11/8/2003

i'm not going to say i am a great poet. in fact my brother said i lacked concrete imager often with my poems and enjoyed my prose .. . .. .. .. but i just put s**t on paper. light cigarettes. tickle the hearts of those who can't write and live through me

all i want is something to really taste.

something to stretch its wings in the morning -

something to loose its breath and rise - when i rise

kiss me good bye as i fade into the world of winter mornings and turnpikes.

 

five days

five nights

looking for  saviours

 

...all thoughts are swinging on a set of ideas and phone calls to grasp the fervor of love.

             if she only said the word.

 

never touch my pockets . i have things there that i won't share. i have things that there alone live within the soul. they fall out sometime. they roll down the side walk. and that is how i loose a little bit of myself each year...rolling down alley ways and streets.....looooose change for others to greet...everone owns a little bit of everyone else. we all pick up the shining shards of soul... splinters of our personage.

 

ALL MY FRIENDS AND ALL MY LOVERS ARE MONKEYS

ALL MY FRIENDS AND ALL MY LOVERS

ARE REDUNDANT SADNESS - LYRICS AND POEMS BUILT FOR THE RAINS AND THE WINDS. FOLK SING'N COATS AND LONG ROADS. ALL THESE FRIENDS AND LOVERS. ALL THESE CLOUDS AND OIL LEAKS.

Author's Note

not even sure. don't ask unless you want to talk to me in person. you buy the first round.