your shaded eyes
and aviators.

By the black, auburn,
blonde, and red of your locks
that fall around your teeth
and bounce off your cheekbones.

You are pulling on my ankles
filling my thoughts with the ache
chocolate filling deep into my lungs
and exhaling to sit on the lip.

You are dancing in my living room
smoking my heart
after drinks at midnight
and locking my eyes to yours
with allure cast in iron.

I am loving you through
the song of our memories
and yearning to set
my hand into yours
once, twice, a million times more.

102308- Vindictive.

Swim through my dreamwebs
hair drying in curls
eyes raw with sleeplessness
as allopathic placebos
grow stiff from the soil
crowd through the understory
slide thick around your head
solidifying into gelatin
a manufactured lime
cut wild into starfish
crawling pentagram on tree bark.

102608- Highway Blues

Spatter-brushed Autumn orange
fighting through
the steady tone of Evergreens
that line the hundred-mile highway
connecting your hands to mine.

The passing breeze sneaks
through cracks in the widow
kissing my arm
and I am sliding past Castle Rock.

Headlights and taillights
and flashing patrol lights
with sun-dried motel signs
disappearing in my rear-view
reflection.


Sun pierced through
skyline and horizon
pressed to earth
both vivid and void.
And flashing-
the stolen kiss
a glance of Apple Red
to take breath
as an offering
to the October sun.


Just 97 more exits and
I am on the road once more.
Passing gradients of fire
and the cell phone stalkers
droning down the highway.

As your voice resonates
under the vibration
of my speakers

Autumn vines
creeping fingers
on the overpass.

102608

A flashing preview
St. Helen's portrait
her face on the haze

A flashing preview
St. Helen's face
her haze on the haze

I see more of Autumn
through the lens
of my sunglasses

Autumn's reds
burn like fire
through my lenses.

Roving grassblades
the black spider
in the labyrinth.

The Peacock.

Smile down the necks
of children circling
down the stairs
and around our feet.

With smoke curling in trails
around our faces and-
I will laugh at you
through the blue of my eyes

and the sweet candy-kiss
of nicotine-laced secrets.

And then- I will give you
the aching wonderment of anticipation
possibility and 'what if'.
Though you might turn to fight it.

And with or without
those smiles will be something
you cannot hide from.
They will follow close
and catch your eyes
when you pause to catch your breath.

In dive clubs of night;
in grasses of sundaze parks;
in daydreams;
those smiles will find you.

They will land inside your jawbones.
And the pleasant sound of perfect music
will seep inside your muscles
will penetrate your mind.

For Jon.

One day you will awaken to find
your new life is a never ending dream
and you are all to tired of sleeping.

One day you will open your eyes
and realize that the dreaming was the reality
and the reality was nothing but closed doors
and the dissatisfaction of events
that left you desolate.

You will find that your native language
is what you have known all along
the voice of your blood and expression
and only now are you learning to speak it.

You will find the dialect flowing from your tongue
onto the faces of drunken street merchants
spilled across vivacious dinner tables
kissing the waitress inside of her dimples.

Only your laughter will remain distinctive.
A ghost of your lingering past
a dis-ease accompanied by
candied lovers kept deep in your closet.

And then- you will find yourself-
six hours hitchhiked
staring across the ocean,
feet wet in rising tide,
and calling out-
only to find your echo
in words your mind can no longer decipher.

And in that sound-
you will find solace and memory
forgotten dreams and reality
sun-streaked secrets spun into your sanity
and release a sigh of holding on
as your hands relax in letting go.

You will find yourself walking down the highway
returning to the home you thought was not
and suddenly feeling an impulse
a flashing pull and ache in your chest.

You will turn south.
You will not look back.
You will not think twice.
You will make it on your own.

And you will learn to master
the art of lucid dreaming.

101708- S.O.C.

Bubbles floating through hostel hallways
and eyes wide with dilation
in the night of champagne fizz
coating the iris- the lashes-
to flutter away under the cracks of closed doors
and slip between the lips of lovers
kissed too passionate
under the haze of foreign romance.

To slide under the sheets
and slam against the wall
with the thrash of clothing
discarded in urgency.
To land hard and settle
resting on the cold of window,
pooling with shining drops
in response to a gasping desire
a need to quench the thirst

for the earth will shake
to end with the dawn.

And soon it is
holding tightly the rise and fall
of bare skin stretched
over heavy lungs sprawled
intertwined across the mess of bedsheets
and fingers that search out
facial profiles
and hip bones
and fingers to grasp
with a single request:

Can this moment last forever?

101408

I am pre-dreaming
singing and seeming
casting lines deep into the night
with lies and vines
seduction at sight
with hope
to drudge up.
Something sweet for dinner.

To bring the plate
satiate the palate strung
with baited morsels
scalding to the table
with nightscape and fable
and feed in spite-
mouths hungry
eyes wide and
lips parted
wet with appetite.

Dreams whipped
hand on whisk cramped
stiff peaks of
falling, flying, lovers stamped
on brain waves
and gravy trays
spices scattered all of them
and the harsh flicker of REM.

I am lucid
a crucifix on chain
an aim to claim
drawing my reel
through clay creek bank reality
pulling the line
with the constant click
the tisk tick of Father time
then silence-
a rapture-

hook swinging
stagnant breath stinging
seething though the nose
the noose lingers
hypnotic through the air
my eyes fixed to stare
and I am drifting
lulled into my own spells
the dreaming tells
and drifting to the bait
to catch myself
torn up
by selfish fate-
the end to my addiction.

This dress of cotton candy.

If I run away
to a place where
street lamps illuminate
a radiation
filling the night
with sugar white
and streaked past the nose
sweet on the cheek
of boys far too beautiful
of girls shining golden

If I run away
to gumdrops and sprinkles
and soda fizz-
injected through skin
filling my head
with rock star parties
drizzled thick in honey
I'll lick from your body
pulled slow down the razor
and kiss the blood from off your lips

If I run away
to candy sweet and purchased
in deep alleys and fishnets
to bruised hips
licorice eyes
and false lashes flashing
dusted by angels.
To speed-driven dance halls
and bodies pulsing
the sound of adrenaline.

If I run away
to crowd surfing riptides-
opiate spring baths-
eyes set in relapse
on moonlit electric
and midsummer's dancing.
My thoughts spun in sugar
pulling like taffy
on teeth long with craving
the ecstasy fix.

If I run away
to a place where
we'll swim in molasses
legs weighted with ginger
devouring the crumbles
we suck off the bathroom floor
to cut you with egg whites
fold in saccharine extract
and siphon our blood
to replace it with nectar.

If I run away

100908

I like the way
you feel in my hands.
A vice-grip on liquor
and I am holding you-
fingers entwined
the rhythmic circulation
a pulse meeting in our thumbs.

And my eyes- like yours-
stare straight into twilight
but I know- you know-
I'm glancing off at you.
Sideways. And I catch it,
that wink of lash
reflected on stars.

You are in the moon.
My head swelling
a high tide of midnight
as the space for me to safely stand
grows ever narrow
on the beach.
My feet are wet in you.

092808 1:38AM

The stoplights in your eyes
are holding me captive
while I am waiting
ten seconds,
twenty seconds,
forty;

always waiting for that
light to change
from the auburn romance
that holds me tight
a red light district
of cultural deprivation.

And there is no one on the road
in this isolated ghost town
except for you at home
your stoplight control.

