musings & scribbles

Month: June 2006

  • can’t sleep

    fall asleep for 2 hours, wake up, and stay awake another 4. should i go back to sleep, or take another nap in 6, or just lay on my back until the ceiling resembles stars, the mini-mountains, shadowed, showing some mark of a stabled/stationary existence, but i know, with a pinch/apush/aslightbrushing, they will fall/willcrumble, as all do, eventually.. and where do they go, these fallen remnants of a ceiling, of what is oft-seen by night, now hidden within the sheets/the carpet/behind the desk? and what of them now? what of them then? what if the vaccuum picks them and places them, distanced, from their origination?.. though, the ceiling is hardly their origin. no, they were before the ceiling/the mold from which they hung in right fashion, though they belonged elsewhere.. perhaps the plaster next were used in mold of bust, of carvings, gone through with care by wretched artist, fumbling to be known/recognized/understood as other than a simple chipper of a mound? the tv calls, and i, weak/a weektomydebts, i look down from these words, in shame, and pray, though rarely i do, pray they be a remembrance of these noble stalactites, fashioned to be ‘bove, as, in art or placement, they, through careful hands or swift swipings of a brush so used, they, in fall or stance, so known as more, as though they majesty’s fractal musings, left/or placed/or ‘signed to be, are beauty, they, those/these landers from unknown, stars, but shining shadow ‘pon their selves, as do most in wait of notice, though so purposed they may be

  • i’ll put it in a note

    i’ll put it in a note

    “don’t forget me”
    squi/rumbles the
    unfed, unthought of gut,
    though a bit bellow belly
    and more to the rear..

    clamped, wishy-washy/tight,
    the shoulder-high head to side,tilted,
    a slant to see as eyes take,
    transfer/transform/transmognify
    the too-distant touchings
    from a universe outside the skin,
    the ah-waving hairs of tip
    and, lost, i follow, back
    inside to wait for chance,
    a happy stance i may not know
    without.

    veins, twisting, tighten, brought fluid with the thought of something more, something outside, yet i am there, on the outside, seeing/feeling/touching/knowing/breathing/intaking all and yet i know nothing of them, except the weather/the calm/the rush of wind on palm from fingers, tracing thought in rabid raze of thinkers’ pace and though i sink farther, i rise, i rain as cloud upon these keys, to know where storm may lead, and though i feel a sense of calm, this rage, this flash, lingers on
    to where, i know not, yet go, a hollow vessel, filling, leaking, holding close the image/clear, a brightened path brought close by taken steps/stairs/stares at blank, and dark, at shadow/red of veins

    to chris maine: read the first two lines and the last two.

  • and it snows.

    and it snows
    as threads
    snipped, short,
    wasting
    to be piled/spread.
    as does smile.
    as do tears.

  • The covering yawn of air,

    The covering yawn of air, full-held to be escaped, to be fading from the voice’d roar, in rush of crowd, of millions, bowl’d to be as risers of the fallen, to be as harvests, loosened [rocked, rounded in the loosened soil], let sit, climbed-over, rolled in upward glance-foot/swift lifting of the core to see the fields, laid strewn/laid, stained in corpses, light held off in festive linings of the shadow-flashes, dots as stars, inversed to held as swarm, wing’ing ‘llipsed as toward goal, in twist of glances, spun, o’er heads, and distance, covering, as does solstice, ‘splosion, Sun, a whistle, pitched too high from ears of skin, though all lies through as lies in, and, cross stones, stuck, though ever-loose, hands reach, to be left at fevered swipe’ings in movements, gestives in their nature, given as clappings for the strain

  • silence in your brushings/strokings/sway

    and you make known your presence, your
    chatter ‘long these walls, up to challenge,
    though weakened with your language, your
    hiding in the breath, on skin, through eyes,
    you give to be taken in and, still, you speak,
    you wash/click as through the brushings,
    strokes, and, known, you ‘llow your sense
    to be, a cradle of the mound, fresh-baked
    to be a staple, stable, bustling make,
    and, through these searchings, strikes,
    you begin to break, as though in play,
    in laughter, ‘cycled, way, you hover ’bout
    to be as hand of teacher’s may, fal’n to
    as festive hands may, from clap/from cheer,
    though soft, to, unhindered, know, from
    still as know from stalled, in as know from far,
    yet, still, in stall, you give a know of all

    i’m working with these words, and they belong to you,
    and, when i stop, you need more, and my reluctance is but waiting
    to take over, though, within me, still, i know you need/will have/deserve/will leave without more and more, and, despite, my not having/rotten thoughts, i tery, i give, as though taking from, a d feel you will find me false, though they are your words, and i am not a writer, but a fraid to go beyond the wallings of this head, and i know these tappings are without speed, with swift fingers/tipped/giving lead of me, and i hope you free them to, from thoughts, garbled/jarbled, to strike in means much longer resonating than these

  • and you pour, leaking your words

    and you pour,
    leaking your words
    down pipes,
    from high, and they
    trickle/find a way
    to stalk the ground,
    as though your prey,
    and in push-soft graze
    of breeze, your fingers
    slip to tip of these,
    and throat grows wet, in need
    of dry, of speak, of world,
    of breath, of thy bleed’

    • musings & scribbles