After evaluating the basic fuckedness index...

When the Passing Signs Give Fear

2011-01-29T00:45:00.000-08:00

To know your heart is to be anew with the declaration of I am, to see the warnings and continue with the breath of finality, to carry you where the waves take you on the verge of break on the precipice of surrender—to give way to possibility of something greater than ourselves God to know the unleashed bray this body can give this raw utterance Yes! that is my gift to you always my dear to love you to give when all else has come to pass to sway at the gentle strum of a guitar when the notes hover like wind and to know that this is mine the shudder knowing that you held me and that is enough—the break of excess.

Until the Morning

2010-09-13T21:08:00.000-07:00

Oh that black reasoning when you awake with the calm coursing through your veins I am finding peace in the deep recesses of my mind those torrent chasms I want to see reason in the image of my solitary self a star colliding with particles of space in detonation of the liberty to hang in the emptiness that frightens me so full like the blackness of dreams when you awake and remember nothing of what was just what suddenly is that feeling of awake-ness when I can reach over to you and feel your heart and know that this is the syncing of minds in peaceful slumber and the fury of words was only to fall closer in this no matter how misguided I want nothing more than to watch the movement of the seasons with you as the aspen leaves fade to rich yellow and their roots crawl through acres of mountains together underneath as the gentle touch of hands in the night.

Finally Moving

2010-08-18T22:32:00.000-07:00

It is now that the music swims back to me with little cats dancing on pretty lights speaking in languages that are not words but just feelings of what feelings are made of calling to those warrior women to dance recklessly never moving the same way twice until the rain falls and they whip their wet hair around to the heavy bass notes and the overwhelming awareness of the senses seeing worlds appear in reflections and I can't help but realize that I haven't been this cold or wet since second grade when I splashed in puddles in jeans and couldn't get them off with my own cold hands but I couldn't stop moving now no I was in the sea of it the storm we all asked for the storm that we wanted to hang from trees raging just to know that we are alive crying out to the apocalypse of womp womp psssssssshhhh breaking through the red rocks like saxifrage.

The Tryst of Man and Nature

2010-06-17T18:20:00.000-07:00

You got your rigs set up every five miles boy wondering if she’ll give it up again but its no wonder she sends you birds back black with you bumbling around all woe is me as if you got straw for brains or a greasy oil can for a heart all fill me up please leaving a thousand voice messages hoping she’ll get back to you with something you can call a miracle because it was a mistake but you haven’t got a thing left to offer except a cowardly sorry and an empire built on the compact trashy dollar bills swimming away away away until they mean nothing at all to you or her at the end of this long road until you can forget her heart that oh so fragile thing always transforming existing in fluidity so small at times mistaken for a simple dream and at times rawly crashing down on you taking everything down to your simple shoes like the night her wallet and things were taken with the window broke all over the seats and parking lot and bits still hanging tenderly from the frame with so many excuses attached like an exposed man behind the curtain armed with origins of species its human nature to take what you want and leave the rest behind but she does not know extinction solely the property of a continuous form.

Bridges

2010-06-01T20:00:00.000-07:00

I should just go but I can’t stop kissing you long enough to think and think and think that my foot has fallen asleep and me next but it is useless to try to wake a phantom limb like strings resonating from a once played instrument in the morning fog of the Smoky Mountains lost in the rivers and phantasms and oh how I want to feel like a weird fish shaking its fins submerged in those strange waters delicate and fierce and barefoot without being cold three times I watched myself die in a dream and each time I waited to feel anything but I didn’t feel pain or sorrow or release and I thought that may have been a nice dream mercy and all that is left behind the story of you and me asking what I see drawn a woman’s leg and hand right there and that was what you wanted to create a snapshot of Meryl Streep when I am with you so connected to some other county to some other moment perhaps align with something louder than myself a certainty that only comes once in a lifetime when you touch your lips to remember but just let the music play and play my love and we can sway on this little boat with your hand in my hand and we can watch the lights dance across the water in butterflies because in the end it is just movement in rhythm that we are looking for even if it is just beer glasses hitting the table in sync to early nineties music and the hum of summer traffic after such long Decembers that they sometimes fade into May like sunburns and they all feed each other like sound to the reverb of hello interrupting on every off beat better than the perfect build sometimes enough to melt your heart.

