Ebbing on

she frames moments
chapters her time
sunset to sunrise
numbers her options
predicts the outline

her eye seeks the framework
while she drifts through life




Let 'em in, let 'em in
if it's the angel band

Small sweaty stuff

I woke today at 8:45
like yesterday
and the day before that
and my family
is quite surprised
by this
after all these years of
cultivating sadness
and chaos
the smallest things
are making the difference
I eat breakfast
I wake at the same time
and I am not cured
or perfect
or any of that bullshit
but I am
currently
on a different path
vigilant
and caring
and careful
and encouraged
and after the last two years
of losing hope
and multiple implosions
and misplaced
love
I feel light
capable
humble
grateful
and present in my life
and in my family's

2012
the year of the dragon
a year
of transformation

Lord
I am grateful
for another
chance

The blond and the bluster

tall
thin
blond
pretty
pretentious
demanding
attention
she argues with my friend Cyndy
over business cards
and an afterparty
her gay
approaches Cyndy
to apologize
Cyndy blanches
claims
no worries
he walks away



Cyndy fumes
and the blond
makes a lot of noise
playing pool
behind us
knocking balls
as Cyndy admits she hates her
because
she is pretty
then Cyndy lets her thoughts
spiral
forgets why
she is upset
is instead looking for a reason
outside of her own
in something
the blond said
some weakness
of the pretty girl's
excuses
for being
insecure
something about a rich
drunk
infamous
father
on the front page
and the whispers
that followed
and the possession
by the blond
of personal
and
business cards
how pretentious
Cyndy says
as the blond is called to sing
and she stalks the floor
commanding
and demanding
everyone's attention
her gay by her side
while
Cyndy
remains
angry
alone
at the bar

Bloody lips and all

Synchronicity, letting go,
making positive choices,
helping others,
getting fatter,

my intentions for 2012.

I am trying not
to gulp the dark

with such
greedy swallows.

Seems simple,
but grace takes

constant care
and consideration

until it becomes
what you do,

and even then
you will
fall,

but,
fuck it,

chicks dig scars,
after all.

Snowed in

she thinks
she is more attractive
when she speaks.

her style,
her being,

caught shifting
in a half-realized
becoming.



I ask,

how do we let the world know
that inside
there are symphonies
films
novels
poems

entire other worlds of beauty

when our exterior
awkwardly
manifests?



or,
is your fire lost when exposed to the winds of others opinions?

she looks into her notebook
and laughs

as she slides down the bench
to be close
to another.

you look good
rotten
she informs him.

is it the cocaine
the sex
or your well-maintained lawn?

it's just the shape of my
bones,

no secrets
at home,

even this white chalky form
had to be born,

he says
as he rattles off.

things you still see

ghosts...

like silk,
like bone,
like echoes,


like a recurrent wisp
a bony-wristed fist-
exposed and glowing as if an apparition-

raised and ready to strike,
raised and ready to strike

a familiar warning,
the click of the bone's wretched sounds echoes...

bone on flesh against bone;
blood on your silk face.

there's always a morning
after a bloody, haunted

evening's sins
evaporate.

"...on the horizon
and swimming away..."

as a diaphanous dawning yawns
as a prelude to every day's mundane...

a definite dream

Is there a word for everything?
I don't think so.
Not at all.

(It would make me mad
and drive me mad
if that was so).

She leans against me and I think
no one has ever had this moment butI
and no one ever will.