specialstains.blogspot.com
Prose and Poetry: This Journal
http://specialstains.blogspot.com/2008/05/this-journal.html
Saturday, May 3, 2008. Of scribbled pages and folded up flowers. Of memories we capture and confine to words. Your story is colorful. Your tears stain the pages. Where i can taste your fury. And when it ends,. I am left dumbfounded. In flickering streetlights and loneliness. I understand no better why you do the things you do. I dont feel passified. I look at you and me it helps me realize that. You are not perfect. Maybe i look at you and i think. That your imperfection is really something beautiful.
specialstains.blogspot.com
Prose and Poetry: South America 1998
http://specialstains.blogspot.com/2008/05/south-america-1998.html
Saturday, May 3, 2008. An empty bed,. Sun stripping the bay. Already, the insinuation of ascending heat. We drag our bags to the car. And throttle to the harbor. Where we exchange keys and wait. Next to the fisherman smoking their cigars. And staring at the sea. Which carried their lives away long ago. Soon we'll be knuckling our eyes. Over breakfast in santiago. Then cooly flipping our id's over the border. Your tanned arms at the wheel. The day so lovely with loss. That we hardly talk.
specialstains.blogspot.com
Prose and Poetry: Still Life
http://specialstains.blogspot.com/2008/08/still-life.html
Friday, August 1, 2008. A candle drips its gysm. To the bottom of a toltec. A single edge razorblade,. Abstracted from old backpacks. Or bottom drawers in secondhand stores. And a tin cup. This is the Matisse story. Of a simple arrangement. In a room on a thursday afternoon. Bits of dry dust and black ash. An old dirty rag lay bare on the counter top. And this mornings work beneath her finger tips. Subscribe to: Post Comments (Atom). View my complete profile.
specialstains.blogspot.com
Prose and Poetry: August 2008
http://specialstains.blogspot.com/2008_08_01_archive.html
Friday, August 1, 2008. A candle drips its gysm. To the bottom of a toltec. A single edge razorblade,. Abstracted from old backpacks. Or bottom drawers in secondhand stores. And a tin cup. This is the Matisse story. Of a simple arrangement. In a room on a thursday afternoon. Bits of dry dust and black ash. An old dirty rag lay bare on the counter top. And this mornings work beneath her finger tips. Subscribe to: Posts (Atom). View my complete profile.
specialstains.blogspot.com
Prose and Poetry
http://specialstains.blogspot.com/2008/05/my-hearts-gone-walking-in-tattered-old.html
Saturday, May 31, 2008. My heart's gone walking. In a tattered old coat and oily hair. Through thin lips and teeth of rot. In opposition to the order. To the rhythmic forgetfulness. Of those around him. Head on a wad of newspapers. Closes his tired old eyes. Blow a strand of hair from your face. Scoop him up lovingly. And bring him back home. Subscribe to: Post Comments (Atom). My hearts gone walking In a tattered old coat and. View my complete profile.
specialstains.blogspot.com
Prose and Poetry: Post Mortum
http://specialstains.blogspot.com/2008/05/post-mortum.html
Saturday, May 31, 2008. All hail the Crash bang of the calculator! Sum totaling our net worth-. Figuring out if we can eat tonight,. Tomorrow, the next day. Figuring out if we’ll celebrate your birthday,. Christmas, get married,. Afford children, repair shitty cars. And shitty apartments,. Or operate on subtle malignancies. We rise from tired old mattresses,. Rinse beneath rusty showerheads,. Put on dirty clothes and drive still asleep. And give it all back to the unappeased mother,.
specialstains.blogspot.com
Prose and Poetry: Apples for Oranges
http://specialstains.blogspot.com/2008/05/apples-for-oranges.html
Saturday, May 3, 2008. You've become unaware of the power. That the mind holds over perception. We stood on a milky savannah. With a crumpled map and a thirst for movement. And looked up just in time. To catch the end of huxleys flare. Sliding like red paint down a canvas littered with stars. You have forgotten that unknowns are controlled by fear. And have become afraid. Dip your finger over the side of the boat. Draw a line to my heart. A line that divides whtat you knew from what you know.
specialstains.blogspot.com
Prose and Poetry: Rap Sheet
http://specialstains.blogspot.com/2008/05/rap-sheet.html
Saturday, May 31, 2008. A mug shot of a poem. That went terribly wrong. Who is really to blame. For its coughed up fabrications. And bits of hoaxes? At 10 it was discovered. At 15 it was accused of putting to the torch. A party of harmless adjectives. At 23 it was jailed for littering. Crater lake with ryhmes. It survived for years by defrauding. At 28 it was sent to sing up the big river. For stealing petty change. From the pockets of the elderly. Who is to blame now. That it is back on the streets.
specialstains.blogspot.com
Prose and Poetry: May 2008
http://specialstains.blogspot.com/2008_05_01_archive.html
Saturday, May 31, 2008. A mug shot of a poem. That went terribly wrong. Who is really to blame. For its coughed up fabrications. And bits of hoaxes? At 10 it was discovered. At 15 it was accused of putting to the torch. A party of harmless adjectives. At 23 it was jailed for littering. Crater lake with ryhmes. It survived for years by defrauding. At 28 it was sent to sing up the big river. For stealing petty change. From the pockets of the elderly. Who is to blame now. That it is back on the streets.
