Untitled # 781

wagon
around the tree
birch rings in autumn
and no birds sing
to the vapors
ancestors
visitors
remade
veiled
curtailed
pictures in rafters
remembered
hereafters
out of sequence
delinquent
unmailed
recipients
*(unfinished)
--------

Hold The Old Dreams / Warm / Serene / Nothing to hide

after perdition
rendition
after the railways
had taken us away
after a hundred marilyns had
blown us a kiss
to say no more sighs
no more bloodshed
no more goodbyes
shower us with this
love that last
we are open now
to your brown eyes
we'll not love less
we'll not say yes
to your blasted bloody goodbyes
that shows us in stars
in broken glass
we are open
into the open ended
this is life's surprise

will you put your arms before me in
the air
will you hold your arms in the way
of the human dare
in the open swarm
when bullets sing
and warm air parts to let the screaming
start
here its chaos
I had put a bead on
just for us and
the name of silence
on the surface of the moon
its a jubilee watched
for care's cream soaked images
the tender years
its youth is mine
the darkness soaks its rage
to slag the merriment and the downy warmth
like flightless brides
in cages
where we can watch
your family circle
and
come back
to fire
where we talked so much
about infatuation
and come back on the heel of the moon
on the heel of the moon
on the skin on the moon
on this cave on the moon
on this cave on the sun\we're burning out
before we've
begun.

Conversation On Western Plains (for the Western Black Rhino)

under the Boabbab tree
a black rhino's ghost
waits for me
talk all day long why does
a man need help all along
and why, oh why
did it take me
to recoil in splendor
recline in revolving doors
tipped into meet men
powdered up
to engage in sin?

were you only to know
of the rape our harvest sews
in gallant nights
where bedsit fights
leave some scarring in
the afterglow
of ancient rites
to be buried in the snow

dashed in payment
wiped in semen
so majesty could banished be
by another failed
blood prophecy
but you
backed in
to this dead end door
of absolution
a trap door heaving wide
in false dream evolution
survival of the fittest
means men who fill with pain
and spittle drizzled swords and
spears and greed and tears
and diamonds raped
with speed and fear
what more to conquer?

in some kind of animal splendor
a creature that lived
and died
for your sins
and fake lust
you will not remember?

its tall proud shadow
the years of grass
in the endless meadow
too summarized and edited
for dimwits pleasure
and suffering
now dies in the heather...

we are a disease with shoes
an endless song that
plays the blues
we wipe every thing free of the beauty
while damning ourselves
with faint praise and duty
in the long grass
there are no more
hooves
no more earth pressed-weight
antagonism
we stripped you away
in absence of any danger
for black rhino's ghost singing
to be heard in the final hour
with its languor
would I lay down
wind down
so our songs would be be quiet
in some form of splendor
lost in gone waves
unending
surrender?

-----

p.s. - the human race is a pox on this world

From October to Afternoon / 145 Seconds / The Light Pours Out of me

They Really ARE All Against You / Ho-Mo-Phobia / Sing It With me Now!!

 the weight of our history is built up from tiny bits of memory.

What good is conspiracy when they are actually conspiring against you?

I could have made a better family out of wet paper towels and popsicle sticks.

The Needless And The Damage Done / Heiresy

boundless streams
of the same old story
retold an infinitum
muscles contract
old trees split
for the hollow absence
to take shape
as bikes pedal themselves
clocks unwind
descend and prattle
out of time
in halos.

his face was
wet leaves lashed over
like appliques
anointed teardrops
for the unholy
trinity
friends, family
failures fractured
like antique vases
dropped by careless
derelicts into
the sea.

of soapbox derby
plaid shirts and dustbowl
smiles filled with razors
paradoxically family infirmary infinity
insanity irritability
measured by proximity
forged in the outer limits
like lovers in the Boar's war
desiring nothingness
in the absence
of uncertainty curtailed
to a snail's pace
and sleep.

--------

You hate me
then you complain when I'm not around
You refuse to get to know me
then claim you don't understand
You put endless hurdles in my way of staying close to you
then complain I am distant
You wish I was around more
then create opportunities that don't include me-on purpose.
Seriously, fuck off.
No wonder dealing with family makes me feel like I am crazy.
hey if the straight jacket fits?
Enough!
I'm not going out of my way anymore.
you want help? help yourself.
I'm not a punching bag here to squeeze good intentions out of when it serves
your purposes.
I don't want to know.
I don't care anymore.
you can't complain about the distance
when its YOUR fucking arm in between that's holding us apart.
one would think you would care more, give a shit, make an effort at least based on previous
grievances. Now you can take all those excuses and reasons and blow them out of your box. take your game of smoke and mirrors and go play with someone who gives a fuck.

