Friday, March 1, 2019

notapoem - on the occasion of resitting an exam

pt 1 - monday 25 Feb, 1:01am

__this ferocious month,
__the mouth
__of 2019 -
_and now,
_the hour I have been too
_scared of to be scared.
(so I've just... not been.
__out of fright for today I haven't dared to be scared.)
Pill count today: 16.
that can't last. __I'm sorry future me. __I'm sorry
previous me for getting us into this mess.
__But here we are.
_too scared for feelings and very very tired.
__So too everything

pt 2 - Saturday 2 March, 2:44pm

__and now i see why.
__around the corner, __beneath the
__the unknown places speak ,
__a certain language
__with no question marks.
__the ipse dixit of how it goes
__how it went
__what was left __lost __redeemed, ____displaced
__the fall of rome __the day Luna Park was closed
__lost tennis balls __rings
__broken dishes __bones
__success stories __fours of spades
__who sunk and who found a treasure ashore.

__shrugs against tanks

__steps __against  days and days and days:
__sometimes against, __sometimes through, __sometimes
under the foot of.

__now we wait.
__hearts at our feet.

Saturday, November 5, 2016


the dust has settled, and we walk through what's left with relief that we are walking and part of what's left

snow, in reverse, floating away from the earth, warming us as it rises

somewhere a mother is so proud

(two dance right by my window) hello friends hello be-my-friends hello i know-you-are 

we should all dance as loosely. ignore the choreography, our steps are light as air

are you here to remind me of something?

the hourglass is running in reverse, the grains trickle upwards. each one i am delighted to see and sorry to see gone, not to return again. (where will you all go? where will you all sleep?

not everything that rises returns. say hi to the balloons for me.

* * *

thank you lordie, i needed something beautiful today

Tuesday, November 1, 2016

Los Angeles, and everything after

this is not special fancy writing i don't have special fancy writing, all i have are - i don't know what i even have i should be more thankful grateful for all the wonderfulness but i can't i tried i couldn't i tried i tried i tried - not a single time has the plane landed and i thought hurray!, not a single once, not a single once, every time the wheels touch down and there's that sinking falling something really sinks down low and i feel crushed ruined hurt    i mean that: hurt,   and then i walk around for days thinking why here why how did, what is this place who am i here?, i'm no one here, not even my mom is here any more, i miss my mom, why is everyone i love somewhere else somewhere far from me and i am thankful for all these wonderful lovelies i spent a lifetime finding discovering and why am i not near them, but here, in this place, by myself where i have nothing to do but drink night after night hoping the night just goes away,   dear 2016 seriously f8ck off i hate you hate you hate you, what more disaster can you devise you f8cker of a year i hate you hate you hate you - this is a salty month of a salty year i have no answers why can't i answer this i don't know how to fix this who can i speak to to help me escape this?, who why can't i find a way out of this maze at the end of the universe where i've been trapped for millennia where every day is a week, every week a universe and where i've been reduced to a silent mouse in a quiet office where i read the thing and write the thing and have nothing to show for it on friday evening but another 80 hours clocked wasted spilt and empty bottles i look through and find nothing but a hazier tonight tomorrow forever i swear i am trying - i am failing but i am trying and i don't know how what i'm supposed to do, i don't know what i'm supposed to do i don't know what i'm supposed to do, dear tuesday dear monday dear all you days i want you to be here with me, i want to see you why can't i see?

i am out of boxes to put you in.

put me in the box already i am out of flowers.

why can't i fix this  i don't know how to fix this   who can i speak to to help me escape this? 

Sunday, June 26, 2016

2016: a portrait (draft)

the muscular shadow:
__mountains of heavy-weighted silence


near tears when i arrive home
scared of the front door
frozen on the porch in the dark, still holding my keys
__hoping the stray cat will visit


you were sober all week?, that's great! that's great, And last night too,


this straight road.
this tired sunday,
yet another fallen to my feet, with the other playing cards

even the shingles doesn't scratch,
in the shape of a perverse smile
licks its lips and presses its fang into me

hi sucker


this finger is fine, i can move it.
the finger is swollen, dislocated and fractured.
i can move it.
you cannot.
but i see it moving.
you do not.


the breathlessness
the herbs for the anxiety
the pills for the cold bed
the medication for the frenzy
the booze for everything else


it's true isn't it?

i am here?

am i?

