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| started sketching again today. my grassmen are evolving and being more active. maybe i'll put some up next time. thinking about getting that translating job at flp and earn some moolah before college. weaning is important and needs to be completed.
that was not a complete paragraph. these days are rarely complete. shreds and wedges of free time, threadless and wireless, hopelessly uping and downing stage with the air of dust bunnies. what can i say. kwok is right, 90 what now days until we're through. around 40 until we hear. 30 until cistopher hears. what the hell. the worst part is, having lived through the abyss we did, i still feel like a cheater. shouldn't classes be harder? shouldn't we be sitting through pile after pile of sample papers and questions? or is it just because the oblivion in my heartpockets. and why not: there is simply too much to process right now. i'll start digesting once i'm ripe with age and rocking in a chair as the world scrambles for water supply.
school starts in less than two weeks.
i organized my room! it actually has a color theme now, huang would be pleased. there's so much i need to do. need has lost its virginity.
hold your shins up, kids.
back into the strenuous slackness,
karmia | | |
| When word came from the sea
I tried to kiss you goodbye
Eyebanks parted, vacant garages
brown jealousies racing in the distance
We trickled down a moon-wrought path
you paid in prophets and took in teeth
So when word came from the sea of
the other waters you swore you did not meet
I knew why you let my canoe
scar layer after layer of riverskin, tucking
amber under your mudtongue those nights
to sleep smiling like the bee within, still surveying the honey on its feet
Spirit water: in my dreams
I speed but place my eyes in the rearview mirror, please remain, the ice marrow of the January underpass, shadow tresses of virgin sequoias
weep only after I leave, promise as the
inkbelly dragon gnawing the last shin of history. | | |
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the glass is half empty half full
the sun is due west due east
the moon is half empty half full
starhead stretching black vulva
least is what we will have mother
when we laugh and blame your love
this street teeming with instant
children
the proverb
shakes you nightly says you're half empty
half-full sun easting westing turn the wind off
with hands on the moonwheel
you ply wide the black thighs of heaven
opening the greyblue eastern mouth to clasp the brim of moist earth
in our eyes morning vulva tenting across the dark monuments erect taller
and your children
your children
an army sitting on your toes
food grows
dangling off your fingers
we feed
turn glass
all full of your maroon eyes
all him all empty
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|  | Currently Watching
Dandelion
By Vincent Kartheiser, Taryn Manning, Arliss Howard, Mare Winningham, Blake Heron, Michelle Forbes, Marshall Bell, Shawn Reaves, Robert Blanche, Don Alder, Wally Dalton, Edward Thomas Jr., Don Stroud (II), Steven Weyte
see related |
sat reading the outlaw's bible of modern poetry during the christmas eve sermon.
patty smith has some wicked stuff.
wish things were better between us, Jesus.
happy birthday.
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| exactly 41 minutes now
exhale, the planet tilts as you leave
i watch the light shift across my eye
google earth
when i grow up
i will gather all the people and scrape them onto
a plastic plate
when i grow up
i will lift them until they can see the perfect african sky
up, south, front, down, west, left, back, east, north, right
when i grow up
i will hose the streets with tar, grind the metal, melt the clay, scrub the ocean floor
then set the earth on fire
when i grow up
i will watch the horror in the eyes of the right
who live on receipts, and the lost's delight
when i grow up
i will whisper in their ears
nothing is consequential and if we can all believe
when i grow up
i will strip them all naked and make them
talk to each other
when i grow up
i will find the sons of bitches
and love their mothers
when i grow up
i will crack the world open for the multitude
and fry the yoke for our first real breakfast
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