I am always waiting
for the lights in your eyes
waiting for them to turn
to the effervescent green
that golden sunlight
cast through fauna
that signal screaming,

"Go! Go! Go! Go!"

When I will drag race
past the 50's idyllic woman
with the scarf waving bold
by her hipbones

and fly into the sunset
the midnight
that is you.

092398- I tell my friend it's nonsense.

Broken battlehands in the morning and the cold of my feet- my hands- like Krispy Kreme filling ground into the interior furnishings of your floorboards. For sanity's sake she is I am waiting for the light to change but this is the longest red light in the history of bank robbing nightmares and there isn't an approaching car in sight. The gentlemen ladies all loiter by the liquor store while dust gathers thick on the dashboard of desire.

The cookies are burning while my keys are locked inside and I can see them taunting me through glass smeared in fingerprints and longing. Desperate cries of animal scratching fills the air while toxic coils of smoke billow from the kitchen to fill the house and I will never be able to clean the stench of stupid choices and hapless failures from the walls.

White walls; why is every apartment wall in my desolate American existence painted so stark and colorless?

But I am covered in the wet cat snarls of hair matted damp across my face and rat's nest blond strands colored blue and a pink-red fading to sun-bleached sofas when I forgot to pull the blinds at midday.

The Tree; by Ashelin

I broke the plates against the Tree
Then tried to bite through the glass
Until my teeth cracked
Opening up uncertain
That their uses were useful after all
So they crawled from my mouth and dug into the trunk
Too fragile for the roots
Too rough for the fruits
Hanging a little too high above my head
No matter that I tried to reach
Wrap my arms around the body and shake it
But my fingers don’t touch

The babies trapped inside the skins cry
Confused that they're living
Hating all this breathing
With their insides screaming while their mother beams
Letting them hang and droop
Birds landing on her branches
Their feathers turn into fur
And their beaks eat themselves
Soon to become lips
While the hair dissolves
I don’t want to watch but my eyes stay
Centered on this piece of evolution
He’s a man but his parts are crawling back
Inside himself
He’s frightened
As his legs follow
His body and his arms
Until he’s only inversion
A vacuum

But the babes are safe again

I’m puking and the Tree is eating it
All the good things rushing out of me
Glowing into forsaken things
There’s no wind but the limbs shiver and sing
The leaves are bending and melting
And soon it’s raining waste
I’m covered in the discharge but I can’t complain
Recalling my questioning
I’d asked for it

I’m naked now
Still waiting
Lounging on a groundless place where the plants grow
Upside-down
Watching through the peephole in my floor
As the roots take bloom
Entwining each other I know the are courting
Enticing themselves though they know they're fruitless
No egg and no seeds
No feeding babies on a hot July night
Or listening to children scream
They’re colorless
And I’m human so I love their lust
My lips try to smile but I know they won’t
So it’s up to my eyes instead

My body rolls over
The Mother wants to hate me
Hurt and disappoint me
But the little ones are worth more
So she drops them
Round and fragile onto my fake earth
Until their sacs tear
And all the zombie fingers move
Eyes blind and yet they see me
Feel me and want me
So much so that soon they eat me
And my bones are licked clean
I’m not ghost just soaked
Inside their bloodless gut
Not a soul
No longer a body
Just meat

The Tree
Mother
They call to her and sing
Devil
The roots scream
Like some orgasm cry for mercy
I’m silent
Because she has my teeth
And the children have my body
And the roots don’t have anything

But they didn’t care in the first place

Bakery Breads.

Fennel fireworks and I am dreaming of your face in the moonlight stargazing to catch a chance to make a wish at midnight. You sparkle through the atmosphere, your dreams cast down through ozone and into my open late summer window.

Autumn is coming and with it your dreams will lengthen along with the nights and the sky will turn crisp in a way that let's you see God more clearly.

I am laid out on the frost of morning and telling you my dreams to narrate the sunrise. I am waiting all day for my time to match that of the rest of the world.

trabant journal 2005

"no man
(or woman of course)
is a fool
who gives up
what he cannot
keep -------> to gain
what he
cannot lose."

Transition.

Come 5 AM
Full moon stark and silent
the final hour
blackened skies.

Come 5:30
Cream rings enclose the moon
the morning haze
the darkest blue.

Come 6 AM
Twilight of dawn
silhouetted landscape
silhouetted trees.

Come 6:15
Gray sky waking
sleepy earth in green
milk moon begins to set.

Come 6:20
Lightened shades of sunrise
songbird morning lullaby
goodnight moon serenade.

Come 6:25
Moon low over trees
child eyes stare off
color wakes a daybreak.

Come 6:27
Rose-carnation yellow sky
dark trees against pastel
morning lunar transition.

Come 6:30
Lilac gold cements the earth
pave the sky in sunlight
bright to stir the life.

Come 6:37
Pink fades to white now
air holds all color
sun rise steady.

Come 6:45 AM
Dawn in atmosphere
morn spread in dewdrops
as I fall back to sleep.

091308

"You were not there
but the sun doesn't care
who she shines on."

Ode To My Lover

I'm missing you lovely
you're drifting my way
through bus stops and heartstrings
we're miles away

But draw each step closer
this dose of your light
I'll drive all night for you
to grasp your hand tight

We're veterans my baby
don't fear for my heart
for I am yours always
even when worlds apart

We're veterans my baby
through lovers and men
my blood runs persistent
My angel in sin.

So breathe deeply darling
to fill my lungs sure
these cords can't be broken
by life's teemed allure

I'm missing you always
drawn fast to your side
reverberate darling
your song's where I hide

my heart fast and longing
too fluid to break
I'll hold you forever
your claim is my stake

I'm bound to you darling
by God's silver lash
and dreams loomed and woven
where cosmonauts clash

So fear not for baby
I'm here with my blood
to slip through your heartbeats
by soil or sud.

I'll catch on you lovely
a lifegrip unleashed
You're mine now for always
all others beseeched.

I'll catch on you lovely
by midnight and moon
our veins are entangled
the world our monsoon.

090208

Dear Mother,
I need a heart that's tough
a heart that's not so open
and whimsically asking for it.

For Mother,
my heart burns and burns and burns
when there isn't any need.
My heart yearns and yearns and yearns

for the pull of a sweet song
begs for the touch of a romance
and the shockwaves, shockwaves, shockwaves,
leave a heart in weak quivers.

Mother,
I need a heart of iron
cast for all eternity
strong enough to scatter violent, scatter violent, scatter
down all those flights of stairs.

Down all those flights of stairs.
Down all those flights of stairs.
Down all those flights of stairs
and just dust off at the bottom.
And just dust off at the bottom.

But Mother,
is it any better to have a heart
to have a heart that bleeds and bleeds and bleeds
even if it bleeds me cold and pale-
than a heart so shackled
so cast in shielding
that its ventricles,
that its ventricles are useless?
Useless. Useless. Useless. Useless.

That its ventricles won't even pump life?

KelliAnne Pt. 2

I love your freckled sweet name taste
when rain pours down across your face
and periwinkle fills our space
KelliAnne, KelliAnne, KelliAnne.

Our cookies baked and burned to crisps
the laughter coats our hair in whisps
our lips articulate with lisps
KelliAnne, KelliAnne, KelliAnne.

The trees our haven's play for days
in summer storms or green-lit rays
or wild nights inside I'd say
KelliAnne, KelliAnne, KelliAnne.

Your paint to cover stark white walls
or catch me in my troubled falls
with tea each night to fill the halls
KelliAnne, KelliAnne, KelliAnne.

