krocksauce

new mother's first bath 12/16/05 as winter whispered snow around our home early this morning I took a bath and immersed myself in profound feelings of separation. the last remnants of you as a physical part of my body found in slivers of blood, floating around my knees and ankles and flabby, empty belly now completely my own again. even as I nourish you with milk from my breast, thoughts from my head, nameless emotions that come from somewhere hushed and secret you are drifting away from me – a cluster of jasmine cut from the vine, thrown to the wind you must follow a direction I cannot know but I will take pride in

distilled catastrophe 12/02/04 I'm a lazy person caught in unforgiving motion –          time doesn't care if you don't feel like moving forward, so          I look to you for company and we move cautiously among animated matrices, saving our last burst of energy for when we might need it most. whenever that is. in a dream last night we were gazing at a thick sky without much regard until a lightening bolt pierced the murky horizon and hovered over all the rows of unoriginal rooftops,          a spear          creating new lengths as it traveled          setting the air on fire evacuation plans were rendered useless a

in remembrance I can't find my pen in the wake of distraction vices drowning out sorrows me sorrowful, soulful mourning the loss of something not love No love is something I have plenty. warm bodies curled up recovering each night but what I miss are your daggers your slow, sure hunt to satisfy a hunger you've forgotten you needed my overurgency sure, a moodkiller but I never thought it would bleed you pale is it me or something else? and if not me what else? we talk about hunger, fuck yeah we do because we're broke but now is the time to be broke for a reason not to be starving while striving for slick things w

You hold the video camera like it is some kind of memorable night long pull off bottle, slow drag off straight She twists us into compromising positions while Nat strums on in the dark, looking into everyone at once            I hear you say          (filter reality out of this picture) the lens widens at all the possibilities sometime later     (moon has run askew) we play on golf-green midnight softness turning cartwheels I tear another pair of pants - to mend is far from my mind as you prefer me in tatters with island time beginning yesterday until sometime    next          week we sink beneath spider lilies,      white

i. clouds run in tracts between airplane and sea    smudged ribbon defines West East, a mysterious leap of disquiet ii. upon arrival connotations blur within the group.    alive she follows flexures of dot-lights around the floor of the club herself a turning point, a tendancy to linger iii. the earlier fireworks hold brilliance as memory, magenta and gold the blue album a focal point she imagines somewhere between the worn keys and battered fingertips is where the elements make noise

multiplied sensation contingent on the fleeting no pursuit of morality here only natural flaw as   also   against organized social constructs well-planned grids and slick commercial soundbytes destined for destruction/ reassemblance to disorder the sense of observers the conduits can hold no claim to art

i. through painted spotlights rimmed orange                      fall marionettes, dressed in tunics to the mid-thigh as if sylphs could be so plump and peaceful                   dangling like that ii. reverie over curled-up sorrow ocean in a picture on a table - releasing coil set loose & outward, spinning what my purpose is or what purpose is the ocean never seen across town iii. above avenues loosened and breathing through stifling asphalt lamp-pole spines elongate sending gentle hums to globes                                              once dark - hearts open down street crackling sternum rigidity wide

i. a moment in the middle of the night:                                                 she feeds golden stones to her stuffed cat                                                 while a crow flies over                                                 dripping sticks and pointy things                        needle in the arm - the end of a beautiful time those dreams that cling to morning wispy, webbed, beloved rolling around in the beginnings of the day ii. i had my patch of sunlight then the buildings got in the way iii. gentle touches placed                 by sadistic hands                                                 

the circumscription of a dream is compromised, if not cleaved when one finds other like a spider under glass where smooth sides prohibit any reach of height, only scurries in a circle then       crouching unsure transparent walls are the most heart-breaking and one person shows mercy today speaking so gently i unravel your sympathy averted while i search for cohesion repairing the circle

Beneath the skies          I see jazz juke joints what is that feeling          of brakeman's lantern and the next crazy venture          on the road when you're driving away          and madness follows we lean forward to          those howling crowds but lean from people and they recede          leaving traces of spirit and it's goodbye but          still we wait on the plain till          we feel the rumble of the midnight zipper it's the too-huge world vaulting us                this world too much with us you see their specks dispersing                they are worlds unto themselves.