Divine Things (knowing you are in this world)

how
was it?
everything
was silent
quiet.

then you
fell off that
cloud
there was a loud
"thump"
when you
hit the ground.

so we'll play
on some place
reserved for
the divine
a song
inside a
song
to repeat
and refine.

so we'll clutch blankets
against the chill
walk up to the top
to watch the moon
over the hill
where once the fiery
sky
passed into the deep sea of memory
like water
air
like earth colored
eyes that link
us.

the fire in your eyes
sets into the evening moon
you couldn't describe
or like the first time
you remembered my name
in sleep as I dreamed
you remembered my name
losing track of
all space
and time.

Flying Fishing

traipsed over faultlines
savage ignorance
ignored stains on
rainy days
not every droplet
contains
a miracle
or will live again
not every thread
is sewn
into memory
pushed down into
agendas like
a falling Wallenda
on the circus floor
everyone cries and stare
but one by one
they go home
the corpse and the family
are left alone
as the pipe organ plays

Moz Rant 2013

So after canceling his only north american tour, of which only a handful of dates were actually played, he releases a live document of the show he played in Hollywood High as a live film, even going so far as to release the film in theaters. Odd considering he has also just canceled his south american tour. Now whoever is managing him is running contests to get people to come out to the theaters to watch this thing and the tactics just scream "This guy is not being properly managed anymore." So they load up a fake contest with a few paltry items even the most casual of fans will have bought years ago. One copy of the film on DVD, one copy of his first solo album, not even the remastered version-the same shrink wrapped original that has been sitting in the vaults over at Sire for the last 25 years. I feel like since he lost his management deal with Merck about 5 years ago his 'career' has steadily slid from promising to wandering. I have always noted that when he has proper management you can tell. Albums are released when released on time, not delayed. Tours are played with little to no cancelations and appearances are shown up for, not cancelled at the last minute. How many times can one man get food poisoning before he just hires a personally chef to cook for him? Ironic that this recent tour was supposed to be his last-its been one hell of a rickety ride into the great good night.  He speaks of retiring-but to what I don't know. Clearly he has no interest in doing anything else and no skill in anything outside writing and performing. He's not about to open a greasy caffe somewhere in Owlsley or Farnum or somewhere equally mundane and far away from the maddening crowd. So from here to who knows where, with ever diminishing returns on interest and quality. Ho hum....

Black Rabbits Wave From Over The Ocean

all your memories become
crumbs for the birds
flakes for the paint
erasers for pain
crimes to be
reminded of
after clocks have run down
into sand

each loop repeats
time, love, emptiness
the phone is silent
in the brittle fade of lost language
the shadows lope and fade
like new lovers
with old feelings
interesting
with distance
the little things that fall
into cracks
with time
that split apart even a great tree
a natural failure
neither fable nor forgotten dreams
pick over corpses
lay down over fault lines
the sun burns right through
blue eyes to brown eyes
like the young holding a gun
but each weapon is traded for a cane and
eventually, illumination
you don't need to wonder why
each dawn comes announced by paler colors
in its own way we become
wreckage
scrape by through storms and age
to feel until
there are no more feelings
left to feel
or to get back up
somehow and carry what you have
or grow a pair of wings
god forbid we learn to fly
together.

Sometimes I Feel Waves From A Distance

they wrapped whatever
they could find
around your neck
wished you could
turn to clouds
and fly away.
pretended to have a different name
be someone else
just to adopt some faceless pose

you needed them more
than they needed you but
the sea rose and swallowed them
all
we
could all
float away on the seas of hands holding
us down
what would I have done
without you
if I had pretended
to be someone
else?

the lights fade
vans recede
reckless retunes returning
on some alien landscape
the streetlights empty
and dim
unseen,
running for the last
circle reducing its circumference
emitting interference
cut to some
analysis in the future will tackle
by mirroring or meaning
its some miracle
we find an occasional kind touch
a gentle word
the little things people stop to do that we
do for one another
that its always, always, always
nothing, even stardust will
separate this.
we are not separate.
we are.
us.
<3 p="">