My pains were never long to last
your cured persuasion coming fast
your influence for joy deep cast
KelliAnne, KelliAnne, KelliAnne.

I've loved you since the day we met
in fits of giggles our paths set
and with you I can't bear to fret
KelliAnne, KelliAnne, KelliAnne.

The Summer's stars are in your eyes
while Autum's coming turns the skies
I'll miss you through our last goodbyes
KelliAnne, KelliAnne, KelliAnne.

KelliAnne Pt. 1

Angels in the outwind
and Ill miss you so fucking much
because you are my girl
And I love you
you have no idea
How much i adore you
with your red locks
and your angel lashes.
You're amazing
with your kisses golden and
your face amazing
I adore you
You'll never know
how much
I love you.

082808- Stream of consciousness.

bake me
break me
I'm broken
and faking
and thrilling
the wild party
lifestyle
without you.

And one day
I'm so
on the level
of apricots
and party hearty
porno films
but what the fuck
did I do to myself?

and I miss you
I miss you
I miss how you
loved me
and kissed me
and promised me
a life.

So what happened
to our promises
and long nighted
kisses
and curled together
in my pink sheets or
on your floor because
you never needed
a bed.

And I miss you
like starlight
and muscle cars
and vanilla shakes
at two in the morning.

I miss you.

082808- You.

Why can't I write about you?
I loved you for so damn long.
Why can't I write about you?
We were supposed to get married for heaven's sake.

I loved you for so damn long.
We were supposed to get an apartment and a pug and
We were supposed to get married for heaven's sake.
I loved you for so fucking long.

We were supposed to get an apartment and a pug and
Why you do you still torture me?
I loved you for so fucking long.
But I can't feel anything.

Why do you still torture me?
You make me feel everything.
But I can't feel anything.
And the anguish comes in waves.

You make me feel everything.
And I fall down on the kitchen floor.
And the anguish comes in waves.
So I cry at dumb poems.

And I fall down on the kitchen floor.
And drink myself stupid.
So I cry at dumb poems.
And I don't have to think.

And drink myself stupid.
Caused I loved you for so fucking long.
But I can't feel anything.
Why can't I write about you?

082808- Love and War.

So many beautiful people.
We have so many beautiful people.
With horsepower untapped
and bible pages unwritten
and YES last year was electrifying
and YES last year was psychosis
but last night was so hot
you made me want to
tear my skin off!
To suck you in like campfire smoke
and fill my lungs with your passions.
Your possibilities are endless
and I want to kiss all of your faces.
You leave me tracing your words
around my dreams
and setting your verbs
to the beat of my heart.
I want to spend an eternity
dissecting you
laying on twisted sheets
and studying every inch of you.
And there's are so many of you
I'd have to die ten times
to encompass all of you.

082808- For a zombie in a dress.

I don't eat enough,
and I never have.

I'm avoiding writing
what I should be writing
because I'm afraid
it will hurt too much.

And I never knew how
good I would be
at detaching
and it terrifies me.

And I just keep getting
thinner and
thinner and
it hurts each time I smile
to cover up the fact
that I'm crying instead.

But I am spinning around the night
like firefly sparklings
and laughing in the darkness
so you can't see how much
it pains me
and it shows across my face.

And I'm desperate
to analyze it
rationalize and make it logic
because I'm afraid
it will hurt too much.

And I'm desperate
to love
every face that I see
just to cover this part
of my life.

And I'm dying
to feel
as alive as I can
because otherwise
what did I do this for?

Isn't this what I wanted?
Isn't this my desire?

I need to find something
alive
to fill my bones with
transplanting the marrow
that's weighing me down.

So hand me my sun glasses
so I can cover my eyes
and pretend I'm not just
a zombie in a dress.

082808- Stream of consciousness.

I hope Kate and Michael don't want to seminar about my work today
because I haven't written anything good.
And I feel like my mind is on overdrive
and it works much faster than my pen.
This music sounds like a Miyazaki film
and my blanket feels soft like stuffed animal ice cream cones.
And its so nice against my skin
that's so broken and battered
it aches with each step I'm at war.
I'm at war with my eyes,
lips, mouth, teeth, nose, and grin.
I'm at war with my voice and by legs
but I love your freckles.
But I'm so filled with conflict
and an over abundance overwhelming
my tear ducts until
they leave their factories in abandonment
for a crier's strike and a better paycheck.
And you're walking all over the walls
circling around my head
and I just want to kiss your face.
You're tall and beautifully dark
and take the shape of
every boy I've ever kissed.
And I want to touch your skin
but skin is weird
and I am weird
and you are weird
so lets do a Chinese fire drill
instead.

082808

I stare into the mirror peering
face into a phantom leering
who the fuck is this woman?

Sunken eyes, a face the shell-
the hallowed exoskeleton tell
me what the hell are you looking at?

You drone around here vacant eyed
darkened with detachment tried
the sting of denied emotion;

I hate you with your glass blown stare
the mask that's always, always there
cheekbones to hide expression.

Behind your down-turned smile eyes
Your oxygen comprised of lies
I hate you with your character.

Your freckles analytical
your mouth awake and always full
of lines rehearsed and spoken

A broken dozen roles you play
your daily life a matinée
I hate you with your DNA.
I hate you with your logic.

Quote.

"Passion enslaves
no matter how willingly
we wear it's shackles."

For Liz.

You wrote nonsense on the inside of my ears
and it swirled in an atmospheric pressure.
You looked into my ambiance like
first dates and ice cream cones
and erotica shoved under the bed.

You were gold and tangerine sofabeds
slipped in the corner of the bedroom.

I was mirrors on the ceiling
and cast-iron bed posts.
I wanted you like face flushed in firelight
though your lips are small like mine.

You spoke the passion of jet fuel
into the faces of breathless lovers
and I wanted to crawl inside of your bones.

You bled black opals into an ocean made of jasmine
and I wanted to light you like incense-
burn you long in ribbons
that curl around my flesh-
let you satiate my brain
as bubbles in tonic.

You stretched naked onto midnight quicksand
and allowed me to cover
your arteries in kisses;
but they were too sweet and

I wanted to bury you in the earth,
bathe your body in maternity,
and then devour the fruits
of my labor slowly- like fine chocolate.

You wrote nonsense on the inside of my skin
and it pulsed into my lymph-nodes
beaded out of my pores, onto my flesh,
transforming my epidermis into ecstasy.

You laid your self out on my hands
and gave me vulnerability and
the trust of your first time
with your first lover,
although this is not the first time
and we are not lovers.

Ghazal written with Wendy.

This breeze is a tyrant of possibilities.
I let out my heat and move every leaf in the clearing.

The chill cyclone swallows my skin.
Each pore aroused and pulsing into night.

On the rolling backside of the bay.
Starlight churns up from the ocean.

Feet numbing against the husks of summer
hips thrust in a pulsing ambition.

My body breaks the wind down to it's owl screech center
and it pulls me in deep midnight ricochet.

Naked in the mouth of wind
I am lust on the sea of my dreams.

082508

Our bittersweet battle is Jersey-knit cotton.
Our bittersweet battle is empty bookshelves.
Our bittersweet battle is my cast-iron innocence.
Our bittersweet battle is a hidden cage.

Our bittersweet battle is citric on cracked lips.
Our bittersweet battle is dried flowers.
Our bittersweet battle is your soup in my cupboard.
Our bittersweet battle is unhealed scars.

