news

time escape unedited hands free listing capabilities
am i wasting yours mine and hours?
the sunni VS shi'ite
pckn out the times

lines of forecast bordered summers
do you get mad when criminals who are guilty are not convicted?

perhaps if you lived within a frame a tiny
photograph of my great grandfather enginer henry i imagine his name to be
pipe in mouth sepia tones full face in the cab of an elevated line in Queens

its transient its paper wirlwinds and soviet attack codes

perhaps not

its a feeling that something inside must be done and completed and said and revealed
a feeling that it could work out if i just found the wording
if i made a form inventive enough
to speak on its own
without my interface
with just you with just darts with just strings & perceptions & simple
formulaic relieve of quantitative emotions
haircuts at john the barbers shop with dubble bubble
always a mushroom
bowl
6th grade hair don't done again and again

trimmed

after hours

two 0 one AM

cannot tell upside driving
(85 milesperhour 147 miles 1.729 hours)
or more
spent standing breathing exhausted after shower scents
present jitters nostalgic blast white mashed in selfish specifics

THE ENCORE HIT ME

route 1 to route 76 west
to 4 moons seen shimmering--
Galileo discovered these dreams
four hundred seventy six
years ago Italian post-it-notes--
look at the sky tonight

cratered moon
like
athletes foot eaten heels walking nine
blocks to Starlight
(a ball)
room at the front for
DANCERS
wanderers in Jovian ellipses
small sour milk white apartments
mental mold posted sharpie
SHAVEMOPEMEPLAYGUITAR
feed my beer money porcelain frog
hungry heart stargazing return
to indie roots concert waiting
lines go to bed at 2:14.

History Class

Jesus is in my class.
He comes late,
wears a thirty-year-old trench coat
matching the colour of his
shoulder length hair.
He took a nap once, and
asked a question about the
fourth crusade I didn't
understand. He drinks
large coffees with a red straw
and sits on the floor.
He wears boots not sandals.

Pittsburgh

I wrote this poem on my weekend getaway with Jenny to Pittsburgh.

It is titled: Pittsburgh.

A circulatory system of concrete
causeways. We rush-a red
blood cell--over bridges through
tunnels into stems of nerves extending
sky high
three blocks wide
and steel
stone cold
wind resistant windows to tinier
expanses--minute craftings of
ring finger rewards orange stone maroon
threaded gloves hold maplines
charted anatomies of this pulsing
organized metal saw mill of yesterday.

lets take these steamy aimless trains and wind until we find a summer far away.

surfing

I feel like doc-like in my odd websurfing and findings and checkups right now, but found this on my sisters sight and enjoyed it quite a bit. It is about songs and what they remind you of.

THE WAY HIS COLLAR FALLS-SAVES THE DAY9th grade-sitting in chris’s room and listening to this on vinyl and then we went outside and he taught me how to play ‘hold’ on our front porch and rotto brought over mikes hard lemonade and I had to drink them all because chris didn’t like them and we threw them at YIELD signs on the way to the recycling center and when we got home I had to clean the house so that my parents wouldn’t know chris had a party while they were gone

TRUSTED-BEN FOLDS10TH grade- driving with chris in the mini van to do recycling and we went to kick the cardboard boxes into the big bin because we were angry and we realized that kicking thick cardboard boxes really does hurt [you wouldnt think so, but add the elements such as a breeze and 30 degree weather and you'll see]. And then we went to the tiger mart and got coffees and candy like we always do

Blogem #1

I lost my haikus

washed between white digital

academic screens