Tuesday, June 30, 2009

Don Was

with Don Was at Harvelle's 6/29/09

Friday, June 19, 2009


that thing
has got a hold of me
yet i look
the same

that thing
is tightening it's grip
the mirror
sometimes lies

Sunday, June 14, 2009


supine and out-of-love
wall surfing
stiff willed and
and turbulent

chopped down
by infinite fidel,
curled up fetally
puling like a baby

my brain gushes
hot buttered soul
supplanting the gorge while
spitting exorcised truth

gunk-ing the system,
wadding the nasal fossa
killing the flow and
everything in it's path

unpleasantly adapting
to my inner eyelids,
forcing my veins up and out,
pushing it's way through the murk

the moisture massaging
my tympanic membrane
passes thick through with
light white sputtering steam.


fearlessly i chose
at first to flutter
rather than simply
fly away

when that didn't
succeed i tried
a more direct 

with shallow eyes that blind
time once again turns me into
gelatinous residue
clinging precariously to the rim

the demure sods
reject me
roundly and unanimously 

Saturday, June 6, 2009


the failed muscle of creativity
the disappointment of romantic love
the pain of practice
the uncertain present

the words choke me
the cards protect me
the security will save me
the future will want me

Tuesday, June 2, 2009


our first kiss-
utilitarian for you;
i thought you'd
turn me into a prince.

desireable pink
stretch wrapped 
in black ice.

back rounded - 
giggled, jiggled 
perched and
given freely.

you're smiling
like pastry -
desert worth
waiting for - 
vanilla creamed
and addictive.

Monday, June 1, 2009


there's nothing like getting drunk on a monday.
getting drunk,
and spinning around and around
in someone's arms.

it had been hot.
ridiculously hot.
meetings all day.
she was still dressed from work.

she was a malibu blonde, born and bred.
he looked like a music biz promo guy from the mid-70s -
hirsute - bearded; brunette and feathered.
they were sore from fucking.

on a cocaine-fueled tear across the Southland they happened across a blues bar.

tired and wasted,
his crumpled too-tight jeans
were weighted down by 
dirt and moisture from poolside sex and sweat.

blouse & jacket removed - she was stripped down to a soap scented white tank-t loosely tucked in to her business casual.

into each other -
they are suddenly
interrupted by Sir Harry -
a handsome baritone and a helluva dancer - 
leaping off the stage
as he spins a voluptuous pro
expertly across the black and white checkerboard
of the dance floor.

tonight i'm here. 
for a reason.
i need to hear the music -
feel the blues sift thru me 
like fire-y white stars telescoped.
blinding, speechlessly swaying steady.
my heart is heavy.

under a lotus - flushed and reddened -
i'm vulnerable and
impossible to know.