two 1950's men kiss

always safe with you in the room,
the windows black, the silence cold.
no one speaks and time is old,
the empty clock, the tightened mouth.

i play chopin with no piano,
you lay,
writing your memoires.
… someday soon, you’ll be on the internet,
you’ll invent it, tattling your friends.

always fun to be a parrot in a gown,
i move through blackness, quiet heart.
said we’d be till ‘do us part’,
the holy kiss, the tightening ring.

big bang blues ( lyric )



sometimes the tide takes more
than’s on the shore. give it
your castle, and it ups and
asks for more. make me a
heaven, rockefellers
move next door.

say to me a young man’s
way too young for me.
been around the planet,
my life is what i take with
your life and my song,
ocean to my sea.

love to read plato,
like to read wittgenstein.
witt loved talking,
plato just loved his
i like your groin groove,
slide down the end of

had a thought flash,
that the end was the start
of things. light from dark
was a big bang, cadillac,
watch you leave,
blackness’ all the bang bang




empty head blues ( lyric )



never felt more like lying,
everything is sad and gone.
policeman asks me why i’m
living, tell him that ride’s
too long.

po-man, he says, buddy,
you can’t stay in this town.
say to the man, my daddy
is jesus. you can’t push me

i’ve got the empty head,
post-apocalypse blues.
no matter what i say,
it don’t seem true to you.
tell you i love you,
got to say i hate you too.

simple done


(stills 117826n) Jean-Paul Belmondo, Anna Karina

simple done is
you’ve begun your
bitter dance,
you fall, you laugh,
seem to contemplate,
like someone old.

a reflection shows me
watching you
watch him watch her
watch you,
like you were the
mirror in a whore
house, inside a pill
box; under berlin
when it ended.

fear, it mothers us,
nurses our awakening
sensuals, unfolding
the scrotum
into mandibles
and cock to cream.

dancing on the moon,
reflecting willowettes
in silhouettes of raven black,
as you rise and turn,
to the slow spinning light
of her hidden boy.



art appreciation


open like a flower,
you little cezenne,
and tell me why you’re
not a metro.

i want to see the part
where green is death
and death is beautiful
but never seen.

open like a sing-song paper fan,
you cacking crow…
show me how to
fake a blotched corot.



i’ve always thought that friends
were real, and i was shit and
poor and fake.

my frinds
like skys,
the shooting stars that rip
your memories;
each one as synthesized indemnity:
rips them into family-brac. relations.

family is a bitter dream, dreaming of some
ancient polar star
one befriends with orion…
any where you go,
there’s mirster belt and
cock pointing home.

in a room by lamplight, house at
midnight, you ask, ‘what’s my boy or girl?’;
parents reply, repel you like
dreaming of leaves. leave: 16 older brothers
keep you away from
teatherball. each has,
knows you, by a different name.


walk me

th (5)

walk we me to
your weak soft knees
to flattery… your ancient privilege as
clowning youth… but, don’t
expect i’ll rise up
pale and hungry…
cause, me, i leave when
things got personal.

ants in a stream,
we say, ‘crawling’
like we’d crawl.

some kulturs wrap those
babies, weak little
things, tight like assholes.

others make
kids, crawling around, finding
the floor, the dog dish,
the college applications to
several prestigeous intitutions,

walking down main street,
where do the windows dream
delicate sky. walking with
ian or kelly or cool always phil,
who knows a start starts careful
and is about balance and
people and getting out of
away from these vicious idols.