I’m canceling the projects I just announced, I cannot write those poems. I may release something this year full of poems about what I usually write about, but I cannot pretend the strange non-reality I’m awaking from is something I can lash words around. I was validated in romance and swagger that an epic romanceContinue reading “I Changed My Mind About Everything”
Well, no, we are not Jews, but we Do know the same God—four letters, Mr. Quattro, Quad Fourier, Four. Yeah—way, way out there— We are the Thirteenth Tribe and where We belong is anywhere but Israel. The sun never sets on Thirteenth soil; The house of the rising sun rests upon our midnight dawn. BulletContinue reading “The Places Who We Are Today”
(From, “Duino Elegies”) For beauty is nothing but the beginning of terror, which we can just barely endure, and we stand in awe of it as it coolly disdains to destroy us. Every angel is terrifying.
Ripping out pages plucking them one by one—leaves or days—of my life, and the leaves on the tree outside are a dying generation this Winter—every Winter… And life is a prayer formed with the lips of a lifetime of slow time, of waiting to die, and the act of dying is just like saying “amen,”Continue reading “Ripping Out Pages”
Last night the Beatles and the Beach Boys battled for my eternal soul. I was sped away in a little duce coupe, but then a giant walrus in the road took me back to the USSR until, finally, David Lee Roth appeared with his California girls, and that was that. The chords of music wereContinue reading “Battle For The Author’s Soul”
At the heart of a cold, bright hope dwells a sorrow from the past and the now: you stretch past a vision of a past that cannot be assuaged. And the sorrow and hope survive a cemetery of all our past selves: each persona we concocted to be in the world, each that perished fromContinue reading “A Sudden Taste Of Blood On The Lip”
Multi-faceted or two-faced, love hums in between,exists in the suspension, the act of not resolving: A thought—or a prayer—that grows with time, swells until it is perfect and round and purple… Then love rolls gently back and forth between two worlds: Your love is a pleasant fool and a rapier wit. Your love is bulldogContinue reading “A Bit About Love”
Some native American tribes believed that death is nothing more than a hunter who stalks us all impersonally, by duty. Our tender realms of fever and sleep float along the edge of life’s forest; they dance with death, they tantalize death like paw prints and a fresh scent. But evade an accident or maybe fallContinue reading “With Apologies To Jethro Tull”