the embarcadero

you can step on your fingers
or swallow them whole
the lesson to learn
is you cannot grow old
in time just a trapper
as though sang a soul
if only this moment
to find to be whole.

a toast to the pauper.

he likes wedding tears
and dogs on their side
inviting yr hand to scratch for awhile.
he likes sunsets
and long drags
while the clouds are all ripe.
he likes soft eyes
in dark light
with smiles round the cuffs.
he'll take those good times
and great folks
who feel just as light.
really doesn't have to leave anything behind.

the back of his head talks.

you keep the finger on top of it
act like it's somewhat affectionate
par for the course and always dyslexic
personally with loving amendments

to break down the glass maiden
you strew forth your pillows
all filled with lead and thorns
to prick the surface and keep her hollow

let out the fire to stop the inferno
forget a person lived in here long ago
you should be ashamed and lonely.
you should be ashamed only.

for the city.

back to the trolley
the sound of alive
the scratching of buses
combustless and lithe
a home worth having
a place to thrive
maybe a family
this city
is mine.

handing off the wishes.

things elapse and fall on tides
takes a lisp to explain those eyes
a long winded cruise
a short goodbye
a second for having
a moment to cry
to hands full of holding
the resonating, this time
smelling of rhododendrons
and lilies
no needing to grieve
just futures and forevers and reasons to be.

mid-wested.

he supposed he could live without a heart
if only for a day
if only for a day
to pick up with hands and hold
a precious gift
a reason still left
to crawl
to exist.

combustion.

this is what gasoline feels like
a match slowly descending towards
a feeling to live and die for
and wait and watch excitedly
as that moment comes to me
here is something you've never seen
a new me to always be.

the devil speaks.

tipped low the absinthe
a sound to lie alone in wait
to scare and caress those unwitting charms
a blank disposition
a callous heart
to shore clean the wool
and make new a start
to bleed like the pig
to be what you are
an unfinished grave
an unnamed song
and just keep on pushing
til you find a home.

for little understood keepsakes engulf

these spoons
are for scooping out eyes
that don't want to see
how things break
how people break.

just get the machete
instead.

just remove the shoulders
from the head.

just don't forgive yourself.

hours past the ending.

the ribbons all inviting
the knives now coming in
to snip to shreds the light here
and fill the darkness in.

cannot keep regretting
but cannot settle in
for moments already passing
the seconds under skin.

and i forgive intensely
all but self that did
this tragedy commencing
this life that will not live.

aspertame

7 miles from meaning
and the last boat is half gone
could catch it by flying
but it's useless to flaunt.

7 seconds of dreaming
still waiting on the sun
for heirlooms and grieving
for things already done.

7 hertz in canals
rowing the way to eden
lazarus is screaming
and the harpies all come.


seven times until morning
seven times until dawn
seven ideas gone drifting
come back around again.

it isn't just this moaning
the moon low and the tide wrong,
it's all your amazing
reasons to go on.

the antecedent

just as it all comes together
it all splits and buckles
plans get washed under
this unknown space
this dictation of a future
scalpel.
suture.
keep in line the formidable rabble
the seconds and minutes
and truth that's been squandered
push on and make due with broken fingers
build this life regardless of the entropy involved
but as to this riddle
the one that can't be solved
just let it unravel
like the rest of what's going on
find yr way
wild one
find yr way home.

on oceans still floating

the easy way down to the shore
has no more bumps then your usual road
no more breaks then the normal tide
and no more reasons for me to hide.

last song driving.

minds to whole up
divvy out and reckon forth
reprogramming miscellany
introverses and EXIST ence.
write whole the prophet
self is the sayer
dancing on imaginations finger
this twirling lover
a thousand drops a second
and seconds = hours
and fixing yr fever
oh this lovers miser
awake again
dreaming
alive once more
and screaming
faulting the favor, a vice for the victor
hearts can soar without these wings
or the felonies that bind
another twisted fairytale
another right mind.

(do not awake the demons)
(do not be made a slave)
(if this moment is forever)
(then with you i think i'll stay)
(a flock of butterflies come to your bedside)
(a handsome riddle to fill your ear's eye.)

in front of a flood.

kissed closed the envelope
slick residue all beneath
whom he'd give this to
another session of acupuncture
a second escaped the coveted lips
the waking life
that always insists existence
otherwise.
otherwise.
otherlives.
different mothers
different eyes
can jump canyons,
mark themselves suitors
and whisper secrets through closed mouths
a finger to the sky.

if only the holding
did not require end
there'd be no more questions
to worry to be in
just limbs full of body
jasmine and honeysuckle insides
warm for the fitting
warm for the light.

(i believe in magic)
(if you do it just right)
(something out of nothing)
(hope without a chance)

cast loose the vigil
candle in the window
he's coming home again.

just be happy.

ran around the world backwards
hoping it's spinning would follow
so head could still itself
and throat could swallow
all these impurities in the system
all these ditches for digging

make the trek past the worms
and to the point you finally learn
you must fix the disaster
'fore it is ever
and not spend a second
in this stopped traversal
this moment that's never over
ripping 'part the clover
not making now better.

let us not forget.

it's not the moments we can't handle,
those broken seconds of dischord and atrophy,
where traversing the globe becomes unneeded;
it's the ones where breath reaches neck
where we fall inside our steps
more then appreciative and direct
of what is here.
how it's held.
when is now.
(he'd fall on that steeple)
(just to be with you)
(he'd break both his ankles)
(just to walk beside you)

and then i woke up.

breath on my neck
a comfortable solution
to the hands 'round my back
keeping me in
this dream that i have
where everything works
and the time doesn't sap
interest from hearts
and distance is no scab
in this better place
and merely impatient
for bigger things.

light bends.

i can pass through shadows
reach out and grab
but come up empty
and still in my ear
this angel sings
and hearts all a-quiver
eyes paste themselves shut
and dreams fling through
the dissolved reality
to something
some future everything
worth holding out both hands for
and waiting.

all both of you.

it's only one hundred and fifty six billionths of a second more
it's only perception of time with those for whom i care
and i can think of no one i'd more
like to be there
then you two
whittling away that fraction of a moment
all smiles and laughs
all the love i have.