somehowconstant.blogspot.com
thinking cat: December 2012
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Eve slaps the three skulls on her chest. Chastising the violence of stars. Punched light stuttering through incomprehensible velocity. As I watch with my two good anchors. Ballast of the balls of my feet. Bedrock in harmony with solitude. It's a quiet night. I'm smoking my last cigarette. Pulling my collar around the base of my skull. Combing over the shaved edges of my hair. The more I look. The more I crease the fold of my body. To breathe in Vega and Etamin. Becoming rooted in balance.
somehowconstant.blogspot.com
thinking cat: June 2012
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Posted by cat cray. For all the Annie's and Arthur's. Strides across the room. The backs of sculptures. Lime-wood" she tells me. Bronze afterglow a dirty gold. That look like fish scales. And trees and love. Each "I" an abstracted. Perspective like the Lichtenstein. That made you smile. Arms wrapped around a baby. Looking at old ladies wishing. We were old ladies. Content and curious as she. Her fender apart until the strings. Curl into magnetic fields. In a dark sweaty room saying. Sorry" to the stage.
somehowconstant.blogspot.com
thinking cat: February 2012
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In flux bebop polemics. Poli tick tick ticks. I'll demean it Charlie. You, me and Kansas City. Beyond that one square mile. Above the heads of aldermen and mayors. Fingers curled around the neck. Posted by cat cray. Make your own mantra. A 9th century Nagaraja Guardstone from Sri Lanka on display at the V&A. Teardrop in an upturned denture. Allen Ginsberg’s bowels. Teardrop in an upturned denture. Allen Ginsberg’s bowels. Posted by cat cray. How the unsure wind. Parallels find no friction. Of is and is.
somehowconstant.blogspot.com
thinking cat: March 2012
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Hollowed be my name. Your strip mall come. Your bill be won. As it is in tax havens. Give us this day our 10% percent off. Forgive us our store points. Lead us not to customer services. For thine is the system. The power and the profit. In lieu of payment. See me as I am. With an armful of appliances. Spine curved to the longing. For emptiness and overdrafts. Hatch me from the bones of your boardrooms. Posted by cat cray. His loneliness my heartbeat. Atenolol his heart his heart. In chinos and hem lines.
somehowconstant.blogspot.com
thinking cat: July 2012
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And I between the cracks. Never fallen never fell. Fell how far fall so deep. Karma wrapped like barbed wire. Tight in its coil. Thaw across a concrete mind. Fell how far fall so deep. You will be amazed at how strong. Through syntax and circuitry. Give me your rivers. So they may be canted. I see the lock. Posted by cat cray. Posted by cat cray. Writing in two columns not. The tiny words of the Bront. S not the slanting. Desk of Austen not. The dance of ink that. Plath seemed to do. Not the lists and.
somehowconstant.blogspot.com
thinking cat: March 2013
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The idea of your mouth. And then the memo the imago the myth. The mollusc of spring. Posted by cat cray. Subscribe to: Posts (Atom). Shift worker , word lover , koan punk wannabe. View my complete profile. A little offshoot of small words. 160; the idea of your mouthsettling in neatunavaila. Template images by hdoddema.
somehowconstant.blogspot.com
thinking cat: May 2012
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Here's to the peace. Through an empty car park pausing. At the lonely war memorial a starshock. Of marble pointing upwards to a. In a small font. At the bottom of a page. I am fake sonnets and dandelions. Or is that somebody else. Am I somebody else when I'm in these. This orchestra of concrete and light. Naked flagpoles pose like. Here's to the peace. How they sound without other sounds around them. Posted by cat cray. Lucian" written on the wall. Stick out from the square pavement. As if to suggest.
somehowconstant.blogspot.com
thinking cat: November 2012
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I was the first to wake up. With the great cloud of Metropolitan New York. Through the Lincoln tunnel. It was only the beginning. Among the pots and pans. Sprawled on the floor. Four thousand miles withdrew. To a dark corner. His is an erasure poem using words found on page 117 of On The Road. Posted by cat cray. Posted by cat cray. Beyond September beyond testing testing. Into the military slap of snare. Into the neck of naked trees. Where robed parliaments make mitres. Out of mole hills. As if it were.
somehowconstant.blogspot.com
thinking cat: August 2012
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These multitudes, these circles, this pulse. In my neck these brazen multitudes. I am only lines this pulse. Shepherding the traces of you your multitudes. Drinking you from the stone your circles. Widening with the wind your circles. Ravaged like your pulse. Wrapped in the arms of your multitudes. These multitudes these circles this pulse. Posted by cat cray. I saw you sober once. And you were not. Lonely by the roundel. Half off your feet. Who your favourite poet was. And danced along the platform.