Our bittersweet battle is my childhood regression.
Our bittersweet battle is disappointment.
Our bittersweet battle is divided expression.
Our bittersweet battle is translusive.

082408- Campfire Starlight

You make me ache in the pit of my soul.
And you go to my head like smoke.
And you drive me crazy like boogy-woogie-oogie.
And I'll kiss your face like tangerine.

And the clouds will devour us all.
And you could steal my sliver.
Fuck syllables. Fuck salivac.
Saliva flowing five-seven-five.
This myth is sex on fireworks.

Capture a moment in the simplest form,
and I just want to live.
And that is what it really boils down to.

082408- Heard poem.

That's mine!
It's like the size of Texas
and we fuckin' mixed it.

There's phosphorescences.
And guitar.
And music.
And melody.
And is this my notebook?
Yes, this is my notebook.

And 11:47 is moonrise.
And, Riley,
this is what it's all about.
And I'm gonna play poetry music
for you to write to.

You write to Poodle-Muffin,
who should not be fighting.
And we lost Joe.
Off the bench we lost her.

Play me a song.
I'd like to save it
and keep the memories.

082408- Drunk heard poem.

I have a lot of drink-drank stuff
smoke some mango and Eggs Benedict.
Smoke some mango man.
I-I- those Mexicans never eat chili
celiot lindo de contrabando
the beautiful sky is forbidden
I said thank you, not damn you.
And you seem like someone
who needs to learn this
the way I learned this-
What happens at poetry camp
stays at poetry camp.
And you never told me
that he e-mailed poetry.
My life is full of scandals-
and she's got beautiful breasts-
she says, "I like scandals."

082608- Night poem.

I am like eagle shit
I just fall from the sky
and noodles are flaccid and shiny
but they're not flaccid,
they're not shiny.

And I want to kiss your face.
And you're sexy as fuck
so have an Oreo cookie.
And if I could afford coke
I would do it.

082608

I am open and vulnerable
my sleep eyes are flashing
and now I can't get you
off of my mind

and you are cigarettes and CDs
and long midnight kisses
and eyes that destroy you

in speaking and blinking
and you're reading my feverish mind
long with desire

I want you
I want you
'cause I'm not supposed to
and now you're stuck fast in my brain

spinning touch me
you shouldn't
'cause you're not supposed to
so why do I wake
with your face on my lips

and my dreams reach out grasping
I'm asking you
please won't you touch me
just touch me
I want you to give me

Your hair
and your eyes
and your lips
curled and grinning.

It is sweet and right to die for your country.

It is sweet like sticky licky sugar sutured
to a sensation stationed around the nation
ovation with pride-lied motivation
manipulation and calculation
caused creation capillary palpitation
panicked manic malformation
from passion patient passed down
pupil people pleasure pervasion.

And it is right like tight sight tingles
tortured and masculated
children of men of Americanization.
Spreading Jesus please-us
proper people pasted with propaganda
going candid for camera
captured malice masqueraded
multimedia proclamation

explore the televised sensation
of power pandered mobilization
with goal grabbed gates guarding
enemy sterilization
substituting simplistic existence
of listless persistence
and melodic harmony happy
home sweet home is nationalization.

For death is dually dosed
in double dozen batches
wielding matches meeting matches
paired by continental cut-off
click clack clashes
bloody bodied crashes
caused by red, white, beautiful
band brimming sashes

and blood bathed boys
brought up basting and tasting
violent silent dried-eyed lashes
awaiting thrashes from teachers
teaching tasteless tortured mashes
of heroic stoic seasoned soldiers
in liberty-clad mustaches.

Their heads filled and thrilled
by chilling killing folklore
of heroes heeding heaven
hasteless holding,
glory gained and gory
but rewards far worth the cash list.

And this their aspiration
a destination of gratification
with flags of silver star-striped saviors
to coat the fatal laceration.

And their hearts are worth the sacrifice.
The freedom come is twice as nice.
They'll fill the ground in one, two, thrice
for this is what they live for.

082508

War is a force that drives us.
And I fuckin' hate it
These battles bleed relentless
My culture is malignant.

And I fuckin' hate it
Thick toxic channels
My culture is malignant.
Veins rise up defective.

Thick toxic channels
Carry sick power to death
Veins rise up defective.
War is a force that drives us.


Written in collaboration with Mary.

082508- Why cosmonaut?

The chronic enigma
fondling sweet despair
vicious greed bash
and implode.

Exasperate the delicate
core; vicious silk.
Red, red, red, red
and trouble.

And why the studly spectacle?
Red, red, red, red
and silk.
Sweet silk the core

and fondle the
chronic greed vortex
and vicious delicate
the tambourine.

And red, red, red, red
the enigma.
And red, red, red, red
the cosmonaut.

082408- Found line.

Love was a great predicament
and a riddle
she moved behind the eyes
of conversations unspoken
and the kinetic desire
pulsing from touch.

She swayed like Autumn
buzzing electricity in the ears
and curling with the grin
of secrets spread across the lips.

She was powdered aphrodesia
whispering soft lashes winking
at the raised eyebrow arch
of bare skin and
broken smiles.

Love was magnetic.
She was raw vulnerable
behind layers of painted sarcasm
spread across her eyes
that left her expose without regard.

She was damaged in a way
that made her priceless
as she flowed into the tears
of those who spoke her name
with a voice that was cold like Mercury.

And in the breaking morning
she dazzled across the lawn
in dewdrops to reflect
your light onto the world.

Love was unanswered questions
extended "what if"'s
and hopeless longing.

She thought of you when she knew
she shouldn't
and she danced inside your skull
to spin your dreams around her skirts
and entangle your thoughts in her laughter.

Love was a great predicament
and a riddle
she moved into the constant ache
resting under your ribs
and her smile
was a song you wanted to die to.

081908

1.

The words will come out of the phone
with letters and writing
they will be pink and
spin around like cotton candy
and circle the room
in bubbles of childhood glitter

2.

You are making a spiral that spins on the wall
and shading it in gray pencil
and your hair is the paper barked Madrona
Curls sliding to cover your face

Your lead makes a deep masked conception
a candy swirled lollipop eye
to paint on a vortex of little girl dreams
mouth hid beneath jewel tones and sparkles

Souls of bright water opals.

Baby dreams
and toys floating
down a river's horizon
view filling my lungs
with kerosene and oxygen
flowing from a showerhead
and encircling everything
in an ocean of cherry blossomed
angles all spilling and filling
my veins with

peppermint liquid cooling
and spreading to fresh breath
and white teeth all grinning
down the boulevard and
feeling the hair colored golden
from sunstrokes and lightening,
your voice is like silken
Egyptian cotton and burgundy
circled around inside of my
head like liquid God.

And the rain pours down
dripping off the eaves
of the building and falling
fat onto a splash-happy earth.
Light streaming windows and
rock flowing music and
the rain dances two-step
past my window.

081808

Overheating.
Hot face.
Firestarter,
Dull ache.
Pony tail pain.
Desire.
Leather.
Lipstick.
Strangers
oh favors
and blowing
like Fall
leaves and drizzle.

Danger Train
track casualties
and late night
thunder storms.
Freedom. Liberation.
Open like
wildflowers
and a drifting acorn.

Rain clouds
And balloons,
all colors,
racing
trough atmosphere and
into the sun,
Red,
Blue,
Green,
Pink,
and Turquoise.

Bus stop.
Inhibited.
Forgotten behind.
and somehow
I've lost
my apprehension
along the way.
Licorice.
Vodka.

