Narcissa

is as
she does.

The Parting Gift

One pill.
Two pill.
Red pill.
Blue pill.

One to make you taller.
One to make you smaller.
Two is greater than one.
One is stronger than two.

Red or Blue?

One pill.
Two pill.
Red pill.
Blue pill.

Red for the moment,
Blue to take in time,
The two together
make for a fantastically
fucked up rhyme.

One pill.
Two pill.
Red pill.
Blue pill.

Still stiff as a board,
Even with the help
of each passing
cocktail;

One pill.
Two pill.
Red pill.
Blue pill.

All together, now.
Swallow the poison
for an indigo haze,

translucent skin.

One vein.
Two vein.
Red vein.
Blue vein.

One to the heart.
One to the lung.
Red or Blue?
No matter -

It’s all recycled blood.

One vein.
Two vein.
Red vein.
Blue vein.

Open wide,
captured time.
Turn the world
upside right

too late.

One pill.
Two pill.
Red vein.
Blue vein.

the key

I swallowed the key
to bind a contract,
from a long time ago.

Remember? I told you.

The contract,
made on the floor of
my bedroom
with tears of
wanting spilling onto
pages unwritten
written and scrawled -

Only once did I
attempt to extract it
to save it
to unlock
my cage,
but
couldn't commit
couldn't remember
that it was lodged in
my gut (no one ever told me),
not my heart,
and so am left
with a scar
in the wrong place
marking my mistake
my failure
as proof
I am undesirable.

Sometimes I forget,
about the key
about my scar

I am reminded though,
not by the sight of it,
my scar,
or the sick of it,
my key,
but by the gifts they give,
in passing,
before they leave.

pressed petals.
a ring of glass.
wind chimes.
sunflowers.
dog tags.
an alligator clip.
a patterned tea cup.
a bedtime story.

See,
they give
only
trinkets
found
in passing,
some small something
that reminded them of me,
or rather something to remind
me of them once they leave.

Never something
to keep,
to unwrap,
to unfold,
to nurture,
in their Presence -

Only something to
tangle,
untangle,
shatter,
kill,
and rebirth
over and over
in their Absence.

And so,
my scar
remains.
And
the key
remains
lodged
until
I throw it up
or shit it out
or digest it
completely
out of existance.

what i've heard of you

comes from your lips.

blue walls
covered in script.

repainted

replantings
on a type writer
still typing
even after death,

reborn to a future
of retypes
replacements
and re-edits.

sweat covered bottles
drowning the rain.

rainbows
infringing
on the last night.
the last cigarette.

until the next
brings smoke
to your lips,
tounges your lungs.

the reintroduction
of your death.

creative bliss
at the hands of
a self indulgent mother.
the pet project task masker
who built you a home

white washed to mask
the blue, the script
of a fevered mind, to shakle
the shaking riddled hand.

Risen
from this cage
a Phoenix;
enflamed wings
singeing the soul
of those
windswept without
stories of their own.

Bitter winds whip beaks,
tickle the under belly
of those
too afraid
of their own shadow
to fly free.

Instead,

we line up in
formation
beak to tail

as the
Phoenix

draws Circles
on the wind.

The Manifest

You've tired of dancing.

It doesn't work
when everyone leads,
and there's no follow.

Or one dances the blues
while the other tries
to swing, or lindy, or foxtrot
or whatever.

You're like a goddamn
drunk detective
trying to decipher
children's rhymes
wedding photos
the moon's smile.

In search of...

What?

Thought -
Robert Plant?
Hercules?
The father to
the blond daughter
you meet
every now and again
in you're dreams?

Child,
you were never
special.

The waltz is
a dance from
before your
time,
boxy and awkward
on a girl
as locked as you.

You're surprised
when you get what
you ask for -

when you let
your guard down
with the help of
summer rain
roof plays
and good beer?

Girl,
you've been
had by all
that before;

the master plan,
man's tattooed hands.

Congratulations, dear,
you have finally
found love.

And lost your innocence,
your writer's smile.


Vicious.
Venomous.
Vexing.
Uncontrollable
and Inconsolable.

