& i am drawn to everything sad

even
on
the
brightest
days

there
is
a
rustling
of
tears
in
my
blood

a
sobbing
in
the
vessels

originating
from
a
built-in
sorrow
in
the
marrow

&
nothing
can
bring
on
a
smile

great poems

great poems should leave you
w/insomnia
w/ambulance sirens in yr ears
w/yr spleen lumped in yr throat
w/a headstone on yr solar plexus
w/a bouquet of dry sticks in yr hands
w/phantoms in the branches of yr lungs
w/the sensation of the buttons of yr spine
against the cold steel of the morgue drawer

The Boundless YES of the Universe

There is this thing flashing
beneath all loosening skin
beneath all dwindling meat

There is this thing flashing
beyond the marrow of weary bones

There is this ageless thing flashing
within all fading shapes

There is this inextinguishable strobe
beneath the temporary coat of a body

There is this weightless light
that crushes the limited NO

There is this thing, this thing…

A bright bouquet of deathlessness

we all meet again in its beam…

a day full of sun is like a machine gun

a day full of sun
& visible human skin
puts a pound
of lead in my guts

give me midnight
give me marrow
give me a grave
beneath a grave
give me all-night
rap sessions
w/fucking maggots

hit the machine

there are a lot
of poetry readings
but hardly any
fucking poems

sharper than scalpels

love
w/out
knives

does
not
exist

hate
contains
blunter
blades

up to my armpits

up

to

my

armpits

in

sorrow



the

only

thing

that

offers

buoyancy



joy

is

a

black

sack

of

stones

little dead girl in the wisteria vines

there is a little dead girl
half behind the wisteria vines
only her legs sticking out
a youthful pair slim as roots

i've lost my love, her sad face weeps
from the wisteria's tangled arms
& i hate the universe now
how dare it steal his shape away?

there is a little dead girl
half behind the wisteria vines
not quite safe from harm

i can't bear this emptiness
if only these vines would
wholly swallow me up

i'll gladly wait here
until my prince returns home
& sorrow ends, her sad face moans

unlived lines

don't fear wrinkles
upon yr face

they exist
simply from living

rather fear
the missing lines

from living not
quite enough

except for pablo neruda

if yr happily in love
there's most likely
something missing

something overly satisfied
something murdered
something erased
de-fused
healed
saved
&
choked
etc...

if yr happily in love
the odds are
something's arrived
& robbed from you
all those hungry parts
that you need to make
great fucking art

screw love
take back yr scars
unlace yr sutures
kiss yr spleen hello
get back up on the ledge

why isn't everybody screaming?

buddha said: the world is on fire

tennesee williams said:
we are all in a house on fire

i say: we are all in a body on fire...

flames w/in flames w/in flames

(love only fans the inferno)

the smoke reaches heaven

but there are no saviors

after screaming
i light another cigarette

& just fucking wait...

construction over a grave

you build a house
perhaps even one of joy
upon the plot of loss

you raise beams of laughter
tall 90 degree walls of relief
a sturdy roof seals out gray rain

but there is always a foundation
of tears beneath
a forever-leaky cellar of grief