the last disciple first

the callen

2012-01-30T17:36:00.000-08:00

maybe i'm just not doing it right
these suggested things
life
recovery
and pain,

all of it.

and maybe
i'm just not going to make it
this can't go on
and neither can i
those words of beckett
a mocking taunt
almost foetal now
anodyne deficient
and shutting down
a disconnected
angst of black sun days
and darker nights
called home as child
to mother void
and then i wake
and then it starts
instantly
no maybe
fuck it

legion

2012-01-29T23:34:00.000-08:00

3 christs

that day

untold

before

or since

formula

2012-01-29T22:17:00.000-08:00

spiritual
subject

dependent
reprieve

the language of the heart

2012-01-29T21:26:00.000-08:00

'my words'

Your Word

'the poems'

hypergraphia

2012-01-29T21:23:00.000-08:00

my
asemic
love

dreading

2012-01-29T19:37:00.001-08:00

death
love
forgiveness

any
future
point

what it would mean
and won't

not me
declaims the world

2012-01-29T17:53:00.000-08:00

If anyone is unwilling to descend into himself, because this is too painful, he will remain superficial in his writing. Lying to oneself about oneself, deceiving yourself about the pretense in your own state of will must have a harmful influence on style; for the result will be that you cannot tell what is genuine and what is false...If I perform to myself, then it’s this that the style expresses. And then the style cannot be my own. If you are unwilling to know what you are, your writing is a form of deceit.

- wittgenstein

this stillness

2012-01-29T04:39:00.000-08:00

settled,
heavy
neither
end nor
storm
nor even
god
this
stillness
before
the fall
the likeness
of love

this business

2012-01-29T02:31:00.000-08:00

of waking each morning
and dying each night
no, more than that
dying between the hours
inside the minutes

this business of plodding on
feeling everything
this business of forgiving
and letting go with love

this whole sorry business
an emptiness to fill

a going concern
i feel like quitting

negation

2012-01-29T02:24:00.000-08:00

no
i've not moved on
(moving on)

no
i'm not with someone else
(with someone else)

no
i can't say that

(all negated)

to welcome winter
in summer

i can forget her

2012-01-29T00:09:00.000-08:00

no more than i can forget
my own name or breathing
becoming an expert observing
thoughts and feelings mass
how they come and go
often unbidden or triggered
and i still here in an absence
an abrupt abbreviation
and how
mind has become
a radar outpost
exposed
remote
watching the blips
swarm/approach/retreat
and never get closer
or
completely leave,
a constant false attack

Arrived at the Place by B. S. Johnson

2012-01-29T00:00:00.000-08:00

Arrived at the place
to which I always
said I was going:

comfortless for lack
of her who chose not
to travel with me:

too aware my way
to wherever next
is also alone.

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/B._S._Johnson

world as monstrance

2012-01-28T21:13:00.000-08:00

pain as harbinger,

no. just is.

and this is a land of fire

cold comfort

untitled grief

native nowhere

self-portrait ends

in failure

all i'm saying

2012-01-28T05:47:00.001-08:00

candle
wavers,
gutters
flames
warps
and
weaves
past
and
future
seems
to speak
i,
still..
burning

demons dare

2012-01-28T01:11:00.000-08:00

their master/slave
recall describe the good
go on they say
searching phone
flicking book of poem
now they laugh
tired of all their sport
twirling amulet
miming drunk
they think that i am weak
quick to hate
little do they know
for i have panic rooms,
vaults and depths
they'll never breach
a shining, perfect love
no pain could ever waste
hidden, endless
even here
attending demons
egress mind
left and right and blur

2012-01-27T23:46:00.000-08:00

My difficulty is only an — enormous — difficulty of expression.

