inside the fractured memory of an automobile,
the waxing and waning of the spoon,
upon a timeless piece of mind furniture,
brings me into the new room.
silver soldiers sit on shell-shocked haunches
tarnished and puzzled-
not as alert as they once were.
meanwhile gravity in the room makes lightheaded
messes of everybody, including me.
static electricity makes hairs stand on end.
the luck pond has been drained
leaving behind seaweed
and sick kids on the mend.
the morning light is welcomed with sighs
and great mountains of cereal
while my fuzzy tape deck
is trying its hardest to make friends sane
and friends of friends become friends
and bones warm on week nights.
dance moves differ depending on the day
and the amount of abandon.
you are more careless than me.
Thursday, November 27, 2008
Sunday, April 20, 2008
this is wind in the willows.
this is not bravery,
i am trying to form a clear picture in my misty head;
truth over mystery.
a caravan next to the sea
with no cyclones in sight.
my ear listens to my pillow at night
and i am giving it my best shot
to dream superfluous dreams.
i hear the drawl of idiot-tongue
and cactus words from my memory.
my hands carve stone steps that lead up to your mouth
as you rest on the riverboat, amongst the willows.
those oars are not ornaments, you know.
Wednesday, March 19, 2008
a black bat flies out of my street as i enter on my bicycle. how is this night going to end? will my head hit the pillow and flow forth a stream of peculiar dreams? darker that the bat's breath? or will my bicycle topple into the river of silent night, chain and bell complacent in the murky stream?
am i weaker than a gust of wind or stronger than a snowstorm? fighting bouts of laughter, or too serious for the library? an ocean, or fog on the window? breakfast or lunch? none of my stories make sense, anyway, but i hope the light is strong and warm and a small gust won't topple me.