poem
-
how everything contrasts to grey
        with me
the sky over this city is simply 
the sky
under the sponged ceiling
gabe johnson was driving me east 
towards new bottles
inexpensively free he was buying the night
and gratefully i would consume
all the food and all all alcohol
was the headlines source of need to tell me
what consisted of my needs this fluid in many forms
being one of them and the top right corner
guilted me with ecclesiastees or 2john or really
anything i wasn't heeding
there was a released source of water over on the right yesterday
it reached and sometimes made the moon tug
on europe
i was nothing in the face of water
i pretended to be asleep
i reccommended 22's in the heat of my deli-bought lunch
the animal fats that he has never consumed was filling 
my arteries sexing cholesterol
anyone- a child, could have asked me if i cared
my head: capped, protected
my pockets: clothed the soft side of my upper thigh
my white appendages: reflecting taking in the UV
thinking i should have worn that hawaiian shirt
painted green and yellow, with the chest exposed
like floridan bunnies protecting their skin with makeup
was protecting my sanity with newyorks, beeping screaming
in the poetic side of my head
against this tide mellow and long, knowing
my obscurity in it all
the hotels that didn't exist cast shadows of thier pink
stucco over everything there, the feamle form
existing just above the sand with clasps yawning
knowing i full well the softings that heal in these beings
being out of my reach for pink shadows create bars
not those of irish classrooms
but those that mix my clothes to turn orange
with all their stencilings
and numerals that     mean:   me:    to men
all these jumping and clapping as my thoughts
have acted for birthdays past
not understanding directions, highways, neuron paths with sense
that make
sense
for a second i lusted the plasticlife of the second brother
but for more i envied the life i was leading
being someone else for a second
the irresponsibilities signed my signature unstenciled
almost artistic
compasses lost thier minds, for this one at least
they stated states unvisited
montanas californias
they busied me their potentials orchestrated by that city that keeps 
me sane
i

pretended to be asleep.


tld oct '98