slip of the tongue | cmr

Fast

2007-02-04T21:56:00.000-08:00

I like roller coasters for their lunging speed.
The way everything inside of me is forced to take shelter
close to my heart.
The way my toes feel closer to me than ever before.

The unexpected relationship I have with my navel.
Grand. Total. Unique.

And we all take shelter together - navel, toes, heart.
We huddle, smiling, laughing, screaming -
joyful and afraid;
exhilarated and nervous;
safe ... and smiling.

You and I should get together some time
and climb to the top in a red cart
and see the world beneath us.
We should hold hands
and rely on our hearts
to comfort everything inside us
as we speed ahead....
laughing.
smiling.
unique.

eye to eye

2007-01-23T19:15:00.000-08:00

fluctuations of anticipations
for conflagrations of past relations
expounding one on top the other
gather now for reciprocations...

a tree gone old in the sun and shine
but washed in the rain when it's dark.
a virgin old and smiling now
by the trees in the snow in the park.

fatter flowers with lushing buds
were there before you smelled them
and here you go on your, you know...
so much i could have kissed him....

08/09/2006

2006-08-14T07:52:00.000-07:00

the bars

***

Hollows in walls with men of ancient art
calm my rivers, swollen in pits of ruin.
I call on seas and ranges built of gold.
Call on me when stars are vacant,
when skies spill over in your cup.
Tea will tell you all I know,
so count on them to cheer you.
Call on me when times are rough
and waves crash on rock.
There I'll be in scapes of blue
Silent and waiting,
I'd call on you.

You Wave - Me Break

2006-06-28T10:59:00.000-07:00

This is a breaking
a following
to me

find find find
me on the mountain
where you said
- you fucking said -
all the gurus went

smoke is a screen.
i'll eat you.
and on the hill
the sun, the food, the plant with the leaf so red -
I'll stare in this hell with your arm -
Your arm a shallow wave around me.

mountains. pages. mountains of pages.

when time corrects
and you can't see your hands
let the shine lead me

faith in the time is weighted

pull it in.

i'm like a net of happenstance
once pulled, it's real.

look.
I know.
but... look.

Yesterday's Lunch Date

2006-05-11T13:16:00.000-07:00

another one I want to be a song
*******************************

you repeat our words like documents
a treatise to use as peace
but your voice runs smooth
and your eyes are open
-don't call yourself a forest with just one tree.

you used to make my legs quake
my heart, it rattled too
my hands couldn't stop finding new skin
and my eyes - they couldn't read you

i ran into your naked wall
the one i shouldn't see
it bruised my eyes, my fingers, thighs
and my legs are now too weak

to wonder where it comes from
-that string of hot and heat
pulling from my spine and toes
to my white and chattering teeth

i used to get nervous
on my way to you
till you fucked me up
you turned me out
and told me you wanted to move.

so yesterday i went back
and i wore my favorite skirt.
i saw your photo on the tv
and i laughed at your couch so pert

if you were a road to something else
i would have worn my boots
and tap danced on the face i loved
to touch, to kiss, to shoot

if i had time to write you this
then time is a waste of space
cause all that's wrong is the missing shake
and splat on the page of my ink.

Cheap

2006-05-11T06:32:00.000-07:00

Can you help me out
I'm looking for a meal
A cheeseburger or chips
or somethin's gonna do me in.

I've been lookin for help all day
I walked five miles to get here
and now i can't get home
to where my mom needs me.

quarters last from palms to fronds
and blade to tip of grass
play this sax on church street
i'm moving from this place

nickels aren't a dime-sized worth
like the change my change could make
every day will end one way
and bus tickets don't come cheap

a nickel will get you food
but what you need to do is eat
i'm moving from this place
playing my sax on church street

Three Boxes

2006-05-01T08:23:00.000-07:00

It's true. I want to make this one into a song.

****

Three boxes left
and they last
for five months
from the corner of the dining room
by my old bookcase
to the corner in the basement for more

Call me to get them
or forget them
and at your yard sale
when you're moving out
I'll buy it all back
for three dollars a box
the tape still tight
the cardboard damp
the bookcase filled with all your shit
taking up my space

Three boxes left to go
I could stop by tomorrow
but I won't
too heavy to carry out
too light to drop
they are handled
pushed
tucked away in the dusty dark

three more boxes
three more boxes

"I was looking for that sweater a year ago," and
"Been there all the time"
It's been there all the time
that sweater's always been mine

And if you were a convenient store
I'd marvel at the deal
Peace and closure at three bucks a pop
is such a fuckin' steal

"Let's hang out, get coffee someday"
as I tuck my boxes away
but the last three bucks I had
are on your bookcase
flat and damp
paying homage -

coffee will have to wait
until the day that i get paid
when i get paid we'll box some more
and you can't have your say

three boxes left and they last
from here to there
three boxes left and they last
till the yard sale next year

Bar & Pool-inspired

2006-04-20T10:40:00.000-07:00

Irascible - a fixation of pundits
bandits
nitwits

drag them down a notch
with smoke from lips
and haught - i - ness

cry to them
"you dick-nosed mcgee,
i'll show you a thing or two.
or not."

fuck.

