Log in

User Profile
Writing &c

Below are the 25 most recent journal entries.

[ << Previous 25 ]


  2006.05.12  01.17

watery wiggle and without weeping
sweeps a lake around my windowed room
from the curtains round the white walls whirling
to settle against a drowsing broom

don't wake him for he waits upon it
to fly through the eyes of stars
for they penetrate the fountains of universes
and when touched desire cries that it's so far

missing memories slip by undecided
and dreams struggle to recover that other world
through flight we will lose our slow illusions
and leave each euclidean plane curled


  2006.04.11  19.53



who is
crying out



the river is
washing through

the river is

the river is

it all.


  2006.02.11  18.15

the sun is setting
behind the mountains, leaving
a colorless light

blossoms on fruit trees
are illuminated white
innocent, early


  2006.01.29  00.26

See how
the river's mouths
writhe in starlight
as a script is written
over her skin.
And yet the water bears you
No balance is needed
here, a heavy soul
would lead you to her dark heart,
where you would rest,
a white stone.
She will not take me, though,
and he will not take me.
A million mouths and none
can rouse me.


  2006.01.29  00.11

Let my blind fingers
trace your touchless face.

Do not close your eyes against me
but let these fingertips
sail each small dark sightless sea.

Do not grow white souls, but stay,
unwriggling, and still.


  2006.01.28  23.35

Never should I have said oh love
that you would be dead to me
for as death you live forever
in me.

I see you sideways
like an absent shadow
and step forever forward into
a bleary day. And so we clamber
more bestial than animals
moaning and hiccuping in procession
towards the fire.

Yet it is not a funeral pyre,
it is a celebration of our spiral round its light.

Indeed I will celebrate, looking forward to the day
when its flames will lick my skull clean
and you will have a place no longer
in me.


  2006.01.15  19.01

look how
the season's rainclouds
drift heavily towards the soil, and,

a shimmer of water tumbles down
to the open earth

so that weed seeds will split open
and grow the earth green, but we

bow peacefully

and descend more deeply within the darkness,
seeds ourselves,

seeds of peace (opening)
into night's embrace.


  2005.12.15  01.55

I present you
a self portrait
of my dour lipsticked lips
and body beneath it
swathed in insufficient central heating
and the thermostat's disapproving hum

I went
to the bar tonight, to play the game of flirting
with fellow former criminals, who have split open
hearts and eyes and left cold sallow bodies behind
our gazes lilting, ritualistically expressing innocence

I walked through the bracken city
its electric lights beaming beatifically through the haze
of cloying moisture which settles upon your exposed skin
--O northern california

and we listened carefully
to the sound of absence

no one knows what I have done, not even I
for I have left myself behind

as that being love left


Listen carefully to the sound of absence
--O northern california

that being love left

I went
to the bar tonight


  2005.11.19  14.32

a million horses just ran by.
one of them told me
about you. he said
that I shouldn't be fooled.
You would walk in like you owned the place
when you hadn't a thing. You would cover yourself in ashes
when you were covered in sin. Your circus soul would carouse about
and paint the town black. Black as a black bear in the black night
looking for the black hat of metaphysics:
but you wouldn't look for a fucking hat in the daytime.

Because that is too easy

I stood after the horses in the middle of a long quiet dust cloud
and, knowing what I know now,
I would have let them pound over me
and break me apart
here, in this quiet night,

I listen to dreambeings extinguish themselves like little flameless flies
though I have my hat. you are my no one,
my neverending not now,

my open, touchless heart.

waiting, after the horses, for them to run back again,
and for it to mean something this time.

This night goes on forever and you are
not in it. The heart does not beat.
Everything is deleting itself and
I am enclosed in mirrors. I cannot breathe.
I stand at the crossroads and know that
each path leads

to the homes of strangers.