- ludwig wittgenstein

51

2012-01-27T23:37:00.000-08:00

almost as many states
, fuck it
the damage done
wouldn't have her back
anyway
now demons stir
smirk
their little rodent teeth
put on their shoes, pointy ones
smack their lips
retrieve lost numbers
anticipate
euphoria
51
almost a life-time of mourning
weeks of torture
- jesus, look at the state of you
time to call that number
and so it goes
stand up
sit down,
pine
sweat
and pace
fuck it
back to one
one day
one hour
one her
sometimes minutes of haunting archaeology
one love
that keeps its word

demons lie around

2012-01-27T22:34:00.000-08:00

dubbing
leaving vegas
lost weekend
days of wine and roses
others cogitate
wittgenstein
weather fronts
the judas of the gnostics,
all have little fans
wet towels around their necks
some
dismember memories
finding none
worth this pain
a few squat in the corners
look my way
infrequently
they are strong, cunning, patient
smoking king size
to the nub
-he's weakening
they seem to say
still more walk between this room
and shower, opening fridge
one reclines on bed
masturbating
bulbous purple cock dwarfing body/mind
most are restless
hearts consumed with grief
some with hatred
poor demons
dying
clinging
multiplying
ever many formed
these demons i describe

gull rips

2012-01-27T22:16:00.001-08:00

flesh
of peach
eyes
surrounded
by human

demon wrangling

2012-01-27T22:15:00.001-08:00

now cunts
now demons
now cunts again
bleeding

endless

2012-01-27T07:32:00.000-08:00

measuring days, hours
fractured simple moments
with each new onslaught
and always
the same cloaked form
rising up
settling
stabbing
testing
reinventing torment
refining it
perception,
motive
love?
and always
one stark choice
feeling all
or else..
and this exceeds
all i could have known
the grief within forsaken
the rush towards black sun
obsessions kill,
someone's days are numbered

9:38 pm

2012-01-27T05:36:00.000-08:00

eating
the cold,
green apple

cored
by
worms

to
the
essence.

two kinds

2012-01-27T05:12:00.000-08:00

by amending our mistakes, we get wisdom.
by defending our faults, we betray an unsound mind.

- the sutra of hui neng

~

two kinds of suffering,
and i the fool
willing to face them both

many kinds of wound
and the intimate knife
guts the most

3 times defended now

no matter,

may goodness flower
however

poem for the walls

2012-01-27T04:26:00.000-08:00

up against still punching

poem for the shadow empty of pain

poem for the fan
diffusing the torpor of sadness,
38 outside & climbing

poem for the salt in the wound,
a fucking mockery

poem for the candle
burning
for whom and for what

just am.

poem for the mirror
remember to smash

poem for the bookcase and books
deplete of answers

poem for a heretofore unknown anguish,
the world as i took it

poem for the worse kind
and i'm still standing

poem for the 50 days to here
that ludicrous dream
of delusion

love

2012-01-27T00:43:00.000-08:00

as aneurysm,
ruptured

as cancer
fast mutating

yea,
let's wait and see

extremes

2012-01-26T22:41:00.000-08:00

francis

painted

scream

sisyphus

2012-01-26T22:20:00.000-08:00

hits
'50'
demons
clap
applaud
cross
their legs
parasolled
sit atop
his pain

DSM-V

2012-01-26T21:40:00.000-08:00

Autistic Love Disorder
The Judas Love Effect

the solipsist's lament

2012-01-26T05:27:00.000-08:00

you
don't know me at all

diminishing pain
diminishing love

denying everything

electric storm

2012-01-26T03:40:00.000-08:00

fork-tongued
slap & crash of roar
tankers' cargo heart
last rays of sun,
no more

to paraphrase misreadings

2012-01-26T00:48:00.000-08:00

poetry
leads to death,
love to suicide
either that or yr doing it wrong
unsure that i am joking
as all around
demons whoop
and howl
slap their knees
spill
their little drinks
knock sideways brimming ashtrays
and skim read books
- fucking nuts, all of me
now they pause,
not so sure
exchange
uneasy
looks

