Monday, March 28, 2011


When it is not raining but did rain before, the mud carries the smell of unrest up into the smoke-browned dusk. What does one say after such momentous inhale? Is it best to start with sorry, or do soggy pants spattered with dirt remind us enough of our transgressions. Are we wasting time here under clouds that won't part, are we wasting, when we are not good enough how do we say something new? Or is that rustle when it is not raining anymore enough to drown a whisper.

Friday, March 25, 2011

Formulas are Like This

If time is distance then how much time do we have and at what distance.

Wednesday, March 23, 2011

What it Means

Do I say that I have two brothers and one sister or do I say that I have two brothers and I used to have a sister or does that suggest that she is no longer my sister despite an acute absence like our fingers touch two sides of sheeted ice and we both move together but our worlds are not synchronous in her image mine like a moon in wind-strewn Gulf and though it is all so still and cold there is always movement away from and away from so that I have two brothers and there is one sister and she peels a dark shell from this snow where we might sit one day and I have a wife and a sister and should I suggest they protect me when I am most vulnerable though only one sinks into my bed and I have a sister and a wife and a dog and two mothers and what do I do when I want to know which one to finally crumble before and pray and ask to be forgiven or who do I allow my love to flow around and past to fill the room in unspeakably quiet ways saturating the way I clench my fists or do I not clench them at all but hold her skin in my palms if the space between is erased there will be no turning and leaving and which one will touch me back or do I say only that I am loved not by saying I am loved but by never getting to say what I wanted to say in the first place which is that it is better not to speak but like those voyagers waiting to leave to let everything that could be said be torn apart and wind-strewn back upon us in ways that cannot be spoken

Sunday, March 6, 2011


Shatter the afternoon too many words to say to scream to shriek to gag this how we document today and then we are simple too simple to make this better understood though do we need to be understood though do we need to be less simple or are we in tune are we in key are we staccato are we at rest do we play or are we just trying not to be sad or are we trying not to eat if this makes our stomachs too full to understand empty to understand is something we don't have time to talk about so we have to talk fast and talk in this way that is frustrating and you want to fucking punch me and punch me and punch me and we both ache because we both understand nothing a macaroni moon falls over us isn't that something mommy would have an objective way to love one of us more than the other and there would be no reason to ask questions such as what does this math problem mean or what do you mean or what do I mean after the sun is down there can be no more cliches so called to describe what is before us so here I request that we truce long enough to feel the breeze of twilight on our bruises and sip tea like tea sipping faggots that's what a brother might call it what a stupid thing words what an absolutely awful thing words and anger here slips between the letters and hate between the anger and soon we are layered in things we hope, more than anything, do not define us.