Others That Do / Ancient Mariners Sing

would it hurt
you to riddle my
imagination.
sustained but not in pain
this draize trains runs aground again
blind, I might be
but

there are eyes
there are glances
there are imperfect promises
I made to no one
thank you merlin
lead the dragons to the slaughter
for the sins
of all your daughters
fathers
cast to slithering snakes
and doused with gasoline
saxophones and liberty hitting middle C
in the brief moment between death
distraction and promise
in my hand I carry change
lye crystals lay on my hand
burning like lonely boy
held down in the deep end
will the circuit ever make
a connection
or will the bed
just sit there
and burn


dream big
guitars and
boys screaming in imprecise
decibels
sun shines, park lines drawn
in the difference between presets and
what you get to match seasons
treason beckons for whiskey tango fuck the noise
wavelengths disappear in cardio dawn drenched
arpeggios sustained dreams ethering
dithering with hercules
arms wrapped
old films acting as arms
in a mirrored glass reflection

Judo Dancing Polo Agorophonia

Two Views On The Street Where You Live Carravaggio / Electrilinaria

Tiptoe (In A Quiet City)

the creaking floor
unbrushed dust under husks
of dead bugs in the window sills glistening
wind blows, quiet / mercy / set for sailing days
little boy dreams if freedom
instilled with science
sirens, always sirens
in the dark hours
the bodies fall
like clock points
like victimless heroes
laid out to be weathered by the caustic rains

peaches gleam
in the repetition of harvest
captured in this painting
creatures scurry by in the measured hush
of the silos
the pomegranates crushed under
hooves of horses marching in random figures
ghosts of cowboys
riding leather and burlap carpets
dancing in the sky
in ethereal antiquity
riding into silence
sun forgotten trees.

autumn early
here now to earth
any one thing
kept in stasis
too long
left for
forgetting
laughter
running
jumping
standing
barely
quiet
eventually. /

Searched Ebony Extinction Immortal (before "You Were As A Criminal, Kid")

it all came on like a slow rush
a steady pulsing star from
far away
over hills to the sea
from halfway through this story
light laid out but taking years to reach us

was I blind before
at a distance
you there in my blue shadow
walking over black street charms and disarmed doorways
drunk in the thrall of finding some arms
attached to a lover

searched for you
a catch for a trip diverted
hands ripe like thunder in similar but not
same steps

try pull on masks
try to take others off
look for your face
on whoever walks through the door
and fool with disappointment
but it was not you who finally destroyed the illusions
I stopped looking for due to clouds
but found in blue skies inside
you; no longer longing through long nights
lost in dreams of ghost locusts
dream nets to cast and catch
and dismiss
but never room enough to capture
how big this all is
sit inside it
weather storms
astride it
sail off on our dreams tonight
we'll create the photographs
even if life drifts somewhere cruel
or disastrous

America / Scotland / Therapy?

We Can Always Meet Again In Dreams

Fog City Blues

Harry's Early Summer Soliloquy

just a few hundred meters from the sea
what haunts the cliffs of eden
the footsteps that depress the grass are erased in seconds
by the sun and what could have been

a million people
and then a a million people more
and all their ancestors
awash on these shores
all the neophytes and acolytes
and jacobites
looking for redemption
and the light
but they're gone
like fading laughter
echoing in the darkest reaches
of love

but I
never saw
the edges to find out
if they were parallel
if they were gorgeous
or just a hollowed out shell
that the sea washes through
in the hands of
children wishing for mermaids
with flowing hair
and songs of doom
they let their locks down
in this seaside town

the birds fly by
where once lizards escaped from the drag of time
to grow wings, what other creatures were here
when eons tortured this mountain
once at the bottom of the ocean
where you cannot see
all the things your cells
were once supposed to be
faint creatures made out of nothingness
going to nothingness
being as nothing is
feigning importance
of existence
solitary clings to you like rust
gathers in the cracks of the clocks
stranded in back rooms tackled via gold
where you forget to dust

(unfinished)

Blow by Blow

Finally a posting on my art blog.

90 days ago was my last post. 3 months. no art for three months. 3 fucking months.

Enjoy that cruise. Really. Enjoy it.

But you know what? It may have slowed my output, but it didn't stop it.

You're not that powerful or able. not in a 100 years.

My brain kicked back and right on track: More art.

Its been a rare experience in my life not to make any new work for such a long period. there are no words, just raw anger. And your unbridled selfishness? I made it into beauty. You were an unscrupulous, unprofessional boss, a inconsiderate slob and liar as a roommate and a terribly emotionally abusive/emotionally distant partner not to mention a self absorbed and self interested friend. Any redeeming qualities as a human are all down to being nothing more than a trash receptacle for cum. Good luck with that - now that you've blown all your good fortune.

Begone bad spirits. Begone!