my unknown

2012-01-26T00:18:00.000-08:00

days like this..
lingering for death
who never comes
but does

rendition

2012-01-26T00:15:00.000-08:00

jihad 3am's

& i have
only begun

a personal
reckoning

~~redacted~~

but not
for long

jack and jilt

2012-01-26T00:13:00.000-08:00

went up a hill
all you need to know

word by word

2012-01-25T23:27:00.000-08:00

towards
an equilibrum

forgiveness
takes time

& it's good to have

'forever'
a side issue now

( & knowing more
than you think)

the human face

2012-01-25T23:09:00.000-08:00

in
history
in motion
eaten inside out

not a typo

2012-01-25T23:08:00.000-08:00

all poets are lovers.

she is a poet.

therefore..

all poets are ~~liars~~ lyres

grass grows over

2012-01-25T22:44:00.000-08:00

burn marks
42° today
& the further in
the less i want
choused & choice
make sure of it

a factual list

2012-01-24T23:24:00.000-08:00

resentment,
a violent temper
dishonesty
a way with words
obviously
sound familiar?
and i loved her,
i loved it all
(still do)
so let me
list the ways
all the other ways
just not today,
not today
stuck in something else
the flipside you could say
and my arm is bleeding red

if only i could grasp

2012-01-24T22:41:00.000-08:00

all
that it wasn't
i might describe
beautiful
and honest
things
all that she was
then wasn't

if only
sadness
could be transformed
then i could see
all that it was
and be done with pain

(a many splendour'd thing)

if only
the impossible 'i'
could untie knots of ego,
see thru suffering
transmute
then i would know
beyond this trespassed heart
that fugacious sweetness...

if only,
and fine for the saints
but i am here
lost
in 'us' and 'i'
dying thru
a thing i can't describe
beautiful
and painful
and honest

hard to see the point

2012-01-24T21:44:00.000-08:00

carried thru a wasteland
to believe in much
with yr heart ripped out
thru guts
and flushed
hard to comprehend
either hope or love
as anything more than letters
mockingly arranged
hard to understand
the casual ease of cruelty
to see a promise
let alone all ten
hard to imagine thru nights
tormented
how 1 or 100
could hurt
any more
than this
hard to see
the point of acceptance
dissolving
over and over
and back again
into a cold, hard baseness
hard to imagine
why not
simply leaving
a new assault each morning
and evanesce or euthanize
the chorus
and yes
sometimes i understand the news
the why and wherefores
clutching for
forgiveness

like road rage

2012-01-24T21:02:00.000-08:00

when you want
to kill
to scream
fuck now
fuck then
fuck this
fuck everything
the fucking lies
and then you realise
this is the whole fucking point
not escaping the pain
powerless over love
or lack thereof
inarticulate
with rage

felonious monk

2012-01-24T02:11:00.000-08:00

inch davis

chief baker

so on.

billboards sell relief

2012-01-24T01:29:00.000-08:00

one more day of hell
to fill,

productively.

there now, that didn't hurt
did it?

'i hope it burns your fucking feet'

his breath
short and fast and shallow
and of course
once that goes everything's gone

(body follows mind)

and now
it occurs to him
what's happened
once
twice
four times so far
and so on
was once
inconcieveable
and yet so obvious now

CAT stops.

relief of street

huge graves
within the station

i only wanted
Summer, anything
but this

not so much agape

2012-01-24T00:52:00.001-08:00

or even program now

a gaping wound

you close and open

approximately

forever

entity

2012-01-23T03:02:00.000-08:00

now it's back
(a 3hr respite)
that darkness
she tried to fill
until she couldn't
and walked away,
then turned on me..
and that's alright,
i can hardly lay blame
as it descends again
and i am sober
getting to know
its sense and power
intimately
and sometimes
it's all i can do
to exorcise with words
dissolve
and re-imagine
her,
me
and it
spilling now
everywhere

john got it young

2012-01-22T22:23:00.000-08:00

on the streets of London
six stone nothing
and dying
a weeping sore
three months hooked to tubes
he tore to get his fix before
they strapped him down,
the nut-house and big house
of Dublin before eighteen
and of the six came in
only he remains,
madness, murder, suicide and AIDS
thirty three years sober
today
a gentleman
the kind that makes me cry
will always give
and shake your hand
a testament
to Him who has...