  2005.11.12  11.56

here is the peace of prairies, plains
only speaks the wind
again, again
and the birds are words
rushing between its fingers, breath
and the earth whispers
a murmur of its round and whirling rest


  2005.10.09  20.51

sometimes my heart unweaves
over an empty grave
and I know not
who when wherefore

sometimes my luminous body
bathes in a dream of peace
and I forget myself
and my dark habit

but then compulsively my hands return
to the loom of my heart
searching for threads of light
to pull them apart
and feed them to the mouth of sorrow
my only child


  2005.10.09  20.50

The sign says closed, the window's dark
but you have entered on a lark.
You find a switch and turn on the lights; a few still work.
The velvet curtain gleams red and bright.

And you imagine a girl's red lips,
her dusky eyes, a possible kiss.
So you approach the stage and part the curtain.
Lo, the stage is darker than night.
Yes, it's certain, it's dusty and stark.
All performers and audiences left it long ago.
Young one, the theatre is closed.

No one is coming
and it will not open


  2005.09.30  21.21
one last try

on the edge of
this blue sea
we shall build a town to make an empress proud

on the edge of
this blue sea
we shall string up colored lights
and sell candy

for the nights
on the edge of

with its lovely soothing endless drone

need only some tourists
to be transformed

into a vibrant facade
set against a shimmering blue body
and the endless viscous universe it hides

so let's open a hotel, a gallery, a postcard shop, anything at all
on the edge of
this blue sea


  2005.09.19  19.35

hey look it's
look it's hey look
it's hey it's look hey

your round face
is a memory from the
other side of time

cause I dug through the heat
to find you

sleeping, waiting for me
to come round the round way

and then you
said you hey you
said then you said hey
look it's hey it's you
said hey you look it's you

and you turn, your shoulder and hips are
mountains, stretched over the earth
and I fly

over your turns I wing, still,
searching for your face


  2005.09.18  20.35

Your green tapping skin
sits, folded over itself,
like an oceanic chair
of soft seaglass. And each line
is traced by one salty green tear
sliding down, a sculptural fountain
of quiet sorrow. No one
dares to sit there.

I invite you, cruelly,
to smear red rouge, wax, blood on my lips
til it drips down around my open mouth.
And to cover my eyes with dark and dirty coal.
And to primp my scraggling hair
as if there was hope to make
this tired, used body
beautiful again

as it once was, perhaps,
in someone's eyes.

Slow silent water continues to trace your form.

From my mouth emerges a face, clean, new, with glittering eyes.

With so many green folds, can't I simply part one
and slip into a dark passageway
to escape our images and obscenely naive histories
and simply find you in the night
as you really are?

Or you could climb into my fire
and sing until the great celestial clouds wing in
and swallow us into peace.

Or we could sit here, trash become art become trash again,
a useless chair and a smelly puppet,
addressing each other endlessly
without conclusion

wet in the rain,
dry in the sun.


  2005.09.16  20.34

one woman
lightly used
she is here

see her
skin, not too

see her
breasts, not
too small,
not too long

see her
cunt, not too
wide, not
too dry

see her
eyes, not too
pretty, not too

take her
use her
til you tire
then leave her
with the flies

she's yours for


  2005.09.04  21.04

I am full
of things to say. I am empty
of your language.

find me, find me
who knows

my language. I have
something to say. I want
my listener

who knows
why I
no longer try, no longer am
willing to try after
so many

affectionate, anonymous
degredations and mornings
after, swollen & red

love, you are
my own creation. I am
calling you: someone
who knows

the truth.


