Things I'm reading...and maybe you should be.

I'm writing ...about a book I keep passing on the freeway :)

A discarded volume

blown wide by passing exhaust

as though toxin breathed bird

with biblical wings of rice paper

and aching to fly,

it's effort born of script

across bloated pages

And reading...

Letting go.
For years I thought that meant not feeling anything.
Walking undisturbed down a street of broken hearted people;
thinking to myself: what fools, what god damn fools!


Barely seen and barely seen past
he still carries the weight of old
abrasions, sends possible pardons
to scarlet fires, do-it-yourself hell

I worked like a monk
a trance of oblivion
that day and into the next

My head started looking
like something nearly human,
and the third day it took on
a forlorn expression. 

I made a strange man,
though I think my first vision
was to shape up a woman.
But women are weird
and my fingers were virgin.

One night, shortly after you ceased

To be amused, long before I realized

That I no longer amused you, I gave

Myself a pompadour with a bottle

Of Michelob.

some rocks gave way to an impetuous

Impulse to animate and dance

And dance they did not caring a whit for consequence

Like sleeping cats dreaming of wild things

To pounce upon and

Babies entering the fray