inside me

2012-01-22T21:52:00.000-08:00

when she left
or when i knew she'd left,
really knew
i was drinking out back
watching 3 rats
trace the neighbors fence
it was dusk again
nine months on
and i was still insane
tortured
by an absence
today i know
i never knew
and hope to fill
when the rats have left
in me

tearing free

2012-01-22T21:23:00.000-08:00

of the cross
setting down
the bottle,
the drugs
like nails
letting go
of magdalene
a beginning at least
and it is truly awful
to admit
i nailed myself
with false beliefs
and a little help
of course
all those years
i hung
and suffered
and thought
i loved
the view

francis said

2012-01-22T07:22:00.000-08:00

- i've always thought of friendship
as where two people
really tear one another apart
and perhaps in that way
learn something from each other

and i guess
that makes us
legends
experts,
learn'ed

that this
dull
somatic
ache
of days
i carry
confirms
his take

a visceral
deformed
nerve

that salt
would now suffice
i'm good
and raw
and flayed

a cold chamber resident in waiting

and i will never hurt you

another quote

fine sentiment my friend

places

2012-01-22T05:54:00.000-08:00

i'd like to see
before the end

andalusia

the other side
of here

i was keen

2012-01-22T02:36:00.000-08:00

ripe

already bruised

she leaned across
and smiled

i embraced this fate

the rest like they say
is history

symmetry/asymmetrical

2012-01-22T02:09:00.000-08:00

missed calls: none
received calls: none
numbers dialed: none

what it means to be me

2012-01-22T01:47:00.000-08:00

i couldn't say,
stabbing illumination
hand on the switch
the honesty to know
it's all a lie, mostly
that we die
original copies
that the spark
will not be found
in you
or any recognition
and what it means
i couldn't say
and was it worth it
ahhh...
hand on the switch
the honesty to know at least
we die alone
that it took
all of 70 odd words
to get here
a fumbled fuck in '68
that leaving
will
be easy

in six more

2012-01-22T00:30:00.000-08:00

weeks
months
years
more
or less
that moment
preceding time
will come
and all of this will end
mind
eye
touch
gone
no
need
want
pain
or death
i'm counting on it
maybe
silence
maybe
rest

malediction (demon note)

2012-01-22T00:07:00.000-08:00

there was nothing
to love in you,

nothing.

that first black-out
beginning of truth

the rest
remembered
as a long goodbye

welcome back
it's been a while

- they say

PANOPTICON

2012-01-22T00:01:00.000-08:00

OF ONE
TRACKING THOUGHTS

NO ESCAPE THE MIND

a box, a cage, an overwhelming hatred

2012-01-21T07:55:00.000-08:00

this room
of three orange walls

and always
my
deformed
distortion

there,
by the window
(~~there,~~
~~on the bed~~)
there,
by the bookcase
there,
on the floor

a study
a treatment

an image torn

disintegrating

three orange walls

crucifixion 1933 - francis bacon

2012-01-21T06:29:00.000-08:00

spell my name

2012-01-21T02:07:00.000-08:00

you fuck

P-A-I-N

that's right

T-O-R-M-E-N-T

you fuck

inverse
proportionate
to the trust

you

FUCKED

taste my pain

fuck.

for an audience of one himself this mother lode of pain

2012-01-21T01:39:00.000-08:00

well, what did you expect
i drank,
drugged
the best part of three decades
to kill emotional pain,
to appease a craving
i still don't comprehend
a low grade union with god
or even genes
and all them other other theories
just confuse me
make me thirsty
angry now
(demons nudge and wink)
i write again
what the fuck did you expect
it's either this
or a drink that will never end
best to pour it out
and keep on pouring
one day
it will fill
again

the present strange torture of now

2012-01-21T00:42:00.000-08:00

triptych (complete)

1.

