A doll on the shelf, I dream
lost in the fog with paper television.
I am their ghost in the window,
second floor, three blocks from the park.

The room is silent.
I cannot speak.




We die inside my thoughts, within each other,

and our eyes turn across the wallpaper of doubt,

words pass and fall with minute failing, I think,

breaths and thin moments of silence tremble

like rippling glass between us, yet I remember

each night and how often laughter connects us

and though my fears grow treacherous in the

vacuum lonely mornings, I know these burdens

will lose their hold in time.


Waking Up

We don’t wake up to blue skies.

Church makes me feel naked, but God is dead cold.

I wouldn’t want to have children in this weather.

Cups of coffee topple from boredom.

Waking up into another dream.

Shivering beneath this great wave.

She’ll learn to skate one summer.

Plastic wasn’t born a metaphor.

I can’t remember the last time I moved.

Waking up surrounded. Waking up mad.

My fur coat left home.

We haven’t yet unearthed our fan death.

Valentine’s day just gets more sinister.

A cloud passed over the moon.

I woke up and didn’t know where I was.

Your jokes were never any good.

The car wants to stay hidden today.

Trains are running slower and slower.

Foreign was invented to forget you.

My hands are turning blue.

Farm animals appear in pictures of my family.

Trees won’t shut up about this day.

Waking up with two hands in the gun safe.

Every color began without a name.

Waking up is an act of habit these days.

Mona Lisa dies. Marilyn died.

Space doesn’t care about the 4th of July.

Every time an airplane passes I feel compelled to beat my wife.

My watch keeps lying.

The bomb is making up its mind.

We all wake up drunk to whispers.

Doors open and refuse to close.

Sometimes we don’t wake up at all.

Children playing in gasoline puddles.

Find a place to hide.

Mr. Johnson disappeared.

Waking up down.

Candles won’t stay lit.

Fish disappear from aquariums.

You need to run away if this starts.

Woken up by a noise you didn’t hear

It’s starting to rain.

Occasionally someone forgets how.

This isn’t serious blood.

Lizards don’t remember Vietnam.

The marching band plays louder to stay afloat.

Woke up once and it already happened.

This state is another world.

The word “it” was invented by the government to keep us straight.

She woke up as somebody else.

All the dogs ran away last night. Maybe they’re onto something.

Asphalt swallowed city bu. Victims plead guilty.

Go swimming while you can.

What if we all  woke up at the same time?



Waking up is a privilege.

Waking up is a dying art.

Waking up got lost along the way.

Waking up wears cotton panties

Waking up took a long train east

and fell asleep with a magazine in its lap.


Removed pale faces, paper creased and

trod across concrete skin, tattoos of teeth

against a grime-slick surface.

The world animal shakes out flecks of

goodness and dead steel circus balloons

inflate before her eyes. Grinning faces

pull apart into twisted rigid brambles.

Hand drawn water becomes lead and spreading ink,

the faces peel off until streaks of scabbing adhesive

remain only, worn immobile and thoughtless.

Chemicals run us through

in the cherry morning sun.

Black eyes and water turn as the train rolls past.

Death is swinging her skinny yellow dress,

disappearing in moments.

Sullied soft heads tremble dismembered by

screaming wide eyes, shivering teeth like a

punched in skull, each dripping and fevered with envy.


Flickering on the tracks, I

Observe the cold steel ribbons my

Chest is closing fast soft

Darkened eyes and stone lungs I go

Too cold to stay here watching ice, visions

Melt away my arms are stiff

Hard water wipes me off, bad stomach

Under luckless stars I’m

Only walking away.

Sharp eyes approach like stars this

Monolith of the void drives forward

I’m shaking to breathe heavy smoke that’s

Tomorrow burning off I’ll

Disappear now ruined inside the engineer

Will see me gone I’m no

Dream I won’t fly away.

Twilight tastes like rust

Burning the trees are

My shadows or

Feather dressed goal keepers

Jagged bent over pondering

And silent old again

Whispering this bloody momentum

Once more I’ll stay

This time I’ll go I

Won’t be anywhere after this The World

Lost past the press of rushing water

Hemorrhage Will anybody see I

Fed my fish my daughter

Will find her own path

Not this end with

Cold fingers and wincing


I’m guilty too long in clean, comfort-shut eyes.

It is very disappointing I have yet to shed this illusion.

I smell the world which is true, though we have not met,

and the lessons of my adolescence were ammunition

for the form I was born to, regretfully.

What holds me now is fear, though I will rename it shamelessly

until I am detached as from my own murders and subjugation.

