rose garden

i'm finding currents
and high notes
resolving to eat you with a cracker
scattering seed for sparrows and juncos
i see faces in leaves;
these are my humble people
i will not see them burn
these are my masses
that whisper the warnings
the birds note
the blood on my fingers tells lies
only the earth suffers
as it prepares to receive me.

sonic battle weapons = en garde

las lágrimas por ayer
why do they
sink low
then make my hair numb
before they escape through my eyes

i love you ( abdi ) heba

Centered ( I'm not here )

my ears are bleeding
so are my eyes
my time is fleeting
so is my mind
in the beginning
i was an emperor penguin
you were always a human being
i can try to be charming
engaging
do a marvelous job
adjust to these jeans
become fully articulated
with a smile
but i share the cold with my brothers
who care
focused on the middle
and end to witness another begin.

Elements for a country song

in my proper light

she's not one
hiding in accents and tones
she sees
the moon on her body
the pale distance
to seduction
while time moves against me
my tongue in rapture
cannot last
my hands and words are coarse
my hopes are words that pulse
across my lips to find her
I will not drown
I am driftwood and footsteps from shore.

I am the menacing rat king

Santa = not my friend

backdoor devil

Psssst! Let me inside.

comic cover of the year

http://www.darkhorse.com/profile/profile.php?sku=14-485

james jean

bug tussle

sunday = distant gods

Glucose and bliss

Saturday dinner with maternal grandmother = sweet.

that bastard husband of yours: Au or Ag?

Ellen said
let's make a household poem
where elements of your day
mix with tone to impress the newsandobserver
We'll need a recipe I said
pointing towards the heavens
and lots of love said she pointing towards the floor

lead poisoning

those

cigarette burning eyes

I told her glass doesn't mingle

inside where it's hard to catch the right angle of night

If I could see through the brick

to the plaster

where the insect remains

mingle with her

perfect dust

I could be

eating the chips of paint

peeling from her face

and what rough beast, its hour come at last, slouches toward Bethlehem to be born?

Look who I found at the compare foods in Durham.