'all the people i really loved have died..'

and so i want,
not for tomorrow
but yesterday

and once
i met a noun
who claimed to love me
her language arts
imprecise,

labia
of lies.

2.

of course
i
disfigured
myself
and only knew
intensity

thus i blame myself
entirely,

will watch
my own ascent,
parabola
still
falling
now

they say
i'm too attached
well, what of it ?

i want to laugh
beaten to the sigh

remarkable
these things we feel
the gravity
of suicide

when love is treason.

3.

and now
when everything
means nothing
and suffering even less
it's almost time
to fuck my eyes
having watched this death for weeks craving oblivion release
still, a certain grandeur
in going on and going IN

and if you think

'that this language is without thought,
i recommend a dangerous visit to the zoological gardens' *

where i have monkeys to return
and nerves to eat

love before love
what i seek

a cathartic apostrophe
denoting absence

anything
but this.

* francis picabia

do you understand that fear?

2012-01-20T17:31:00.000-08:00

one night
when i was young
three X's entered a bar
masked and hateful
serving God and Country
- X's to one side, Y's to the other
they screamed
of course
none of the X's or Y's
inside that night
knew that they were X's
and seconds later
when the killing was done
and the wraiths walked out
there lay three dead X's, six dead Y's
shattered mirrors, blood and smoke
and a few years later the Alphabet
released them

after picabia

2012-01-20T07:06:00.000-08:00

                                         (for you, perhaps)

an affair of convenience/ the sound of words/a bench in september

                 postscript
   (the book itself took exactly 3 minutes and 12 seconds to burn)

please understand.
              five nights to reassemble.
current views

                                                              I DO

fucking head

2012-01-20T04:01:00.000-08:00

all day long
antiphon
right or wronged
love or hate
now a caterwaul
antinomy
i forgive
the heart above
all things

transient translucence (8 min walk thru)

2012-01-20T00:21:00.000-08:00

the feeling of glass
presence in absence *
'do not touch'
that dress she wore
a network *
the tree of life
a stump *
a still
where once
a harvest *
& over there
the gasworks
the glass works
forgotten works
fundamentally red *
(blue)
i was curious
standing alone
& touching
a vanishing point *
glass as symbol
fragile as love
(lost) scent*
hard to title
forge
merge
toss
& shatter
glass
behind
glass
folded silhouettes
in extremis *
lines *
walking out
looking back
self-portrait
as poem
shattered

i can hardly

2012-01-20T00:14:00.000-08:00

remind
you
hardly
see
you
stunk
you
hear
you
certainly
no touch you
today
i can hardly
remind you
like
you killed
the rewind
too

2012-01-20T00:05:00.000-08:00

"But when you're outside a tradition, as every artist is today,
one can only want to record one's own feelings about certain
situations as closely to one's own nervous system as one possibly can."

- francis bacon

outside the alexander

2012-01-19T21:31:00.000-08:00

thank you jesus !
pneumatic drill
of dancing meth

he couldn't remember

2012-01-19T19:12:00.000-08:00

the black out
within the black out
his amnesia had fast become

life itself the drug
peaking,
withdrawing
sometimes quickly,
sometimes slowly

suggesting that

lick yr skin
twist yr nipple
kiss a mirror

all you'll ever know

is it true?
and it was

at some point

the mask

removed
often accompanied
to the tearing
of skin,
applause
music

his mind a cut-up machine

walk out the door,
walk in..

pause,
rewind
repeat

the mind a cut-up machine

pause.

any day now

the hostages were released
new ones lined up

a life time to forgive
what do you want ?
what, please tell me...

