Thursday, June 29, 2006

in another place there is someone who looks just like me and doesn't feel any of this





if they try to convince you
about pressures

and press the little tick
in your eyes


it's just nerves,

they can't get me now

Wednesday, June 28, 2006

more shanghai.... more






.... and all the people / barely noticing / the height ......



skij on.....





.... was in shanghai for 10 days and could not post...

now he has returned....

.... and will be posting.....



---- moscow is sweltering-----

.... and all posts will most likely involve the stuffed heat in Skij yesh On's apartment and head......


that is all, "readership"

Thursday, June 15, 2006





God they love your headache

It fills them up with strength

The crash of tiny bells

And bleached mouthfuls of smoke

Saturday, June 10, 2006






Stick me through with metal
And try to pull the brains
Made the hands responding right
Give those legs some wind

Fasten me tight with wood
To keep the drifting out
Let’s make a secret twist of hearts
Let’s see how this can last

Forge me taller with rock
If ever I doubted you
Make me unreachably solid
As a comment on you and me

Tease my skin through with fire
If ever an end seemed right
Take all those gripping nerves of yours
And wait as you always do

Lick my bones clear with water
Nature’s hardest seal to break
The reflection in the gathering pool
Tells you what you wanted to see

Flush out the dust with breath
And then something about deep feeling
I’m too tired to see this done
Let’s agree that it moves you, too

Tuesday, June 06, 2006

hazy, rainy wind in moscow, feels like the end of days





Poke out the sun
And all its eyes
Tear up the moon
All down its skin

Peel at the waters
To keep them deaf
Choke up the sky
And thin out its neck

Then paint it in blood
Where people don’t read
To silence the babes
As the nerves were real

It’s true that I love her

Friday, June 02, 2006

An abstract portrait of the prostitutes out working on my streetcorner earlier tonight




for some reason, seeing them at the streetcorner brings me a giddy kind of pure joy.




it’s not a thought in the head
or a shine in the eye
not a drag in the pulse
just
a weight on the lungs

you can’t see it in breath
or the tone over phones
you can’t mar it with numbers
but
the space left behind