_please ,

is there no bottom?

(the carousel. the merry-go-round,

hamsters on a wheel. rats in race).


there's a voice on the other end.
far away.
it keeps me walking.
i keep pace to it.
if it stops i stop.
tomorrow it may be there again.
tomorrow maybe i will be.


the year of the half-nelson,
the choke-hold
breathlessness : the year of the motionless frenzy
the sunken cathedral
the bottomless piano,
the monday vampire
the tuesday drone
these white tulips
these cigarettes won't light
these pills won't speak
no exit
no stronghold
the muscular shadow, with its mountainous weight:
the year of the gridlock,
the lost birth certificate
the half empty tumbler
the empty bottle
the year of the

is there no bottom?

___please :

______is there no bottom? 

Saturday, April 23, 2016

sunday, 3:55pm

when did this start?,
before the long weekend with the perfect weather
and the steady, controlled pace of moderating
immoderate rage with whatever was at hand,
stumbling hands under the couch and under the sink
looking for things to throw at it,

numberless day, nameless moments

left hand still shrieking from a bad catch last week,
swollen thumb shaking its way through untied shoelaces on one foot
undone cuffs on on wrist

despite all efforts : aimless day,
gentle, smiling sunny minutes gnawing away,
eroding the last of it

and with nothing left at 4pm
the day yawns and the real trouble will begin.

how , how , how? , to deal with that?

(if i start burning now, by tuesday morning...


saturday, 9:12

he plays videogames and taps his feet to the blaring trance
i read ee cummings and listen to my body fill and release like a giant heart

and he tries the nanoblocks again
and i look for poems about kisses and consider sending them to you

the clothes dryer turns
it's the bats' mating season and they have a lot to say about it outside ;
saturday night doesn't notice any of this as it casually inspects itself

(and grainy seconds coalesce into minutes hours longweekends nexybirthdays and
___a wave called Time grows into a wall )

and i drink and do another line and read
and shutout the doppler effect
and try to find a shortcut to the other side

Friday, April 22, 2016

2016: a portrait

- its muscular shadow - don't you sense it?, like we're all pinned in a half-nelson we can't see?

well i haven't seen a turn-off in a little while now, and, well, frankly, i'm a bit concerned - see, we've been going for a while now and it's just straight and there's no way off this highway and it's not coming to anything and it's getting us further-on and i haven't seen a thing worth looking at in miles and hours

she crosses the street when i get home.
and sits on the porch with me.
and listens out for cars in the distance, and scratches her ears
while i wait for my breathing to slow.

there's no capacity for description anymore, this implicates the possibility of a numbness so generalised that experience is negated - not felt, not understood, it can't be described - a nerveless heaven full of cinder blocks and tuesday mornings and tired flowers we're too tired to throw out when we arrive home at midnight and leave again 5 hours later.

How to Pin Butterflies: a Guide
14 steps to easy pinning

- Q, are you bored, i'm concerned you might be bored -
- huh?
- i can sense it, you get... tired, a little different, from time to time, i think it's when you're bored,
- [...]
- ________and we all get it, you're an intellectual powerhouse, and we want you here and we want to make sure we're giving you enough to feel stimulated, _______ ;
- [...]

___*___ *___ *

- and have you thought about your next 12 months?
- Yes.
- [...]
- .
- [...]
- .
- mm. Well, I guess that brings us to....

- hey so you know that stray cat?
- Kitty.
___yes, her name isn't Kitty
_____________________yes it is.
- it's not, she belongs to the people across the street, she's theirs.
- her name is Kitty.
- we can't adopt her Q.
- but they don't look after her very well

do you want to half a gram with-

i awake on the couch shivering with a dark grey patch across the chest where half a glass of bourbon has absorbed into my shirt
i throw it in the laundry, turn off the lights, set the alarm to give me 2 more hours, and
stop in the doorway to look at the dark bed