(he could never drink safely
ask anyone)

Carver's affinity with water

back before
the mirror

kiss it,
fist it

thinking
if only you meet the Buddha
don't be a good Samaritan
jump his head

tearing flesh
splintered bone
"i seen a few"

numinous pursuits

opening yr eyes
a miracle

opening yr legs
another

and the next
and the next
and so on

remembering
a trip
androgynous
on the beach

'blood and sand'
pissed yr pants
Adam Kadmon ?
,
and here we are
again

standing up in
the light we waste
John 1, verse 5

all you'll ever need,

anyway
enough.

who said

WW2
started by the jew
WW1
started by the jew

clue: both were artists
and anyway

the guards
became bored
and sadism offered an out

Pound and Hitler

psychotherapy
for kids
cats and dogs
Vienna loaves

remembering

father's obsession with fuel
mother's with god
mine with you

and when it becomes accepted
there is no us,
if, in fact, there ever was

kiss a mirror
black-out
row your boat
just checking

the road to Oz
paved with wicked intention
the road to Damascus
a flicker machine

childhood cars,
roads that wind thru trees..

and later

Johnson's- Lives of the Poets
Hamilton's - Against Oblivion
Forche's- Against Forgetting

i know where i'm going
do you ?

wondering if
i mentioned before
i liked the words
amanuensis
factotum
and fuck

an attempt
to remember
kiss the mirror
feast the costume of flesh

a mask for every occasion

mother & child
whore & child
child as mother

let's try that one again

child soldier,
child prostitute,
child cancer

and before it's all too late

participant
observers
observe
the ritual,
the chaos
the fall

is there anything that doesn't burn
anything at all?

(the first time he got drunk...)

kill
until you die

'kill 'em all.'

poet wonders

2012-01-19T17:14:00.001-08:00

if the latest knows
he'll be next
as she rails against
a certain bastard

poet feels sorry,
sorry for the one
and the one before that

intimation

2012-01-19T01:54:00.000-08:00

reading carver's poems
free
to be himself
involve the personal 'i'
explain & set it down
with hints at deeper meaning,
quite enough
to make a grown child cry
& weep
& watch
those dark, slow waters empty,
watch them fill
again

poet remembering

2012-01-19T01:01:00.000-08:00

sarnath
hitching a ride
20 years ago
the tree
the sky
the wide expanse
satori on
installment plan

tribute

2012-01-19T00:10:00.000-08:00

i lay it down
stand back and break again
then kneel,
not in pitiful debasement
or desperate pleading need
and well within
and touch what was
one last time
behind me now
and yet so real
returning it to source
and know, alone
surrender
the pain
before all things
the deep involvement
still

love poem (still the one)

2012-01-18T22:23:00.000-08:00

thanks for the memories
the ones that burn
and the ones i'll keep
thanks for the good times
(in the beginning) and the last 5 nights
of hell
thanks for choosing me
the intimacy
the highest highs and lowest lows
the laughs, blue skies and dreaming
thanks for choosing me and fucking me
the slow withdrawal
the yes it did and yes it does
thanks for the memories but i think i said that already
and thanks for the words and dedication
that take on whole new meanings
thanks for nothing and everything
now i know my love is disease
and yours the interferon
thanks for this remission
thanks for being
the one

institutional

2012-01-18T05:28:00.000-08:00

time outs
thinking about
Virginia's
~~Anne Sexton's~~
Sylvia's
periods
during
those
periods
institutionalised

'if there wasn't death, i think you couldn't go on'

2012-01-18T04:56:00.000-08:00

stevie smith
said
presumably waving

and when the dead talk
as they always must
i will know your secrets

'they think they can fix you'
child discards a toy,
moves on

the narrow path
black dog gauntlet
dealers choice

"i hope you read this"

it was not unexpected
a story old as time

time without mind

patterns

the survivors cannibalised
their thoughts

after the fifth strike
the head broke free
there were ashes

a calculated act
of bastardry

the cinema was empty
and full of weeping

no use pleading with god
she planned the outcome
just pictures now

pictures and tears..

hey ! is that a pelican,
there over there
God, what a goose...

ambivalent rainbows
silver linings full of holes
rather like cum-stained finger shapes
gripping the sheet

(more thoughts)

bearing witness
bearing up

smiling at strangers
apart
alone

disappearing

"fuck man, you're all fucked up
how they treating you"

good.

getting sick of coffee

grin and bear it
your corpse

smoking
talking to god
something to do
like driving the freeways for hours

look abelard
look paul
look !!

