travel

it's a dying sun

wave cold
hand out the window
kissed you goodbye
at the taxi cab
hard to
imagine that loss
love, courage, whatever you want

it's a door
it's a cavity
it's a dying sun

innocent words, guilty speaker

sometimes i try listening but every sound feels strange and vague and uncomfortable against my ears. it's not what's being said--oh no, the words themselves are not to blame. the words are innocent. it's the speaker who's guilty.

(and although it may not be the particular syllables that so offend me, i do prefer to hear words indirectly, as though listening underwater, every sound filtered through a bathtub's volume of rippling hydrogen and oxygen. i envision the characters themselves, the sturdy, parallel H, the subscripted 2, and the perfect O forming together microscopically, weaving together to make the physical liquid, every clear drop simply a well knit pattern of letters and numbers.)

the sun

she turned around and asked, what are you looking at?

nothing, i said and smiled. and i looked up at the sun the way a young couple looks at someone else's beautiful baby.

i want it all

i want it all
and then the moon
on a bed of dimes
brilliant reflection
filling my eyes
with white light

i can't stand to not see you

what do they call it when you can't move too far away?
a mental leash, or a fear that a good thing won't stay?
i can't stand to not see you
i can't stand to not see you

You're Safe

tam tam

venice, 2007

last months

skin sheds soon but touch it looms
though new skin is electric too
mixed signals are shaking me
from a straight line dream
to a crooked view





((it's strange the way the sad, realistic thoughts creep in when i'm not focused, as soon as my perspective moves away from the macro-zoomed "reality" that is here.))