Everything you
never wanted to be
all because you
asked before thinking,
gave it away
without gaining -

the full story.

Woman,
you are in love
with a man
who has made you his
enemy.

You've got your own
story now.

It's a shame
that this lying in wait,
keeps you from finding
the words to keep it.

I'll help you along.

Push through
with words of
wisdom -

FORK

Woman,
Laugh at yourself.

Child,
Love yourself.

Girl,
Live with yourself.

It's all you can do.

mistaken identity

Your paintings never tell the rooftop view.

Never show the sweat from our beers
cooling the evening humidity
against separate palms.

Never reflect bottle necks
forgotten by the fluidity of
innocence.

Never replicate
death gasps or
compartmentalize
the childless mother
the motherless child
in the dark sluttish corners
of the mind.

How they were
hung out to dry in cobbed webs,
mentioned, discussed, then
forgotten for the night
by the repetition of a
mutual catching of breathe
by one, then the other.


an accidental brush of fingertips against the wrist
as silver ringed fingers met silver bracelet tips
to say;

Look, we are the same.

Our likeness, that which
drew us together,
disintegrates with
each question
each false answer
each moment of retreat
into sluttish corners,
soiled bed sheets.

But as you did, I do -
recycle the pain -
never allow in moments
before we met,
when we were left
by another -
when hearts suddenly
contracted upon themselves
and only released upon
the turning of stones,
which never amounted to
anything but
a new contraction
against a heart
no longer strong
enough to fight.

Here is the sound of silver bracelets saying;

Look, we are the same.

I am tired of the questions,
the times when we are together
and more alone then ever.

I am ready to relinquish our mistakes.

I want yours.
I want to give you mine.
I want to release what we have made into ours.

I want to be face to face and
find a new rooftop and good beer.
I want to say;

Look, we are the same.

and move on in a different way.

I Will

free write 01.05.08

Tommorow I'm going to go to Race Street Friends.
I will wake up early.
I will buy tokens.
I will NOT DRIVE.
I will wear suspenders,
If only to suspend my amythest haze.
I will plan only what is needed for movement.
I will get lost.
I may get found (blight?)
I will look up the definition of blight.
I will be parted

down the seam and not
question where I am carried

even if it is experimental.
I will love the music of
those I find
I will rest
I will keep my eyes open

to the rain
to the shine

I will flux with not knowing
I will double up with

myself and the other

I will wear no underwear.
I will pause to think

about the fact that I am not
wearing any underwear.

I will be frantic.
I will be hysterical.
I will be fine.
I will be beautiful and see that beauty
I will celebrate like it's my birthday
I will wear my birthday suit

urgently momentarily

I will eat cake
I will wear my mother's slip

with pride

I will think of baseball.
I will catch asteroids and

send them on their way
as shooting stars.

I will be
I will be

fine

alright.

Me and Lloyd

01.05.08

I am free.
But locked away
with no key.

Outside is contained
within the mind
all thought through
constant revolving doors.

Inside is womb
floating echoing warmth
free as dreams
with no key.

In Light

Light

in the 

reaching out

the meeting 

the music 

still revolving

in my car stereo;

Luminecence's 

Twilight.

Light in

the prayer

before you

place food

to your lips,

in the mantra 

beads hung

from your neck.

Light

in the words

"I'll leave after

one more,"

in the silence of

your stillness,

with hands upon

the knees -

But there is a

grey that I am

having trouble 

following -

the breaks 

in thought

with giggles

and laughter

belonging only

to you.

Grey in

the violence 

you mention,

the descriptions

of light and dark,

the explanation of

the little evil 

following me

around.

But the Light.

You are inspired,

a muse unto yourself,

but the grey seems

to be filtering in.

Love,

in Light,

I am here.

Stay.

in Stillness 

with me until

the grey 

dissipates.

Friend,

here there

are those that

love you and

are holding our

hands and hearts

out to you.

Accept this Light,

this Love,

and let's make

it right.

It's all evil.

Yes -

but 

Still

You 

and I

We

All

want 

you to

stay -

You 

in

Light.

You

are worth

more than

only a split 

moment of 

Stillness,

of just one 

Song.

Take the time

to be still

and make

your song right.