081708

Sweet and ridiculous
the taste of your mouth is
shining teeth lined up for
one, two, three and
I like it when you use them
to eat me alive.

Devour flesh.
Leaving marks like a mosquito
sucking it out in the heat of
the night.

Bodies churning burning
the sheets right off the bed.
You were unexpected,
and so was I.

And you loved me sweetly
and my own took your breath.
And it was fun with
lip biting and
you are not the way I 'd thought
you were- and I like it

I'm thinking of you with
heat in the humid morning
breeze of this afternoon.

Last night.

In the character on the movie screen
I saw projected last night
I caught your face.
You looked at me under long shagged hair
with eyes of desire
and your face was painted up the side of skyscrapers
and it made me want to be with you.
When the movie ended, however
I missed him instead

Oranges

Oh, how perfect death
computes an orange wind
that glows from your footsteps,

and you stop to die in
an orchard where the harvest
fills the stars.


-Richard Brautigan

081508

I really like riding with an open book in my lap
and staring at something far off away
to kill nausea-
though I've never been one to get carsick
But I'm watching the passers
as my shoulders creep up
and these headlights,
these headlights,
these headlights,
these headlights
are sending the sweat beading
upon my back.
And the fragment cologne
from those sleeping around me
moves through my body
a huge tribal cemetery.


Stranger
Your body would like to fall asleep on my shoulder.
Your mind rouses you, over again,
for you don't know: I'd let you.

Christmas in Jersey? A war poem.

My Godson thinks machine guns
and hand grenades are cool.
And I'm shaking
with breaking
tears lighting my face
for he can't understand
hell-terror's fireworks
and rockets that bleed
from the ears of the eyes
left out and quaking.

My Godson is six
and thinks killing is funny.
And I'm holding my rage
at this breathtaking stage
teeth clenched on media's guilty
black callous misleading
these boys become soldiers
and rockets that bleed
on this miserable
life spending mage.

080908: Your Birthday.

Why does everything
today
have to tell me
about you?
and your Birthday?

Last night I dreamed
of hidden drugs
and glass-blown pipes.
Of suspicious teachers
hiding bashful crushes
and unexpected rape attacks
crawling my body
on the hands of a friend.
Again and again.
As the movie lights dazzled
all strung from the ceiling
and plants overgrown
on the walls of my closet.
Cover a girl's dirty laundry.

What is love?

A friend of mine recently asked me this question. This is the response I sent to him:

What is love?

I used to know the answer to this question with much more certainty that I do today. Or at least, I understood the definition of being 'in love'. When I was in love it made me know with a faith I would die for that I'd never been in love before despite how many times I'd whispered to my early infatuates over the phone. Being in love was an ecstasy that made me beautiful. It was an endorphin overload that made everything around me even more beautiful. It was like the stupid grin that stayed plastered across my face or the uncontrollable squeals of laughter that would escape my lips for no reason and no person to hear.

Being in love is being happier than you've ever imagined possible in your life. It is the overwhelming sinking heartache and panicked despair that accompanies the thought of losing that person you are so in love with. And when that intensity is replaced with a solemn curiosity, it hurts in a way that your heart knows you are going to survive. And the sadness that accompanies falling out of love just solidifies what you used to have as being real. Falling out of love is a transition into clichés and hanging onto “I love you but I'm not in love with you.” And falling out of love with a lover who also occupied your best friend and strength and security and adventure and family is more terrifying than anything you could have been prepared for. For me, it is my well calculated impulsive action of leaping from an aircraft without a parachute and praying to a God I don't understand that the ground will be soft enough to catch and not break me. It is the downward rush of the wind against my skin and my iron stomach aiming to escape through my grinning teeth because as much as it hurts, and as much as you miss him, you asked for this. So you will only cry at night.

So you ask me “what is love?”, and to this question I have no answer for you. Love is different for every circumstance for which it is created. To tell you what love is would be an attempted at pretending I know the answer. I can try to tell you what falling in and out of such a thing was like for me, but to define love itself is something I feel better left to someone else. Lucius Annaeus Seneca once described love in the following way:

“Love in its essence is spiritual fire.”

My book is half destroyed and I've only filled ten pages.

Angels in the next room
needles placed into her skin
and I wait, I wait, I wait,
for something on this afternoon.
With pain dulled down to a
butter-spreading knife
I must gather persuasion and
concentration and motivation
in huge armfuls
from a nearby meadow
just to stay awake.
But she cries out tearful
and brings my eyes wide
and my attention once again
has a chance to sit and wait.

The Waiting Room.

Her name is Army; and she is beautiful. She smiles with bright highlights and tells me I have cute feet. She has a daughter my age who I can see through her eyes. They laugh over family secrets and cry over heartache. One the suffering, one the healer. She is a healer by nature and her eye-lights can cheer a baby even after the vaccine has been given. I don't know where she's from but she's been here longer than I. I'd love to take her out to lunch. To learn the secrets of her warm demeanor. Her name is Army; and she is beautiful. 080808

Persistance.

Melancholy drama queen
leaving me feasting on fasting
and night-longing lonely
gives desire for warmth.

Love me the way that you
did when you used to
cradle me soft in your arms.
And I'll sleep in safe haven
keeping this hot chill at bay.

This summer brings midnight
brings one and then two
and a cold aching hollow
my stomach's sick pit.

And I miss while desire
just sings me to sleep.
My lullaby. Dark ringing.
Rocked body limbs and
these starched stiffened gowns.

Odd Cat.

Obsession.
And I'm sick of it
And you hate my
you love my
obsession.

And you asked for it
warned over against
now you have it,
this sickness
obsession.

And you cry a young
and you keep tight this fleeting
the solace
of earthly
obsession.

And I hate what you make
of this visible blood
and I need it
this vile
Obsession.

Monday 080408

So smoke me away
with the rest of your dreams
and I'll curl in the ocean spray
Dark nicotine.

Seductive and vile a fantasy's trace
you'll never be washed from my
hair and my face you will linger in day
thoughts and I can't get all of your
gazes all tracing my parking lot movements
to sicken your mind with a
smile. Like fever.

So boiled and chilling I'll
cook you for dinner
my soul in the cell of your mind.

Nicotine flicking
ashes and beauty
and beetled mosquitoes
feast flesh of my arms

and you're draining my shell
like the drugs they keep pumping
and buzzing inside of my
flick-twitching ears.

My head-tunes reminding
and flies landing always
on something a ferris wheel
round and about

won't you scream it to deafness and
write with your blood
for this thought just wont leave you alone.

But I'm burning with interest
and it's bad
and we know it
for this game has been played
out in hailstorms before.

Desire.

Your words thick-sweet
like buttermilk.
You spin my head
like Russian silk.


Wait; let's touch everything before we wash our hands.

072408

My virginity is the watering can
poured onto the vying earth
rained into the hungry mouths
parched bloomage with blunt fangs gnashing

My body is split fertilizer
sold to bidders piece for piece
leached desire for minerals
left buried among the soil

Why did you pay attention?

I milked something
a life saving bedpan.
And I touched a male
prostitute's ear.
You can out eat me
regardless of circumstance.
And that Asian lady
who winked at you
and then threw in
two nasty donuts.
But it's all good
because you're a crippled baby.

