Archive for August, 2009

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The End of an Engine

August 20, 2009

hearts, yellow hearts
shallow and tainted
misguide you

through hoops of fire
trials of blood
and broken skin

to win is to win
it all and so every
bone inside you
sings like the strings
of your guitar
without a
glass of gin

so if i was a engine
i’m not longer holding on
i’m in a place inside a seed
where even the leaves don’t know

a cottage on an island on
a drifting sea
in the heart of a star
where red blood
no longer flows

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Soft Bones

August 20, 2009

Desolation
In the smoothness of my arms
Too weak to hold a grudge
Against your forehead

If it shatters
The tiles
When I throw it down
like I was mistaken forever
Does it make a sound?
If you are not around
to drop your eyes
Through the earth

Lead lava’s dead
It’s said
done and rotting
a rocking chair
With afternoon eyes
Through old white sheets

like your soft bones and how they
fell apart in my fingers
among the heaps
of the earth
in a field of dead wheat

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Compassion

August 19, 2009

Man in a metal

row boat, pulling people on

to hist’ry book shores

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Vagabond Failure

August 19, 2009

I used to walk
Living from mountain peak
to peak
Ragged
thirsty all day
Hoping by night
I’d always come across some milk
And a bale of hay

Scared of thunder and the other
Things I’d forgot to understand
I used to shut my eyes when the sun
Sought me out

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Giorgio and John Hoffman: Educational Confrontation

August 19, 2009

“Giorgio, this has to fucking stop. You shat in my cat’s litter again.”

“You have to learn to look over perceived deficiencies to find beauty in other places, times, and ways, John.”

“Seriously, how the fuck did you even get in here? I could call the cops right now, and by the amount of complaints you’ve gotten, you’d go to jail, man. And that ‘contract,’ I signed means jack shit because you wrote with my daughter’s turquoise Crayola washable marker. ”

“The same way I went out. You’re thinking about after too many times before.”

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Giorgio: On Nam

August 19, 2009

Giorgio told me that every twenty-four hours is a temporal symbol for the last chopper out of Saigon.

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Afternoon

August 19, 2009

Butter light through the lopsided window shade
Woke up on the mattress
The sheets were bunched up on the corner
Grabbing a wall
One that you’re falling down
Sliding all over the floor