Thursday, May 21, 2009

Summer apples.

How truthfully the apple falls.
It knows how to fall.
How to rot and how easy
it is to lie among friends,
when the sun shines out like an answer.

Monday, May 18, 2009

Olaf observes a poeyatree reading.

Ridiculous branch of poeyatree. -McGuire

these poeyits are reeding poeums
to a large awedeeince who sit on chairz
in a room wide as an olympic swimming pool.

they listen with their ears to hear,
with their eyes to see, the mouths
to taste the humble poeyatree.

they understood by laffing or knowing nodingly.
but not one utter of their utterance
was complete understand or comprehend.

they spoke honestly of how the whirld
had experienced them. of a dark red
streek of emoshone. of the thoughts that
inhabited their brain.

and o so warm waz the room with the poeyum
the heat of their bodies. and the beer so coaled
on my throat balansed me so with the fizz of its tang.
made some moments delishus.

i like the poeyits and the poeyitesses.
the whole poeyat earth. even the awfil
poeyats. words made completely naive.

i will deafinitely return. i is
simply for the peephole.
and now i awash with golden
grin of stupid happiness am.

for the poeyits are finnished,
and nothing has been said,
the lights are dimmed,
everyone leaves for the door.
i trip up delibrately as i go
because i enjoy mistakes.

one day
i may even
make my own
on that proud stage.

Monday, May 11, 2009

If honest you make me feel.

Even the hangman grows sentimental - McGuire

I love you very much
I think about you a lot

I consider the muscles of your naked shoulders.
The taut skin. Your still eyes. The delicate blinds
of your eyelashes, what you carry,
all more than they are.

I love you because I am alive with you.
We share that blizzard in common.
For you to die, be taken, what is that?
That is a mystery to me.
For me to die, be taken, what is that to you?

Despite death, most remarkable of all
is quite how alive you are when you are still
and breathing. It will be as though we had never
even touched, when the eyes fold for good,
sweeping away our very being. Become intangible.

I love you very much
I think about you a lot

Saturday, May 09, 2009


Painting by Michael Endo

Barricaded on all sides,
the hyenas are everywhere.

Solitude is a necessity,
for that which does not
conceal itself loses definition.

Solitude builds out
of sorrow strength
which defeats crowds.

But bad poetry is
everywhere trying
to unblock the spirit
and make itself known.

There is nothing to elevate
the loneliness people
this is the way it is.

Romanticism and sentiment:
liars throughout the centuries.
Realism wipes it arse over
and over again. Dies old and
bitter having learned faith
in rooms of God's infinite silence.