Tag Archives: men
THE LIZARD’S VELVET HAND
Wanderers this morning came by,
Where did they go,
Graceful in the morning light,
To banner fair,
To follow you softly,
In the cold mountain air.
Jesse,
I don’t know what I have done
I’m turning myself into a demon.
I don’t know what I have done
I’m turning myself into a demon.*
Loneliness definitely has a face and she stared at me along with all [...]
Posted in B.L.O.G Big Long Open Gash, Why Do You Write? Also tagged bedlamism, Big Long Open Gash, China Town, Fleet Foxes, lizards, New York, Warmth 2 Comments
I STILL SPEAK LOUDLY
It is getting colder here,
the eyes dry and heavy,
the heavy step as I drift to you.
I feel as if I could lie down
and would sink through the third, second and first floors
all the way to the core, while the beeping of the dishwasher
still annoyed me as I entered the gravity of magma at Earth [...]
SWEAT WARM WISHING
And so here is this night again, with supposedly the same stars but the earth spins, doesn’t it: so what stars are in the blue sky that we don’t see, come day? Perhaps they are just the same as the ones I breathe in through the cooling darkness, just cyclical – as in, perhaps they are the [...]
A VIBRANT SENSE OF VANISHING
Trinity of love, converging possibilities, the forks in the road.
I have a life loosely based on two men, and the death
of a superstar who didn’t want to be a star, only super.
Don’t you sense me ready to wake in the world, and exist
only in love, and everywhere in life? I am lifted into the sweat [...]
THE ICE FIELD
You who sit around me, waiting; for which snap?
There is a fire, the dried rain on the weatherboards,
a hollow twig ridiculing itself in the flames.
You may not ever read this, but I try to read you.
I have been doing a lot recently; it tires my eyes though
and I am restless with reading. The saucepans, the [...]
FRUIT ON MY SHORES
I add another of my scribings from the hilltop sky verandah (full of spiders) which I was living in at Palm Beach for a while. The spiders definitely moved in for the scenery: my screenwriting friend, the fine Blake, and I held a good fiesta. Top hats, devilish black capes trimmed in velvet, ash and [...]
The Stillest I Have Ever Been
The morning is a mystery to me. It is the same with the rain falling. If it is raining, what is it? I guess you
in the morning must send imaginary letters to me because I wake up with them at my eyeballs, distant and sleep drowned, along with a maddened glance thrown from this other man, further [...]
HEAT OF THESE MOMENTS