what's happening?

What's happening, stance? happenstance i happen to stance, my stance crooked, is happening.
happening can be a stance. I take this stance as I happen as my wife to have and to hold and happen to have whilst I place this stance all over you. Don't take that stance with me you happen..stance. Posture and stance, very important and just so happens to be my non-neanderthal, upright stance in life. what's your stance on abortion? Prone posture, legs up, vacuum starts, minus one baby happens. bad girl, happen will kick your stance. Perchance, have you a happenstance?

come watch sounds of rivers in clouds

The water dripped off my hand, I held my fingers wide and really looked, really saw the rhythm pulsing under my discontent and ridiculous frenzy. This is my hand, to have and to hold with. I wanted so badly to touch her skin, to cool it. Feel the waxy softness in the water, under the desire and longing to be good again.

come to me and say, "this is all a ridiculous game and you will win, just let go..remember?"
you sit in that way and quietly ponder pains i have given you and with all your powerful will, you press on and again you say, "just let go..remember?"

yes I remember, only sometimes. I lay back in some car as you're driving on clouds and I look out the sunroof and pretend I'm falling, this is my letting go. I want to fall far enough to hit sound and press no further, stand and fall again until there is no need left.

And now, where is the water on my cool, pail hand? I want to dry slowly and care deeply without the clinging of adamant, ponderous impressions, demands and other frivolous itchy lace, waste.

In the water is a flow of time, the gurgling wet of my little world's history passes. Contemplate, my staring eyes trickle cool with shimmer, wandering muted color, spilling, mesmerized..

Set thee oh hand of mine,
into cool wet and sometimes brine,
bringing forth, stilling and forever dying,
for now everything and nothing is,
but time

not to mention

it's raining and she's listening
clicking the mouse and finding songs she can sing to me

hoist your cute ass over here and lets me
get a sniff of your sweet sweat

i love your tattoos and how your hair grows down the center
like an arrow
towards your soft mouth

i'm thinking of you
me below
your eyes and my pink toenails
flashing down at me

com'ere, lets me smell your sweet sweat,
feel your intention
not to mention
your thrust

i'll trust
i'll throw away the hardened,orderly mental conventions
to the unending bending of my body and mind
IT,
IT being 'the ability to', really is your invention

metal thin

spill blindly
low mist, unto me
hands in dirt, callous filled, soft crease wrist to arm

petal soft eyes and tremor held, quietly still
tell me soft cool breeze
i am good enough

fell fall falling still
down to knees
words on my shoulder
spot light to peer, eyes to ponder

cradling last death
nailing a frame, discord
held to a wall with metal thin wire
crooked, hatched and shell-less
it wadles away unbalanced, ridiculous

caustic banter
create a fine and throttling experience
choaking to resist the most beautiful things

my picture, i'm so proud

blunder me tilting

head to dip
slyly
low, yes lower like that
that's the response to pull from your bag-o-tricks
dear actor, come play this role on my Broadway

wet heady city day
rain in the sky thick
holding it's release
restraint
resistance
the re-words

a spill slipped from her intention
a pulling rebuff and the fall started it's decent
and my head slid to tilt
heavy in sighs and the spiral of an inevitable conclusion

any passerby knew
a clown would cry
hoist my story up, up to here
yes there, that's good

make my own divine devils and creatures of love
cast my net, my spell
my hand in your direction
ghost, i made you

belief constant, is useless
commit to castles and little black salamanders with white spots
it still doesn't mean what it means, until i blink

feel this wind and raise high
bright flow wet breeze
cars shriek and huff on
next to me, the killing pills of over swallowed people shudder by
my shoes step over and through a simple story

regardless and because
you play your part
my story, my cast
thank you for giving your hats to hold
illusions to behold
plans and resistant two-fold..
gold

all i see now my wand to whip around me
a moat to float
swim with monsters and this is fun
essential customers only

cut to the quick and step hard so i hear
turn it up or shut it
closed and damp
again with the wet heady city day

i like tag i like dodge ball
but i don't play
a witch a forest with pearls
a stick of gum with stripes and bits of horseplay
just find it, through there, yes there
it's here

The Powerful Still

sound, the silence you make
fury, wind braids through wicked trees
reach and scratch skin red, skin torn
delicious need

dreadful beautiful power
climbing, crescendo, crash
still yet stunning the buffering wind slaps my face
assaults skin red, skin raw
visual slow
trance

my heart pulled into the rip
reaching to tear the tongue
suck my breath
pulse sears through veins
tourniquet, skin red, skin coursing blue
earth shakingly still

your brown eye
and that one too
I am on your raping wind
all of this, and love in the powerful still
of your eyes
skin red, skin new
clean ripe, I am of a vicious heightened view

gods wait on corners

I stand on this corner stringing words together
remembering how they can sound, written and read
reading Audre Lorde

The thick thump of heavy death repeated itself around the corner,
peeking i am perfectly planted to own witness and credit for a grand endeavor,
a striving force completing the wilt and fray of a fire extinguished.

he kicked her stomach, boot to spine till the air came in, eyes glaze and out no more.
still, soft and dead she laid in her own sort of cocktail made of her insides out

when you folded your long narrow body, eight arms and multi purpose intent into a pose of crouch,
in between sirens and the shrieks you could hear the sound of her blood dripping out of her, off her clothes and into the beautiful puddle on the rocky pavement below,
like art she was creating again, regardless of death here she laid, despite herself,
feeding us this hideous, inspiring blood art.

all movement slowed into deep motion, intent,
carrying a purpose to empty,
the blood was the only event, the only importance to consider,
with it i spilled out of myself and into her and the dread, horror and tragedy made a clicking sound of perfection.

nestled close filling her with me, this was my perfect example to give to the history being created that perfect isn't fair and fair is irrelevant.