- kurt was right
people just ain't decent, ~~kind~~

'get a stick and kill it, man'
poking at ants, scars, fires..

happy birthday, mr. keating
on this day

time without mind

this morning
happy new year,
paulie
can't stop now
surviving
with cliches

and anyway
this was meant to happen
bound to happen
happened
this is happening

and yes, if there wasn't death, i think i couldn't go on...

we wish to inform you

2012-01-17T22:40:00.000-08:00

your love is dead
and she
has become
something else
entirely,
words
and images
not fit
for polite
poetic
convention
we wish to inform you
runs the ticker tape head......

love is an abbatoir for heart meat

2012-01-17T17:20:00.000-08:00

let it go
let it gone
she has. you will too
how important? not at all
not all that, too
let it go and going
gone
she won't seem or own it
why should you
O god, let it go
let god. who?
all this
so skewed
letting gone. letted go
the whole shebang
gutting, gutted
boom !

limn it

2012-01-17T05:36:00.000-08:00

the pain i mean
the limits of belief
hold it
the wrench of it
the limits of your peace
release it
the sadness of it all
old hand at it and life goes on
limn it
and live and love
that
or the bottles call

no, i write poetry

2012-01-17T01:00:00.000-08:00

but i'm not a poet
and when i say no
i know the difference
and no
i don't even write poetry
or poems
tho i write in english
in hope
in heart
and adoration
of those who do
who write
against forgetting
who believe
and still believe
in the power of words
if only to
the maker
and so
no, i don't write poetry
i write the markings
of signs and shifts
a slow recording unto this
and readings
no, i don't do readings
altho i could
but no
now is not the time
when now is the time
of rejection
a staggering lurch beyond
9 000 nights of death,
a king hit loss
and no
i know this ain't a poem
it's just a making
made to hold the course

just before he disappeared

2012-01-16T23:59:00.000-08:00

poet considered oblivion
grand gestures finished,
death a symbol too
but of course there would still be meaning
things he'd been meaning to do
thinking of Dirge without Music,
left with that knowing refusal
and so the second mourning
passed and stripped away
his sad and living heart
as somewhere else
a seeded mind
fed

you
become
the blossom

each day

2012-01-16T23:27:00.000-08:00

that casual, wet indifference
driven through my heart
now a weighbridge of pain
a somatic call and answer
a scaling to
the nerve of us
reckoning
the weight of grief
and where to now
the price of being the one

2012-01-16T00:50:00.000-08:00

the struggle itself towards the heights is enough to fill a man's heart. we have to imagine sisyphus happy

-albert camus, the myth of sisyphus

natal day

2012-01-15T22:05:00.000-08:00

new life
closure
"gravy"

poet could live without

2012-01-15T21:55:00.000-08:00

can reckon thirty eight
all the rest don't count

mere originally meant pure

2012-01-15T17:30:00.000-08:00

athena
aphrodite,
hetaera ?

no.
just my love

a vision quest
mere spark

like me

eyes like cognac

2012-01-15T01:50:00.000-08:00

& i loved her
still do
god
the colour of sea
trays of ice cream
each breath in me
& always
the sunday child beside
a sacred key
as moment by moment
returns
and goes
profoundly

impossible

2012-01-15T00:56:00.000-08:00

to truly hate
(even dislike)

even blame the angels prompt

after all
Love is Love they say
patient
& blameless

steve richmond

2012-01-15T00:44:00.000-08:00

lived in a shack
was a gnostic by the Sea
painting
demons
angels
birds
& cats
sparking off
the keys