The Waves

2010-05-04T01:42:00.000-07:00

State Route One oh it curves like a woman’s body over waves that collapse into themselves reaching and retreating from the coast it is the start of something for someone and seduces you like her ghost in you so alive in the vibrant orange sunset in your eyes and never fading to neutrals but ask Anne I am only watercolors the worst kind of washables the temporary suffusion that wants to be real oh I can’t account for my mind unruly always crashing and returning always interrupted by damn fire-trucks with their sirens carrying away my thoughts in this undertow of synapses to supernovas raging in space how unreal they seem anyway breaking into themselves in silence and what can be real if I just bite my tongue and bleed away to everywhere anywhere but here to 6:30 AM the morning you said you would never forget in the car leaving London and the sweet drops of rain tapping keys and light unfolding out of nowhere in time so fragile we all felt it an overwhelming love to love love as if we had retreated to the covers with each other and found our mind’s in harmony with infinity you should have known then this playful mouth is not the act of phantoms no my love I am circulating in waves always elemental always free I have said this every other way I am an offering.

One and Two Three and Four Come Through

2010-04-27T19:42:00.000-07:00

Yes all men at some point choose to declare a war when they love something so dearly and find themselves inspired because that is what everyone is looking for as we bumble in and out of each others’ landscapes accidentally rolling our ankles trying to be the least bound to this gravitational pull but it is oh so comforting at times to put your ear to the ground and hear the buffalo coming like a rhythm in your chest as a song plays and you know the words but not those songs with the same beat over and over again like the AAA because those songs are too predictable and everyone should have a card up their sleeve or a gun by their boot for times when you need explosions in the sky like hey I got a joke for you if you see kay oh wait you’ve heard this one before fuck jokes are too narrow anyway its when things dilate that you understand ask anyone with a microscope its all there we just can’t see unless we know to look for it and you have Alice to take you down the rabbit hole and give you food labeled EAT ME and it all gets so big and the sky closes in on you oh its too much to live like you know what you’re doing but it is enough to know the context god this is where I want to be this is how I want to see beautiful forms through my kaleidoscope revolving through days and nights scattered by light.

For My Lover Leaving

2010-04-19T20:47:00.000-07:00

You should go to your love in Portland to that house waiting with empty drawers for you to exhaust that strange profusion that dissonance because it is the change from one note to the next that keeps it a song and I can just be this note that never felt more free than that moment in Boulder hula hooping the communikey festival and I saw you watch my hips move back and forth like an oddly growing fruit stretching its reality and I caught my foot on the pavement and you said I was just dancing with the concrete very slowly because every interaction is dancing in essence and that sweet to bitter concept that you mentioned and I refused because you weren’t just talking about smoking that you had to know what your Osceola’s castle in the sky was and how could I take that from you anyway how could I say this is real if you weren’t departing though I believe it is and if it hadn't already been played drunk on the feeling hidden behind the torrent of my hair before I kiss you how I wanted to tell you that you are safe with me here my reckless man though it doesn’t make any sense wanting to breathe to your rhythm and how you touched my body with affection as if you had lived in it and found your way back by lying in the road to see it dissipate into a web of refracting leaves endlessly bright and encompassing feeling each curve as it winds towards home but oh you’ll find yourself you’ll find yourself or perhaps I will be the fruit of it all that full and temporary thing.

We're All Made of Love

2010-04-04T18:51:00.000-07:00

There was nothing but the antiphony of beats provoking and returning and I felt as if it never began but always was in pulse just louder like blacklight exposure in a sea of one rhythm dancing on top of spilt drinks and show lights so vivid in color and ephemeral reflecting like beta fish in fluidity and when we left we took highlighters to our arms and legs and continued to move as one with no reason for doubt among so many arms to hold on the roof in the morning as we took pictures in the sunrise like there was almost nothing connecting us to the Earth at all except the blankets and roofing shingles and each other and the mystery of what it will all mean when we sleep and awake no longer the surfaced tentacles of one basking octopus in the unpolluted morning air but only the virtual representations of ourselves now in Internet friendships and lost sunglasses lost ways of seeing and how it fades as all loves do to a simple metronome of beating clocks so delicate it could slip like a safe foot from a ladder and snap.

