keepsake

 

the trinkets lost in translation
lost in the waves or to the masses
and i am sure to be disappointed
little treasures never hold their
value
the new car of
sentimental possessions
to be possessed
to be held
hold me now
i will be whatever your heart desires
in this moment
the little reprieve
the constant co-conspirator
or the ring that saves your ever-loving
soul
hold me then and hold me now
and i'll do my best
to be the same as that first
glowing moment where
we met one another
and anything was
somehow possible

Nocturne

 

penitent/my devotion has a first name/it’s (redacted)/my devotion ends in the wail of a car alarm/a five alarm fire/know the sense i’ve lost between the spaces/under a margin of error/i can’t believe it’s not/(what it is)what is it/what have you done and/do what you will/some friendly revision or something more sinister/they buried my hero not far from here/not crowley/though i hear he’s near too/i guess that brings down the property values/my hero is/my hero lives under a shanty town grave/nameless/i will say no name and mean his/forever and ever/amen/world with(out) end/until it’s done/

shoutz 7.5

 

screed

as a wail.

pitch, angelic

at dusk. by moon’s

light, by a dimmer switch

nailed to a tree like jesus.

nature becomes us. let it

take back my living room

with grass and fungus and

tree branches knotting through

the flat screen and the attached components

for entertainment. for existence.

touchdown!

everyone will get what they want

in the end,



i promise.

finite haiku

 I’ve been doing a newish series of zines called infinitehaiku and this was a small cycle that didn’t fit but I enjoyed enough to share.

methodical call

dial tone bleating call sign

save this sinking ship

look over the waves

at sea, no shoreline in sight

at the tide’s mercy

preserver preserved

only room for one of us

you will see this through.

leave on a jet and

 

a day was a year/this song was a jam/i was happier then/that way/this time/was then was a a moment/this was that time/right now/right then/and i wished my life were in sepia/i was lost in the reverie of the color palette/keep me honest with/less than before/a year was a day and nothing was changing/i was the same as i am/i should have taken the bus//

shoutz 7

 another one from "shoutz."

the floor’s still creaking.

singing what i hope is

your arrival. homecoming,

fanfare and the appropriate

heralding of a trumpet,

of a procession, half-starved

but grateful. half-gone but

returned. wholly transformed.




i can only hope

it’s you. what’s been so long,

still feels like fresh blood

down the scratched spot,

broken free.

each centimeter swallowed

by its path, each crack

of the living room. you’re

out there, i’ve never been

more sure.




let the groans of this

quiet house

lead you back
home.

shoutz pt 1

later start to the morning than usual. i make these folders on my comp and write to a vibe or a concept for a while and "shoutz" is the latest one. i may post a few of these in the coming weeks.

calamity and cavernous thunder
spectral pyrotechnics 
across a braindead sky
these poltergeist will prey
across the arc of lightning
keeping things honest
in howling made fresh as wounds
as bread baked daily. fade away
when you’re ready, perfect 
crust. just warm enough.
home as a hell
loud enough for two
but it is solely for you.
good enough
through rattled bone and 
wind and the whole thing
moves with purpose. just so

everclever

 work has begun on a new chapbook and design/layout for #infinitehaiku II is imminent. I've also got something more substantial that's percolating and will be a bit of a departure from the usual style. Keeping the blade sharp or something...

wish the end times
were a bookmark
and the feel good,
happy fun times 
were the ocean's currents.

pray to see the circle
and the square
resolve their differences
but the edges and the bends
make a beginning, some start,
impossible

hope becomes a broken
cruise liner, slow-rolling
over into an anticlimactic
boat-apocalypse. an end
played out by a squeaking
brass band's worst performance
in weeks. going to hell on a highway
lined with dead electric cars and
moments cast aside for something
slightly better. rusting out. corroded
all over. still with eyes. still watching.

neverever

 lots of stuff in the works. you can find the new zine #infinitehaiku out and about or reach out if you're curious to learn more. Tapes on Fire is still available here. Bigger things coming sooner than later too. Get ready, it might be my best work yet.