071808

Sleepy eyes and bus rides
and I fixed the earing for your ear.
You walked away to the bus stop
and took your pants off on the street.
You took your shirt off for a passing car
and we all saw the black lace bra.
I got on the bus to escape the city
but you followed me nonetheless.
You spoke to yourself of ejaculation.
You spoke to yourself of your penis.
And offended a woman to leave.
You tried to follow her nonetheless.
The driver convinced you
it wasn't your stop yet.

The Hurricane Cafe

"You are so beautiful.
And so amazing.
And so number one."

071308

"There is a romance about fruit floating outside on the water, about apples and pears in rivers and lakes." -Richard Brautigan

Frankincense, burning Frankincense.
And my stomach's a hollow ache.
And our daydreamed walks
through the woods
to the water
are memories.
A fifth of my life I've given
to passion
to playtime
to love.

You've made it sweeter.

My eyes are burning from too much salt water and baked bananas are filling my lungs. You are sweet with all of your poi-spinning and burned lyrics but I think I'll just sulk for a while anyway. I want to get stoned and converse with a cat who's ear is missing a sliver. Emerald eyes and playful claws. But you've made me some music and cats don't like dancing. I am deep in thought behind a down-turned face because this limbo is washed out florescence. I am blue tones of gray. I am jellyfish dried on the beach. I am dreaming of August. And your kindness has turned me to lemon meringue.

061508- Roadtrip.

Chelan

South Fork Snoqualmie River

136 Thousand

And it's too rough to write legibly.

And the snow is melting.

And you're falling asleep.

And we're all just

falling asleep.

Hip Hop

Dirty dance pop

Ellensburg

hip to hip

skin to skin

And her eyes keep catching

my eyes.

And she's saying,

“I'm always alone.”

Snoqualmie.

North Fork.

And trees.

And voices.

Ba-ba-ba-

ba-da-bum-ba-da-bum

And you can't resist her.

Blue eyes.

Two hands.

Refrigerator magnets.

And a speed trap ahead.

And my leg's gone to sleep.

And every time you cry,

you kiss her.

The first time.

Traveler's Info.

Tune into 1610AM

And the friendly

rest-stop meeting.

Nice eyes.

Nice smile.

Nice voice.

Bare feet.

Stampede.

And Cabin Creek.

And we're going

the wrong way,

And Dear God don't let those be hiccups.

And. Just. Relax.

In your tangled hair,

the muse is sweet.

Sweet sweat.

sticky arms.

Me. Me. Me.

Give it to me.

Swerrrrrve.

And around the bend.

These notes pull my soul.

Follow. Begging me to

follow.

But you don't agree.

Melted frosting.

Blood-red icing.

And I watch you

lick your fingers.

Lips. Teeth. Tongue. Touch.

On my sleepy eyes.

To fish from the bridge-

And leave me.

Where the water's blue can't be captured.

And ahh-sweet like nectar.

That chill to the marrow.

That leech shiver sweet.

And ahh-ahh like a soft sigh.

Like racing the train tracks.

Sharp steel against steel.

And graffiti haunts me like

all the bad choices

you chose to make.

And I move too slow for your liking.

But my legs are pinched.

And we've been golfing for hours.

And I just want to rest,

and wallflower for a while.

While every one is dancing.

And we're coming on Roslyn.

So watch for deer.

Lucky Fin.

And let's party.

Avalanch.

Twitch your eyelids

and tell me your dreams.

Tell me your dreams.

I've sparked your interest?

A long drawn, “My.”

And there goes the river-

amateur. Hip Hop.

I like your style.

Stomach. Eyes. Legs.

East 97.

And I'm hungry

for your burgers.

Mile One.

My favorite.

Wrecking yard.

And reggae ponies.

061708- Jealousy

The sunlight's reflections

Laughing like diamonds

Playing like schoolgirls

Giggling secrets.

And the sun shines forever.

Beats down through blue ozone

Reflects off the water

And plays me their songs.

And drums in the distance.

And laughter in ripples

And hills upon mountains.

A bittersweet lake.

061808- Wildfires.

The survivors bear scorch marks.

Shown proud like battle scars.

Where fires raged-

three years

four years

five-

They survive.

Carcinogen and soot marked,

Bark blackened with permanence.

To remind those passing:

We are strong like Asbestos,

and you cannot burn us down.

061808

The place where rapids turn white.

And irrigated cherries ripen in the sun.

Where Neil Young's hurricane

swims around my head.

And long strands of blond hair dance in the wind.

Once again I am filled with a discontent

that's hard to explain.

But he tells me that I'm like a hurricane.

And the trip home is shortened

by a lack of anticipation.

soft cheeks and the bus-fare home.

I ran for you and it made me ill
for the air was sweet honeysuckles
and the flavor was nauseous in the heat
And my skin pulsed like fireflies
veins pumping like dragonfly wings

Six blocks I ran and ran for you
feet flying like the bison panic
when one alerts, "Stampede."
My saliva thick and sweet like venom
a chocolate dipped and cream filled revenge
to coat my gasping mouth; I ran for you.

I ran for you downhill through Suburbia
and the asphalt pushed back violent
my soft soul pounding the street rang shots
snapped twigs and scattered shells

I ran for you with fearful ambition
of blood-tracked knees embedded in stone
yet still I pushed my body on
sweat pouring from my skin
while my skirt climbed up with every step
panties the shade of pink-lemonade
And I ran for you.

My lips gaped like the fresh caught trout
a raw throat heaving floral air
my body the rhythm of slavery songs
with the urgency of Carroll's white rabbit
I ran for you.

Awake.

I should be asleep now
but who's that tip-tapping?
While Nighthawks chip-chatter,
a lifted green barrette .

It does not require
the strings from your lover
your chip, chattered shatter
break glass on the floor.

The cigarette's ashes
lay cold on the table.
But leave me some solace
and iced blush tonight.

I'll drink it down solid
the wince precedes grinning
and gray clouds of mundane.
And poisoned fruit flies.

053008

It's much too late
for rhyming young ladies
and gentleman lovers
ride whores all the same.

To what do I owe it?
my sensation brothers:
America's charming
young men in the sand.

And bring on the tran-band
for hearts broken laces
to tie up a ribbon
and grasp, hand-in-hand.

To what do I owe it?
My gift upon gifting,
allowing me madly
in love with this race

unshakable beauty.
Unfaultered by midnight
and sixteen's too early
to learn of this beast.

Just hesitate darling
awaiting, just waiting
and never once blame them
for gorging this feast.

053008

This imperfection
has driven obsessions
the primly girl proper
my body's possession.

"I'm coming home."

I think only you can save you.
Try living in the woods for the summer, alone.
Eat, sleep, and bathe in the river.
A conquest of spirit and survival,
just to prove you can do it.

This life will leave you searching
only for a way to get back.
Back to when things were better.
Back to when life was simple.
But Andrew, was it ever really simple?
I still think you can do it.

Exquisite Corpse

I have been participating in an Exquisite Corpse online for the past several months. We have all contributed to the following poems, they have become something worth sharing.

The premise:

"Le cadavre exquis boira le vin nouveau."
"The exquisite corpse will drink the new wine."

This activity is named after the above sentence, a product of a parlour game invented in 1925 by Surrealists. The Surrealists sought to find deeper truths through the subconscious. They used games such as this to do so.

Here's how it works:

1. Sign up for the project under "Sign Up" in the discussion board.
2. I will write two lines of poetry, of which I will send (via facebook messaging) the second line to one person.
3. When you receive the line, send me two lines to succeed it. I will send the second of those lines to the next participant.
4. This process will be repeated till all who signed up have participated.
5. I will publish that week's poem in this group.

