Saturday, December 11, 2010

a sputnik descending in my mind
into a sour moon 
dipped in my childhood memories of 
mercury magic
but swarmed by sequences of numbers
meaningful only for some 
impossibly sharp minds
sitting in their sofas 
watching coldly raising waves 
of randomness and false patterns
yet the only thing i hear
is a weak signal
and waves breaking on
my memories of a yellow nylon ball
imitating that sour moon

Thursday, October 28, 2010

he could see the writing on the wall
his house wasn't his house anymore
he inherited his father's disappointments
and he could not
would not
build a home 
on a desolate ocean of discontent
such as his

Flashback: March 16, 1998

                                                 in
late days                                       and
bargaining late hours                            of
                                         every ache
                                         everything
and anything
besieged by deliberate
sharp edges of burning temper
which is delinquently sore
in every respect                                 is
washed away by                          nothingness

touch

the
absolute
innocence                           lying calmly on

solipsism's ladder of words                    sank
                              vessels of perception
                                              which
is read                                      killed
in one of three
thousand ways

i don't know
which one                                   the way
                                          the arrow
                                            of time
                                                was

Thursday, October 21, 2010

she quashed this family
  without mercy
this ragtag group of people
  poisoned with sarcasm
  drunk to stupor with self-pity
with the ease of an 
  understated gesture of kindness 
  of giving a plumb
to a scared and distracted 
  little girl
  wrapped in city's crazy crowd

Tuesday, October 12, 2010

we penciled our wars in
our fears and insecurities
like a multiple choice exam
a is a rejection
melancholia is a b
bad sex is a c
and d happens to be
sins of withdrawal from
sweaty erotica
and we get to clean 
the museum of individual guilt 
that we build out of our history
our memory
if we succeed

Friday, September 24, 2010

one of the alter-egos i left in my closet
the one with regrets in its pockets
  and a few cats
is what i need now to quash 
this pulsating permanent pain behind
  the unashamed micro truths 
the dead and forgotten feast on
  with memories which don't belong to them
at strange nights when daemons 
  with bras that looked like puffy clouds 
sliced moons and courted precarious comets 
  all at the same time
why 
i don't know

Wednesday, September 22, 2010

far beyond darkness, away from our madness
our crisply folded words have been slaughtered by
the faint images of distant shores of faulty whispers

there, the lowly servants of 
   our disjointed bits of consciousness
grimace at the witnesses of the carnage
and cut down bodies with 
   a glowing delirium in their eyes

the grisly mechanics of our bodies get in the way though
while a confused metaphysics weighs down our minds
   not knowing how to ask the right questions