draft's in
jury's out
we'll be a mechanized failure
in no time flat
weaponized defeat
in just a few short steps
and you can hit
that subscribe button
before long and watch
this undoing,
ungluing itself
from careful
applications

i am in
persuasion
mid-
resuscitation
resume the
reclamation
without indentation
consummate professional
in contemplation
after irritation and 
simple math's
implications.

rappity rap 
bim bam boom
scat forever
this is truth

you knew it then
you knew me now
in the know
in sequence
forever
forget it
the past will
clean up our 
messes. 

sorry for the interruption

forevernever

 

not the favorite-
this/thy little misconception/them
nor us, like thee/home forever,
just like never/like always/

glow always/unwilling to
fade into the background/zoom out
"you are here"

always positioned/never lost/
these little spaces/made clear/made
visible/lone beacons in a starless sky/

we are now/we are never/we are forever
little known and eternal/delayed and on time/
right here, when needed.

you're never going out of style

almost forgotten

 

almost and not quite/somewhere/this is now and then and never/even if you don’t notice/even when it crosses the path you are walking/we are never without it/one another/

one and all/the table full/napkins and salad forks/et cetera/ et al./no roll call/no voting “present”/

we will own this/put our names to it/become it/swell and burst with the facts/non fiction/one and all/

lend us this ear/yours/mine/the litany of others/i should have known/never in doubt/together, we will lay claim to what is ours/

dog complex

 

in infinite wisdom,
this vision, reduces 
the likelihood of 
miscalculation. sets
free, sets fire to,
unlimited brush
with endless air.

in infinite wisdom,
forever extending,
forever, each ever
a new hill to roll right
on past. right onto the
next vista.

from up here,
i can see anything.
i will be everything.
whenever.

hopeful hopeless

 

dress it up any way you like and i’ll give you the notes you’ve requested of me. to tell you the truth, that’s what you’ve asked of me. honest like headlights on a hill in dead nighttime. dead to rights, just out there floating. letting you know that something is waiting. maybe even getting a little closer. with each passing second. each of them. growing in stop motion. slow road to oblivion/salvation.

which of them/who of us really knows anything? i will make a truth out of whatever calls my name the sweetest. whatever knows the way to my heart. through me. into my soul and out another end with clean exit wounds.

oh, to be obliterated. knowing my own destruction. knowing the end, recording it as the opening track. cue the sounds of accompaniment to my wailing. I won’t be alone when it all comes out in the wash. there will be strings and horns and other lines of melody and harmony. we’ve been working a long time together. so much to tell you. so little time to be told.

listen.

TAPES ON FIRE RELEASE

 NEW BOOK IS LIVE.

ORDER HERE. HOPE YOU ENJOY!

commemoration

 tomorrow...Tapes on Fire. Link when it's live. There's a bunch of other ideas in the works. more on that later.

consider it a spot of luck
that hell is below us.
and hell fire isn't raining down 
any time soon. any time. anywhere.

maybe in hell, but as we've already established:
we are at a strategic elevation. the advantage,
critical. let them make it rain all they want.
we're sitting pretty in the regular acid/microplastic
rain we've got topside. they'll have to think of something 
a little different to get us on their level.

in the spirit of fairness, though:

i will tell you our next moves, but it
will be in a coded language. taps, almost like morse code, but instead just one rule: 

3 taps is a 
surrender.

we: don't: ever: surrender.

take that how you will. we'll be transmitting until we receive a response. 
hell isn't other people, it's a deep cavern filled with pitchforks and fire and
ceramic swing sets. i'd be mad too. it might also have paid advertisements
interrupting your thoughts. what could be worse?

what could be worse? 

in another spirit i'll answer my own question:

not: a: damn: thing.

we aren't heaven, but we sure is hell aren't settling for anything less than what we've got.
and if you want what we've got, well

come on up here and make an offer. we're listening.