...

The poems:

1

Equine tales and oatstraw bales
golden as the Urcaguary's chains.
Compelling as Mnemosyne's appeal to pathos
Starkly musical as only a dope fiend can understand.
The tea kettle's scream wakes you from sleep
and you pour a glass but the water is black
as if to reflect some unkindness
god recently visited upon your person
He tore the words from out your hands
and left his shadow on the sand.


2

Feeling final, dissipate.
Lost laws rumble in your bowels.
A piece of your beauty
Lost in the sewage of the mundane
Heart of Legend like Tom Cruise's
unicorn horn bruises and lit fuses
electric arrows-Eros fallen star chooses
And appled desire, string maiden-white nooses
those teeth bare from a body, no skins or fleshes
knotting for her no, she says no as, just frightened
she pulls away, tugging lavender strings from his hands
trailing wisteria and crocuses and scents of vanilla
A piebald wind of oily dreams
swirls devils in the snow's skin.


3

Marred mark, the wolfbane’s hark:
a starred lark, a leaf’s bark.
Nestled between Albatross wings
Slung around its neck like a noxious pendant
or crying savior, attempting creation
(or credit)... her hands her hands her hands... making
small gestures, touching simply and openly the bruises
left by dissonant shadows and stark murmurs.
like two paths crossed, but never traveled
the mind becomes thick and possibility addled
thick like cooled oatmeal,
addled like wet wood.


4

Sweet shining is the elementary and elemental
sun, not divisible into three-hundred thousand pieces. She
blew upwards and outwards like the skin of the moon does,
soft and smelling of sea life, mirrored
against the harsh surface of the stove
a stolen glance sending sharp shivers
filling her with lubricious desires
like a blind fish casserole in the oven
a tooth chipped on a hidden pearl
broken heels on red carpet, tragedy
must play a game of catch, careful
to unhand only over Turkish weaves.
to crunch upon like autumn leaves
their corpses lay like days gone by
till oily rain watered their beds
and asters grew in graves denied


5

Leaning toward the wall: unfortunate
misleading lines and crossed-out skies
Glowing with a rockets red glare
Battle cries drown out the anthems they march to
tut um and drum tut um drum tut um drum tut um drum tut
an apricot juicy and splice, melts on the tongue like burgundy and chintz
My teeth ache with smiles
as heavy as a thousand lakes
a burden of unforgivable weight
and unseeming pertinence.


6

Anything in my hands turns into origami
when I'm upset. I submit to the folds and folds
letting your dirty laundry run through my hair.
I keep my face clean around the mouth.
two sets of teeth, two lips, and a tongue
teasing, pleading, telling me to Stay
Telling me the coffee is in the freezer,
the toilet seat down, and I knowing
your sweet mouth in frown, your anger keeps flowing
to rise from the belly, discourse keeps me going
life begins at the moment when life becomes a question,
and/or the binary dichotomy begins to break down
leaving only drippings, drippings
dripping down the static glass.


7

My bed, it has three corners;
Three corners have my bed.
your face, etched
on the four chambers of my heart
a treatise of desperation with preface
by the sandwich she abandoned
brandishing cellophane sine waves,
floats through the skinned melody of their conversation
it is a fleshless exposition and development;
it is always a perfect cadence; always going going home.

pickled daydreams

I'm starting to hallucinate
no, no more breaks! it's getting late!
Don't fake your fate.
You'll break your mate.
Just make it, make it-
kiss and wait.

Kiss and wait!?
That awful trait?
When I can't even break your plate?
that sickle shiny briny hate
But darling? Can't we masturbate?

No, not unless you'll stay up late.
And wait,
and wait,
(it's worth the wait)
'Cause I can't let you
conjugate.

Unless, your fingers pry and sate
just reach inside to satiate.
And ohmigawd- my Father's fate.
To catch a daughtered
grin elate!

Just blow me out
I'll vib-erate.
Silk skin ablazed- infatuate.
I HATE! I HATE!
THIS CLOCK'S MY FATE!

But darling Time, please hold this date,
and wash its summer's sun create
to cherry women impregnate.
and babes taste sweet to lick the pate

AND DAMN THESE BIRDS THE MORN AWAIT!
and this might always be my fate.
Keep dancing to my hip heart rate.
Belligerent this morning state.

You got a divorce so I married you.

It's not goodbye,
it's just goodbye.
But I have watched you
like a Swallow's nest.
Like a mother never sleeping.
Like the oh-so-many other things
I should have done
instead.

It's not the tears that fall,
it's the frozen ones that stall.
But I have glazed
the broken china plates.
And I have given you to Heaven.
And I have given you to Hell.
To change your mind into
just that.

It's not uncertainty,
It's just uncertain.
But I'm the cold and bitter
morning I've let go.
Morning the loss of your darkness.
Morning your distant growing light.
And in this dusk we'll never read
your roadmaps.

It's not that you're going,
just that you're going.
But I will steam the shirts
and starch them caked in salt.
And stitch our paths together.
And know why you didn't look back.
For I was never
Mama Crocker;
Martha Stewart.
And I can say, "Goodbye."

She's back.

I open my mouth
And pornographic letters emerge
Pushing their dirty heads through my teeth
Breaking my lips like fine china plates
Bought for a wedding no one went to
Stacked in the corner of a basement waiting
For somebody to make them less pretty

And all these single symbols seem to make words
That fall from my face to my stomach to my knees
And in between
All the places nobody’s been before
Nobody real has explored
But my imaginary sounds that don’t really exist kiss them
Tug at my creases and bulges and holes
Sucking and hanging from my virgin clothing
Rolling along my edges
Biting off each other’s heads
Wanting to win me for their own

But
After a while the sentences end
And periods slice through the membranes of my voice
Dropping like wet from a bulging cloud
A pregnant silence trying to miscarry
Pushing my words down towards the floor
Breaking on the pavement or lost in the ocean of carpet
Forgotten

- Ashlin

041608

Your laundry
and my cigarette
are just the same tonight.


What am I waiting for?

Because you asked for it.

I don't know how to just sit anymore.
I don't know how to be miserable and just feel it.
Accept it and
feel it.
I don't know how.

I don't know how to be free anymore.
To laugh and be wild and free anymore.
I'm not afraid of
the darkness
of loneliness.

I don't know how to be broken
and fix it.
I don't know how to
be stuck in the middle.
Or really
how to connect.
And happiness is all relative.

All perspective.

And this misery
is making my-
my body shake
and tre-tremble 'cause-
I don't know how to just be anymore.

And the moon is too far
away.
And the cold is just seeping
while steam burns arising, and
Begging me now to be free.

this trip.

And everything else
fades from focus.
And the shadows of
your face
the
Shades of.
your face

Pools of topaz.
Both blue lines and gold.

041108

"I like the way she writes about
what she's drawn to in others."

The girl on the bus.

I like her complexion
and glass on her face
and flop ridden sandals
and dirt fallen trace.

The fish in her eyes swim
and blushing the cheeks
and rings upon rings on;
stick with me for weeks.

He's always happy.

Pumpkin Ice Cream.
Butterscotch.
Fill my liver
another notch.
You know my seeds are
slow to grow.
But give them sunshine.
Summer sunshine.
Winter Fall Spring
Autumn sunshine.
To fill my heart with
apple moonshine.
But when you plant them
always know,
that pumpkin ice cream
and pies cook slow,
but taste delicious
like all your kisses
and fill the soil with apple wishes.
So plant my seeds
among the weeds
and watch them reach up
through the reeds.
To grasp for sunshine.
A wisp of sunshine.
A glint across
your Summer's sunshine.

