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byTuesday, December 7, 2010This is a new zoneto float in:unheard –with that voice;with those things to say.What of the zeitgeist;the contract;the franchise;the promisedland?..
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byWednesday, October 13, 2010Losing faith in who I am,I wear myself as a black armband,as a bad trinket:I silence myself as an unspeakable history -I’ve slain all the mirrors.I will let it all dribble through me: the tapirs; the grapes; the shampoo bottles– it is all the same.Things bleed; lose edge; (cry amongst themselves) speak in gibberish.The manholes, the fruit bowls, the hydrants,the bearded men, the sprinkle of dust that coats -
byMonday, July 26, 2010So, I must have woken closer to the sun than everbecause it’s needling the back of my eyesin harsher and more complicated ways than before,and this headache is so phenomenalthat I feel like framing it and hanging itas an example to all who complain in the future.I’ll refer to it as the great headsplitter of ’10a pain among pains, women will weep and men will wincewhen they hear my tale. It’s not the hangover,but this proximity to the sun, which is, I guess, -
bySunday, July 25, 2010It was a vast countrywhere the strangers ignore youso much that you doubt your own presence.They are all in Love too:bumping into things,forgetting to eat,whistling and smiling unconsciouslywhile looking into space. -
bySaturday, July 24, 2010As those who carry faithbeyond the temple;as those who carrydreams of homeland beyond exile;so too love is carriedbeyond this absence. -
byFriday, July 23, 2010It rises from Its bed.It walks to the door.It opens the door.It walks out of the door.It closes the door.It walks down a hallway.At the end of the hallway It turns left into a kitchen.It turns the light on in the kitchen.It walks to the counter on which the kettle is placed.It turns off an electricity socket on the wall. -
byThursday, January 22, 2009Moving day, and I should have faced this dawn,should have swaddled myself in armour and rose,a warrior, from this bed where I, damaged,lie as a lump beneath white linen,a snowdrift, but colder.As the home becomes house, I listen:it grows bigger – you empty from it -and him, my son with the dark eyes,bristles in the hallway, all excitement. -
byWednesday, January 21, 2009Thursday. Soft light. The motherlode.Sheets of absurdity rain down inclumsy torrents –silence bends each ruleof acoustics.Hands are too softto pick it up.All this sharp grief.All this grief that spinsa virile web throughthe doorways; the hearts;beneath foundations –a pounding tapestry;a garotte for theunctuous air. -
byTuesday, January 20, 2009The schizophrenic ispregnant.Her belly is fullof onions, and zombies,and wild laughter.Soon it will move,and dark ideas willscuttle on insect legsthrough her mind,scratch like small beastsin the corners, incessantly;grow larger;howl for attention.