I must face the world extra, else it will pass me yawning.

I am a white man and not particularly poor.

I could sleep through the real Armageddon, it wants nothing with me.

This is hateful. I’m tempted to forget

those shivering images of pain because the wolf will not come for me

but I am human, and I am the wolf unwillingly.

I have not crushed my hand in the gears to force them still.

I have not bled. I become drunk on Camus and complacent.

I  must begin again to feel: fear and that total upheaval

which becomes daily more necessary.



Stolen out by a cool, reflective surface,

to darkness beyond the breath of life.

I’d like to rest in the wake of a storm

with your head on my chest

and the waves’ shrill collapse.

We’re falling through the water and nothing,

strips of paper washing away…

Run in strange circles for a taste of cool air,

harsh wind cuts through between our words.

The pull of black water may take me away

to hard motion in darkness and silent descent.

I read a blue book about dying. I thought I was brave.

Among the brambles of night this air is too thick to breathe.

I don’t want to lose you.

Black ocean tide stretches out.

There isn’t a name for something like this.

Clouds fold over the moon

with storm whispers and cold.

I woke up on the shore with a broken arm and painful throat.

The sky turns clean and bone white for dawn.

I tried to write books about you.

My hand always slipped at first.

On the left you can see the world

and on the right taste long cool breath.

I am gone tonight, drinking to your soul.

Do you remember yourself?

I learned your name under a crescent moon.

Your voice is the breeze on my remains.

I think you were holding the dreams

when we got cut apart and lost.


I begin to consume myself through the air and my eyes,

stir a pulp of the world to drink and hold past long cool sounds.

To follow this path I should know the workings of evil and hunger.

This is a new breath come shaking my body, watch fruit fall and rot personally.

I hold hope in hand with my grand whole nada and nod delirium.

It will be some time before my lips drift apart for I am listening.

I must digest this field quickly as deep grey box cars pass full of sadeyed fury.

This is the deathly time happening but I’ve survived inside this skin and sex I wish to remove.

I could chew out my feathers and fall in good conscience, the same twister will care for me.

This is the morning with a marigold dawning of choice, fiery and pummeling first taste of the world.

I eat newspapers, six this week like biscuits in my coffee (quietly desperate and plain at 3am).

I have a world to become or I will pass by unburdened, naive as a kite. Sickly thinking, I could.

It is time to slit my sail and join the ocean before I reach the white sand shore.

I should become human before I think to join their fold.



This girl was young with thin limbs and quiet.

She felt the breeze until cool glass pressed down.

Water runs by her grave,

and the sunlit rocks keep her alone.

She fell slowly through fragile asphyxiation,

now evaporates to beautiful dust.

Shadows cross her body and years turn.

She lies still upon translucent sand.

Silent wings pressed into vacant position,

dark eyes survey the blanket mist.

She never felt the pain of death.

Miracles keep her clean.

Approaching sexuality with a colorful whisper,

shrill in the glass sheath unrealized.

This body is not the girl.

Her spirit fled through the punctured abdomen.


We have been alone and I love you

Under watery darkness with clear gone silence,

my eyes are slowly open and the illusion remains.

Animals speak without moving and

visions dissolve to silt, we are

the river growing still.

We are patience into stone.

My soul is flecks of sweat sent hissing through the fire,

weakness I hope will pour off abandoned-

you are behind me alone,



no longer breathing.

My fingers close on conversations of snow,

our bodies run off through the bitter cold

surrounded by brittle and sour words, acidic pitiful.

There is no great clarity here to slit your wrists.

We search for miles but cannot remember the world.

I don’t know. I don’t know

what we want.

Wrapped in leaves, bodiless and apart from life

and real sounds of living echo the way

with fossils of movement my fading sorrowful eye.

We don’t speak but stand naked and drowsy

seventy years apart and dying.

The waves close over our shaking heads

but I feel no commitment

to the vain charade


I’ve been here and wandered through distastefully.

I’ve been trying to reach you

with knotted strings and dust.

This moment remains alone, only.

I squat in the empty road

where ghosts circle a thin white bone,

soft murmuring hands, my blood shakes.

Our bodies are glass

which shimmers like water, darkly

and we disappear into each other

sailing away

with hands outstretched and

charcoal blood, shut eyes sticky

with chance and doubt.


Evaporating black wine frames pieces of glass on the floor.
I lean against you, shuddering for this deathly night.
Slit my throat with your tongue so we can melt together.
Already our city is burning. Sheathe the moon in sweat.


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