030908

Single sliced. individually wrapped. American cheese. Is a pretty great analogy for what we, Americans, project as our image. We strive for a perfection that leaves us over-processed and utterly lacking in sustenance. Our image is comprised of artificial everything and we are wrapped in too much materialism. You think the average piece of American is sustainable to the planet? Forget about it. We are hermetically sealed in cellophane- to be viewed and not touched- and our bodies will look pristine for decades after we've expired. We will survive the nuclear holocaust along with the Twinkies and the cockroach. We have been transformed from what we used to be- something naturally recognizable- into a commercialized super-mutant that bears little resemblance to what we came from. We have become flash above health and oversimplified for your Mother's convenience. Yet, at the same time, we are delicious. You don't know why but you can't stop eating us despite the attempts of your conscious screaming, "No! No! Bad for you! Unhealthy, unclean!" and flashing images of fat thighs in all shades upon the back of your mind like an old movie projecting dreams to your dreamer. Regardless of our known impurities you can't resist just one more bite of cheese flavored goodness genetically engineered to make you weak in the knees. The American is nostalgia and temptation. That transparent shell makes you want us even more. To peel off the wrapping and fold us up and shove us whole between your hungry lips. You will eat and eat us long past when you are full because, that's the irresistible charm of us. All-American. You will stop yourself only after its too late and you have American stuck to your tongue and thick in your throat and creamed in your teeth. You will curse yourself for giving in but each and every time you'll do it again. We masquerade under the facade of something good for you and you let yourself believe it because the taste of American is sinful like chocolate.

030408

Heart pound of
thumping thumping
ears and throat
and thumping thumping
arm and spine and
thumping thumping
Yet I really should be sleeping.
thump thump
And frozen feet
thump thump
And with muscles tense
thump thump
beetles humming
thump thump
all in my ears and
thump thump
thump thump
I know the sleep's not coming

An excerpt.

"

But I am stubborn. I will wait with ice-cold feet for the sun to return and the warmth to be natural. I will remain here longer than I should with blind faith that this day will never end. The sun is such a tease and I am the ripest fool. But I can put off responsibility for one more hour. I got up early today.
Yes will start my car and let it run. I will settle for artificial heat and an imagination that makes it okay. I will ignore my roommates, my duties, for just a little bit longer. Who knows, perhaps I will be gifted a sunset in return for my loyalty. Maybe I will just run out of gas.
...
But then, the sun can be so cruel before dusk- blinding those who love it with severely slanting light. And man-made heat fails to satisfy when your face to waist is overwarmed and toes go on neglected. And faster than I'd like this place is becoming less than the attraction it once was.

"

021908

The tonic sings bubbles
rise from the bottom
and if I should listen
they whisper like raindrops

But what can they tell me?
Through syrup and sand-glass?
Through carbon and atmosphere?
Beyond what I know.

Insistent they whisper
to tickle my eardrum
and shiver their message
clear down through the floor

Insistent they whisper.
With no certain meaning.
Yet burst on a dustmite.
Just passing on by.

So what could they tell me?
With all of their whispers
and snickers all jealous
at least I perceive.

For no one is trusted.
Not mystics of midnight.
Not carbonate lovers.
Not friends bittersweet.

To tell me such secrets
and tease my ear tickle
Yet leave me so twisted
awaiting the words

No, no-whispered lover
will lift from my tonic
to light-kiss my apples
and gift me some light.

021808

I learned to put pepperjack cheese in my eggs from innocently sleeping with a man I barely knew, and I learned my best make-up trick from a long term boyfriend I never once kissed.

Tree Sparrow

I am not the girl you loved.
She has taken
terminal to illness
gone to the sickness you exposed.
No I am not the one you've come for.
I am the bitch who took her place.
Who took your heart
and knew it would hurt
but did it anyway.
No. I am the iceworm.
white and pale.
with blood dark blue and pulsing.
under skin that was always too thin.

Erin.

Today
you are the grin across my face.

She's just sleeptalking again.

To sit in solemn silence
writing cider after writer
sipping milling juices wider
and I don't know where I come from.

Save the babies in the houses
filled with nibble munching mouses.
And my thoughts can't be so random
bastard campers leave a phantom.

Spouting verbs across the planet.
And you fuckers left me here.
Drowning, drowning in your backwash
as your dainty yellow trousers
lifted high above the peasants
moaning bellows at your ear.

Can't you even face your lovers?
Frightened women, common mothers
with the gentle men of corners
shedding wires twice a night.

Bleed me naked from the body
Leaving nothing here but naughty.
Just an echo echo sounding
through your dreams each every winter.

And I'm nothing but a splinter
Nagging deeper in your heart-valve.
Never bother where I came from.
Where I'm going's only here.

020608

lily white valley
caress down the throat
slide thick past the tonsil
and over the moat

020608

Kaleidescope children
drift on past your head.
and Elton can't sing
like John Paul can.
Graphite. Pickles. Amsterdam.
But Raisinettes.
But Raisinettes.
But Raisinettes.
But Raisinettes.

And still.

Did you never read my prose?
Or did I never give you the chance?

You are my, Nutella-cake.
To scrape your insides with a butter knife
To suck off every last sugar-lick
Sweet hazelnut and chocolate.

You are my, mid-summer high.
And you loved me by the water
And you loved my in the night
Sneaking in an opened window.

For pizza's just as good
the second day and cold.
And winter's snowblown spell
escapes your springtime mood.

To slide the shirt above the head.
And clothes melt off like frozen cream
Down the tawny waffle cone
Down the sticky little fingers.

My muse-not muse.
To share my love again, and again.
and poems filled with lovers crossed.
Again, and again.

I.

miss you.

012308

Snow is blowing wildly in the wind- low across the highway. I feel like my headlights are guiding me through ocean waves and the seduction of riptides. The 'brights' lever keeping rhythm with those traveling towards, and then past me. The dark road is covered in snow, and even worse- the occasional ice. But there is safety carved on the pavement by those who have come before me. I am driving slow- everyone is driving slow- below the speedlimit. Either by caution of dangerous roads, or by the overwhelming vision of the winter night sky. The clear black scattered with points of light is awe enough but to bring the darkness swelling with the light of the full moon is almost unbearable ecstasy. I am watching the sky, when I should be watching the road. But I am watching the road. But mostly, I am watching the moon.

012108

You will pour down me
like water and wine
- from cool summer rains -
down the sunburned throats,
laughing children,
too young for the burn that
fills the stomach
and makes the minds open
and turn
as the pages of a farietale.

Your voice will be
like candlelight.
Making everything soften
after a lifetime of florescence
blaring to expose
every hurt
etched across the body.

And you
will make me beautiful.

ready or not.

fucking

fuck

I want to kick something

like

a wall

fuck

and typing is like
trying to slam the phone on someone
with a cordless phone

CLICK!

hahahahhaa

no,

you are ready

you are ready

You've never been more ready.

because I am leaving in two days

and we can't go innertubing

and I had to say goodbye to my friends

and to my sister, and my nephew

and my mother is loosing her mind

like really

and its scaring me

and I am tired of crying

and tired of being mad

and tired of not packing

and I don't want to leave Choxie

and I don't want to leave you

and I don't feel like I am ready for this one bit

and my cat will probably die while Im gone