4:13 pm

2012-01-15T00:27:00.000-08:00

14th jan
twenty five
years on
and the demons are looking worried
shifty and shiftless
one
tying its laces
another before the fan
two are packing their bags
clever demons
they know what i am thinking
surplus to requirements
down-sized
and canned
and who needs them anyway
when another's demons can fuck you up
real bad
i'm just the girl
who loves you the most
the cocky one hums
Azrael was his name
that or Michael
4:16pm
14th of jan

there is soltitude

2012-01-14T23:59:00.000-08:00

& there is loneliness that few will ever know
deep within the well of 10 000 nights of drunk

there are prison cells of State and Soul
there is isolation & all its many ghouls

there is coming back & nights of no return
there is a word for things inseparable

there is lonesome
& lonesome again

there is soltitude & i will keep on looking

tho summer

2012-01-14T23:36:00.000-08:00

i
am a cave of ice
almost lightless,
& tho it may take years
or never melt
when it does
i
will have built an inferno
will feel the walls & leave behind
nothing more
than wet indifference
justified
as stone

give me anything but this

2012-01-14T02:09:00.000-08:00

a bar fight
a car wreck
a lock-up

anything
but this

shadows lengthen
end of day

love poem

2012-01-14T01:46:00.000-08:00

courage
            through pain
   hearts
               warm
                        embers
still,
    nothing
     to
                  forgive
                               x

bitter pill poem, written on and for, the 36th day, of the rest of my life

2012-01-14T00:38:00.000-08:00

someone just died
became a selfish ghost

he's just a friend
it justified
going thru rough times

?!

& i laughed
& i cried but i held out
burning deep those words
the only ones i'll need

the truth of all you are
& all you'll ever be

someone just died,
you're dead to me

drink and the untold lies

2012-01-13T17:08:00.000-08:00

( after drakaea )

..they will use the needs of others, the deep appetites they see..they will exploit these things to further their own ends. they will take over our ways of loving..and then make us slaves to our own obsessions.

-charles bowden, blood orchid,
an unnatural history of america

drink,drink,drink,drink,drink,drink,drink,
drink,drink,drink,drink,drink,drink,drink,
drink,drink,drink,drink,drink,drink,drink
drink,drink,drink,drink,drink,drink,drink,

                     you lied

          grace to see the truth

                     i drank
                 i didn't drink
          GOODBYE

the voice at 3 am

2012-01-13T07:34:00.000-08:00

said
fucking do it
the voice at 4 pm
fuck it
another said
wait and the one at ten this morning
jesus wept, i can't go on
that one just now went
stark raving craving christ
saint jude save us
and the one before that
when, when does it get better ?!
the nasty one screaming
i hate you, so fucking much
feeling better
cunt
this one said
write it out
and the one who was someone else
john i think
if you haven't had a drink today
you're a winner, kid
nice.
the voice at midnight
a sweet seductress
and the morning call
let's just say
joy and positivity
ain't for breakfast
voices this, voices that
go on, just fucking do it
have a swill, a hit, a toke
but i don't pay much heed
waiting for
imaginal dawns yet to come
stillness
your voice
something like
the One

there is no getting used,

2012-01-13T05:16:00.000-08:00

used to this

days of vast indifference
a base and basic silence

no getting used to this

fan
radio
void

days of cigarettes

nights of craving
shared with strangers.

there is no getting used to this
the then
the now
and in between
that slow dissolve

fade
ache
silence

there is no getting used to this
or used to this
condemned to love
a ghost
a dream
dissolve

there is no getting used to this

this desquamation

a redeeming
damnation

becoming
necessity...

and so i wait

fan
radio
craving

poem

2012-01-13T04:02:00.000-08:00

as pneuma

breathe