Sunday, November 20, 2011

//Spiders and whisky//

//Spiders and whisky//

It's turned cold
and I've been killing spiders and insects in corners all day.

I put the Windsor next to the toaster.
They both warm me.

An account of last weekend.

Wednesday, August 31, 2011

A few prompts for presence

It's grown quiet around here. Here are some prompts that will hopefully lead you out into the street from those foggy white margins. They are in the past tense but put them in the present. Give them a presence and a context, a reason to exist:

a. The afternoon grew dim as the wind whistled through the window and the sound of an ice cream truck clattered off into the distance.

b. S/he stood in (his/her) underwear as a glop of jam slid from (his/her) knife onto the floor. “Today’s going to be a good day”, s/he said.

c. A cigarette flicked from a passing window bounced down the roadway; “CHAOS 2000”, "Who are you?”, “Pressure Treat the DEAD” are written large on the overpasses. Smoke from someone burning their garbage in a backyard by the highway drifts over the hedge.

Friday, May 13, 2011

///No Title///

I know someone
Who speaks in riddles
Got tall tales to tell
Got time to spit
Got nothing to give
I smell the jasmine and my head spins
When it's all done
Where have I been
Will you find me?
I can't be here
anymore
please

Thursday, January 27, 2011

Attention Span

The teenage boys, smoking on the parking ramp
proving each to each who’s horniest of the bunch,
not really by anything they say, but by an attitude of standing.

There are enough strollers in sight for a stroller factory,
and enough babies for an orphanage, or a nursery.
Abandonment or growth, both alive here among the many
futures to be lived. The shops counting their numbers,
and the crowds throwing theirs away, and still their children weep,
but not for anything in particular.

It’d be clich├ęd if it weren’t true.
It’d be stale but their hypocrisy is mine.
And that lesson we must learn, but don’t
or won’t, not in time
that in between getting rich and wasting away
is a road where the leaves are bursting
with red and orange, brown and gold,
where the wind breathes onto the night.