Splashed Dark Bath

my dream place familiar,
done with the next corner
anticipating vinegar thoughts
feelings events vibrations
there. dream. The thing drops bloodshot
into the place where we exist.
A reason to audit there before turbulent
excruciating, vivid amps of vocal anguish
i feel the detail. months. years?
Whose time haunted hard eviction
evidence, feeling dread of reunification
with those stalking through the house
running with toys of
something i might remember.
scared I woke to pray
a hug, safe from the thing in my house

waxed my house. closed my house. my dreams deserve
an audience in the attic.
hidden doors, in a long hallway runs excrement
the shear length recycling it, pushing it along
my house. a wall left for boundary
walking lengthwise to the hollow echoing tub
a maze with rooms to the other side,
tuning both ends to the unmistakable hum
of hallway, staircases that convoluted twist
down down to the cast iron idol
turn, old,
down down floors
plowing to each nook, cranny
the passage itself licking my warm limbs
dark water beginning to fill the bottom

last night i went to the basement to find
acres of what i think was time.
i can't remember for sure, knuckles white,
out of the ordinary
and it was muggy, scary, SCARY
as the cold verge of the attic.
weird because the attic code
is like a playground for me.
always an uneasy feeling there,
like cessation but time passes,
it is a place where i have swapped histories,
been able to fly
it's always amazing to assess mysteries:
try and find my way, abnormal
passages and saddles and
hidden doors.
for foil covers cracks,
plastic sheeting creates walls
lament the fragility
unfinished
always about to get remodeled.
but safe changes minutely on its own
my mind has defective security
a whole construction crew could barely
build a vent to reality
now i see my dark reflection rippling back

and i feel like i'm the only one
who knows this place of humiliation
although water nymphs sing
a feeling to me of home
surround and protect from
phobia that i grew up in, many many ivy
covered years ago
maybe yet another life
although last work night
i may have been forlorn
now someone here, with whom i can wade
with whom i can plunge beneath the dark water
the tub no longer hollow
kinky, filled with dark liquid and us
writhing, enveloping, groping briefly before
it is following
me, wet hair
jumping
3 at a
time
down the
stairs? not the thing,
the other who
flees with
me?

not there,
wish i cynically
could be. that's
sadistic, no?

I'll delve into this more as I grow

What if i try to not be more eloquent than I am in real life?

sometimes when people (me) write, they try to hard to say what everyone wants them to. the tendancy is to try to sound more intelligent, more aware, more witty, more interesting, more more. with a better vocabulary and larger bank of experience and better sources and better connections and better better.

what would happen if everyone just WROTE? just wrote what they would say. just wrote what they were thinking. just wrote what they wanted. just wrote. and didn't edit or second guess or write for a specific audience...

what if we all wrote as if no one was listening? that is my goal. that is my first step in my new mantra: One day I will be myself instead of who they want me to be.

GRITTY SHEETS is ready!!

omg, i thought this day would never come... i can't believe how crazy it is to hold on to your own words in book form. i know that poetry isn't the most widely sought after type of literature in the world, but mine means SO MUCH to me, and i actually can't imagine my life without it... i just hope that someone else out there feels like it's actually worth reading. in my head, each word has significance and power. each phrase brings me back to the moment i wrote it... it totally doesn't chronicle my life in the sense that i use it as a diary; it works as a catalog of feelings i had at the time. the stories and ideas may not have any truth to them, but the emotion behind them does. some of it is gritty, some of it is painful, some is goofy, some is depressing, some is just life...

it will actually be sold on Amazon soon, and major book retailers will have access to order it for customers! wow... that's all i have to say.

so anyway, here it is GRITTY SHEETS !

Innocent Machination

Verboten entry ignored
the child nudges gelid pane
with stifled rapacious intent
Climbs out of windswept garden,
clinging before the drop through
unlocked basement window

A pecuniary absence guides his body
a sacred thing, the impulse to find food
in his mind a future
roster of possible parents, friends
full stomach, full life

Cold Front

I halt a verbal spiral
delivering cold half-truths
like snow drifts beneath palms
locking eyes with freezing fowl
I pause longer than I should
a lifetime

we would have withered like crumpled foil
like frost bitten oranges
here, a frozen month spent stolid
silent
there, a special month because
we escaped winter words

Sunday Brunch

Busied boiling macaroni
irrigation of throat meticulous
morbid silly hangover
shrill light, bright noise
no more surname

Busied handing you affection
my digit adorned again
suffering distilled orbit
a ravine of broken bottles
my lord

No work for 2 days more
loaf here
with Captain Suffocate
he left a big howling lacuna
and forgot me again

Updated Vaccinations

Albeit blankly
rabbi blood runs
the length of the room
the length of her tongue

I have a crazy idea

propositions are safer
my foe is the flu
how will i leave america
if i'm not with you

i have a weak mind

keys on my desk
and chapped hand in the air
always oh always
well never compare