  2005.09.04  17.28


a vulture is always interested in encounters
he pretends not to listen for the scream of capture
but then he flies quietly overhead

he will come back later
and see what is left
for him and his friends

and the honor of the dead
will be pecked away


  2005.07.30  21.55

lemme do a little pattering raindance
here in this dusty dirt for you
lemme call forth the bounty of the heavens
here in this dusty dirt for you

come on, come on, come on, your children are waiting,
waiting for love
so bring the rain down, rain down and make everything green and dark, it's all
waiting for love

I'm not a good dancer but I can clap my hands and whirl around
and sometimes the heavens listen
and extend, bellowing, calling out for us to prepare for rain
and sometimes the heavens listen

so rain, rain, rain, rain down love
and get it all wet
and rain, rain, rain down love
and get it all clean


  2005.07.15  18.07


again I
surge towards your
non appearance

because I know
you are
behind it

(from past


each night
I have been your
and your
and your detective and
your hunter

I have watched
your wind like footsteps
pass through the water, grass
of my dreams
with an idle eye
apart from dreaming

and I have
your traceless

and felt that breath
which is
the nearest you have
to a shadow


still, still
you run ellipses around me, high and low
and I despair
hungry, bones
surrounded by bounty

but it's you
I want

(because you said
you wanted me)


  2005.07.09  22.47

Scrabbler with your rings of scorn what are you digging for?

The stones go on forever beneath us, traveling through closed passageways more slowly than death, soundless words each and every one.

Scrabbler with your empty rings did you lose the glimmering jewels? Did you lose a stone of light, or a perfect coin? Scrabbler, with your dirty tears, have you grown poor, have you been robbed?

One Word

you had, only, and what did it mean? Your heart rolls and rattles like a torn purse, with a few pennies, begging with a crazy voice. Scrabbler, what are you begging for? Do you know what would give you peace at last?

Scrabbler, the earth has been torn open. When enough tears are shed over her wound, it will burst forth with healing life. Your heart is full and flooding, so open the purse with its holes anyway. Forget the coins and reverse the cups, let them become hourglasses, eyes, stars, sheer light. Let it burst forth with a mountainous waterfall of sorrow. Your love

must be forged in the desperate heat of loss and sacrifice. Open it up and give it away

into the earth. (So long as it is yours it will burn you.)

Scrabbler, they are here, with their great hands and endless skies. (The giant spirits, the endless dragons.) They are here.

Give your rings of scorn away to the earth who holds you.


  2005.07.03  12.35

soul, your bones
turned to stone

as white as the moon
where mosquitoes
implant their little

and after love
ran its course
you sweated out all the tears & milk
and your belly hardened
into a dry ocean

now, your wide hand
circles the darkness
in an empty

sometimes white, sometimes red, sometimes black
sometimes calling, sometimes swelling, sometimes turning away

soul, love
has gone on
you closed
your eye and stayed
the elliptical

and though your stone body shatters
you know that the center you will find opens all pathways
over which your myriad multihued body will race
when you open your eye


  2005.06.25  10.54

Let me spin a beautiful
silken body around my brown
periscope self

to dangle flowerlike
from a tree

until I emerge, glistening, toothy,
covered in eyes.


  2005.06.24  14.29

I tap masochistically
on the quantum center
and it throbs with
sorrow, galloping and

into a rolling storm
through which my heart
falls in a yawning
infinite regress,
to endlessly desire
and endlessly


  2005.05.17  23.07

Oh rarely visited God
I have climbed this mountain
to reach your harbor
to escape the wind
which hurtles everywhere with its searching fingers
to clean your dusty shrine.

Oh rarely visited God
I implore you
to protect me.
Will you take as an offering
these tears I cry anyway, or the agony of tiny wounds
on my hands as I rub the stony earth/hardscrabble in frustration?

Oh rarely visited God,
you would have me turn my back to your shrine
and look upon this valley you see and do not see.
You would have me lose myself in this desert,
forget the words and faces, the gestures and incantations,
the theories and teachings.
You would have me sit and contemplate a peaceful lake
while the wind blows dust in my eyes.
Though the lake may be distant, may not be water...

Oh rarely visited God,
sacred distant grey.
Stillness, approaching.
Let me forget the dust against me
and live in the fertility of that which is
not yet quite here.


[ << Previous 25 ]