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16 Sep

And now it’s the future and I don’t sit beside plastic leaves and steam. It’s a busy road, it’s tops and toes, birds and trees. If I pop a lid there’s still steam but it’s rising unmajestically from a paper sleeve.  I wanted ivy and leaves, I got rocks and onion stalks. These days I talk and I don’t talk. They’re killer waves, these conversation saves, shaking earth, breaking things to elements. People reduced to common sediments. Stars shine to remind that we’re insignificant. We live to live and dying is a period.

Another Mistake.

30 May

It feels good to fall down.

To come up empty handed.

A life fulfilled

Has already ended.

And when you make

that sacred stumble,

wear that mistake

like a stony mantle.

Feel that weight

with the fury of opera,

close your eyes repeat

that half breath mantra.

Work that rock

with the voice of the season,

Tom or Mike or Will or Stevens.

A life aglow with sideline voices

who play out all your unpicked choices

You’ll run and run

and run much longer.

And in the end you’ll be

that much stronger.

At least that’s what I whisper

into my pillow’s feathers.

Tracking Dirt

24 Sep

Tracking Dirt – SoF

I sewed seeds and their harvests reveal,

the need to retread,

the paths in my head.

Ruminate while tending to plots,

I forgot,

oh, I weed a lot.

Captivate me quietly,

and take me to that place,

where the past leads the way.

I can’t slow down I am jumping between,

a bay side town,

and a swamp and a frown.

Culminate can I stop the clock?

I’m backed up at the block,

a metaphorical clot.

You can fake me perfectly,

I’ll talk about today,

in my regular way.

Step outside to a luminous shock,

with my feet in the grass,

and my eyes at half mast.

It permeates and by the time I can see,

cool grey sky has arrived,

tornado inside the eye.

Jar this ghost reality,

and take me to the place,

where I lead the way.

Rain falls down and this drought is repealed,

and it’s flooding my fields,

spring forth a bountiful yield.

I cultivate and I am present again,

you’re a delicate wind,

and you’re taking my hand.

Image: Lotus Carroll

New New Ceremony

8 Dec


Harmonics – Gareth Dickson

Wrapped in the blanket we wove,

we’re waiting out the storm.

Sand sleet whips at windows worn.

The sands of time will eat our love.

The first tear in the fur of a bear

only after we’re bones and a pile of hair.


We witness the mixture of sediment.

And the ceremony is grand,

but love isn’t sand

and the process loses it’s target sentiment.

All we have is this wind.

We’re going to keep each other warm.

We cant protect from all these elements.

But we’ll leave this earth in finer form.

image:Mihai Balan

A poem about my new shirt!

23 Apr

Black Moth Super Rainbow – Lake Feet

We’ve all got skeletons,

skin deep down.

When we get cut they try and climb out.

So we curse and shout some

skin deep noun.

Send those fuckers home in pale green gowns.


make them hurt.


drown em in


Sewn into the scars in our bodies. Hide our bodies inside clothes. Close those jackets, never to be opened or exposed.


We’ve got a fear of being open and exposed.


taking off our clothes.


the stories of our scars.


all these bones of ours.

What a world this would be if we had no skin.

No muscles or nerves,

nothing to hide in.

image: unknown


The Water’s Creeping Over the Floodplains Again.

29 Aug

Okkervil River – A Girl in Port [Demo]

We’re making that rich soil.

We’re confiding in all the wrong people.

We’ve got fish a’ plenty.

But bread and wine’s a different story.

The water’s creeping up in my chest.

Spills in my arms. Shaky.

But flood plains keep the water tame.

Disperse, absorb, reclaim.

image: laerpel

Stuck outside my body but I think I left a window unlocked somewhere.

25 Apr

Black Moth Super Rainbow – Colorful Nickels

Would I be proud?

I always delayed self assurance.

iv three times pass.


Friday, 3:00. Forgiving.

A beginning becoming itself.

A compassion I never knew.

A delicate bloom.

Precision in the sun.

Stretched lips and dimple dents.

I see them through the fence.

A timed mind.

The sins of pines

are needles born.

image: ?