Return From Deployment

2010-01-22T01:40:00.000-08:00

That night before I was to fly back to Denver after a year as shipped-out goods of the military industrial complex in a pickup truck with that infantry boy in cowboy boots that slightly resembled that husband I lost that year dropped like a pocket watch in the middle of Iraq a few letters and never heard from again the one I called my Marine and maybe I could have sweetly kissed that cowboy and given him that one piece of America that he wanted to remember and take with him instead of ravaging him for an escape route back to that girl that I was before I left like some piece of ruin but maybe that was all I could be anymore and maybe that was all anyone ever was a parallax in a rotating world and oh how I wanted it to turn back and oh how his country music made me sway back to the kitchen of your parents’ house and the clock of bird’s songs and god I wanted to burn the fields of my mind and wreck him as well as I kissed and kissed him because there was nobody nobody but you on the California coast waiting to load the buses with your M4 nobody but you and your chorus of sweet words undulating in the rhythm of heartbeats if only I could have been a spectator pointing at the waves.

Visit to Kansas City

2010-01-20T07:51:00.000-08:00

The Brick at Kansas City and the bus boy with the tattoo necklace that I wanted to kiss and his band named tiger—something but I was too drunk to even remember my credit card let alone his name or the street that the car was parked on in an expanse of a city I never knew in the first place oh yes that glazed-faced cab driver hiding judgment beneath his meter like a 9mm snaking the streets at 3AM searching for a gold Nissan in 2 hour parking so he could relinquish his passengers back to this dot of a city in the middle of America not even recognized by the moon or the sun the king of planets and that is how we felt that night like kings even though I secretly wanted the tattooed tiger and you wanted to be anyone but who you were the almost famous American Cousin with 3 tracks to be proud of and some guy from a famous band who knows your name but all he does now are Stevie Nicks covers with an Asian girl who plays and plays the tambourine until the landslide crumbles down and yes it is finally the end and we can be someone else too and make more money because everyone just wants something to sing along to anyways and we can turn off the lights and you can be my tiger and I can trace the tattoos that I want in the dark and this is good and we can pretend that you are a good man and don’t drink a pint of whiskey a day and I am a good woman who sees that and gives up to reality but tonight we can feel alive in the immensity of the Kansas City sky and Orion can have a nebula because he too can change and its okay because the universe is so big and we are such a small planet that when we turn our backs to the sun and fall victim to the witching hour we can have our tigers and tattoos and everything until morning.

Italy

2010-01-20T07:49:00.000-08:00

Pictures that we thought we would take and bring home to show to our friends like mosquito bites but didn’t stop to live in the frames and perhaps they are not memories but memories of memories we thought we would have and therefore live in documentation post-apocalyptic and post-encountered when the abduction into the tongues of a new world is over and we know what everyone is saying again without feeling infantile and trapped staring at boats off the coast of Piano di Sorrento as they make their way to and from the Isle of Capri and we only have sensory experiences that can’t be communicated to anyone but those that we came with and visited Pompeii to snap away a city that thought it would be forever and document the graffiti that swore Martina’s love for John on the pillars that were buried in the ash of a volcano that immobilized bodies mid-stride mid-rowing towards bedlam but stuck continuing to awfully row and here we find that the plaster bodies have exposed bones and gnarled teeth and hands stretching towards other hands but the dogs are still there always the ones that survive and come back for the dead to gnaw them away as a best friend tends to do after a city has fallen and before they come to take pictures and casts of the bodies to pay homage.

The 400 Unit Rock-Star

2010-01-20T07:48:00.000-08:00

And they all have a tendency to live on the next high and the next city and you can’t depend on them to remember that they said those things those beautiful things that seem so ineffectual now that the road can seduce better than a woman that life is a stagnant line intermittent with moments of la petite mort that make you feel alive because being a rock-star is a frame of mind and it depends on where you hang the frame that you cut out everything else but it is all taped to the inside of my mind in an array of blurred Polaroid with sticky loops of Scotch and it is the gods own truth that the sound bytes eat away at me because we make little fools of ourselves as we hope for something more.

School of the Mines: A Party Without Cups

2010-01-20T07:46:00.000-08:00

And they go on to drink five or six night caps and claim to have ten or twelve with their amazing ability to exaggerate yes they are all the same then put on cap after tundra hat then a sombrero so that they can devise a mad hatter persona and hide behind the words of Lewis Carroll but we are all mad here that is what the cat knows and that is the truth and though there are some that can find a porpoise the rest of us drink beer from blenders and tea kettles because the awful rowing towards god is too much to write off to a salt shaker that represents a tree and can be moved until it is liked.