Euphemisms for "There's a booger on your nose, dude."

2006-04-20T06:44:00.000-07:00

From Christen:

Looks like your bush caught a fly... knowwhatI'msayin?

Vacuum cleaner is spitting out grit, man...knowwhatI'msayin?

Got a drop of dew on the leaf, man...knowwhatI'msayin?

Got a seed outside the apple...knowwhatI'msayin?

You got a green, sticky pimple on your nose, dude...knowwhatI'msayin?

From Joey:

You have a jumper on the ledge...knowwhatI'msayin?

This post brought to you by the letter B and the number "Dude, there's a booger on your nose!"

Minuet

2006-04-18T14:16:00.000-07:00

Heavy lost horizons
lying flat on my back
in cursed pews of fabric
where all is lead and scent
crying over birdsong
the fuckers need a break
bring me all my coffee
let me crawl awake

at Dionysus - 3/27

2006-04-03T06:16:00.000-07:00

bottomless
...not deep enough
fathomless
...still far enough to fathom
hollowness (there exists an opposite)
in what direction does it go?
is there a way that defines the space -
"harrowing," "unchecked," "lost-but-blazing"?
these are suns, known as steps
and gingerly we go on our way.

water

2005-06-29T12:39:00.000-07:00

blue tubes are heavily
laden with lakes of quench
a throat constricted
scratched and dry
wetted with the thrill
of a tip.

clearly
clearly
from the skin it goes
pours like a lake
to the ground

in the air it's a mist
a bubble gone cold
a dangling opportunity
passed through the lips.

Medium

2005-06-22T06:22:00.000-07:00

between you and me,
i'll share you this,
a stab of consid--
a plate on a stack of gum
you have chewed me asunder
and slipped in the dark
and under the bow you floated
up you bobbed in a crystal
night like a floating bobbin
through the head of a pin
are you there?
are you there?

Bald man...

2005-02-10T08:01:00.000-08:00

Today we discuss why fruit loops are not made with fruit but fruit-colored dye. Children scarf the round nuggets like divorced men with bald heads hold onto railings to get off the bus before stumbling to the bar to sit over a sweaty glass of scotch that they don't like drinking but feel it gives them a sense of sophistication and some long-legged loser with long hair and eyelashes will be impressed with their heavy drinking and maybe she'll take him home and won't mind the salty sweat that falls on her cheeks while he's huffing above her, his face strained, his belly holding back his pelvis as he tries harder to get all he has inside her even though the near reach is enough to bring him to that pinnacle of a yawn called an orgasm and he knows that because he is drinking scotch and he's bald and she's a whore that it will be okay that she didn't cum at all and he'll lean on her, his sweat a puddle between them and she'll say "are you done?" and he'll grunt and she'll say "well i gotta get home. thanks." and she'll grab his wallet and fumble for a five because there's nothing else in the wallet but receipts and a lottery ticket and a torn photo of a model from victoria's secret.

the boy in the dream under the blanket with the shoes...

2005-02-08T13:10:00.000-08:00

forests were created for the utterly insane with tentacles for arms and the fungus crawling up the branches of abandon clasp on to apples rotten with worms that make a spectacle of themselves like that time you leapt across the sidewalk in your adidas pumps and you swore you could leap over the car like a ninja only your laces were untied because it was the latest fashion and you fell on your face in a pile of dog shit too high to shovel aside and when your friends stood around you and searched for your teeth in the bile and the shit and the dog shit-dee-shit in your mouth, you still managed to smile and insisted you did it on purpose to show them that you were willing to do anything to ensure your friends would remember you in twenty years even if it is to tell their children about the guy with the white shoes who had high dreams and landed hard on a pile of dog shit.

and then he came upon a path of sanded stone, littered with gems, up from which grew flowers and mirrors. in one he saw his face, smooth and red, glowing like a child's, and upon that face there was a smile and when he opened his mouth to say "where did that come from?" out came a vision. ethereal. corporeal. dead but alive, ghostly but tangible. high above in a mist where only dreams rested and demons played ashes to ashes and dust to dust.

i'll tell you a secret but you have to keep it to yourself and you cannot share because this is where the mind forgets and the hands are separated and there can be no blame for the tendrils of thought that escape from me unbeknownst to you or me or that guy over there, but we are all in a sink that has reached its limit and we are swirling down the drain and a day will come when we realize how busy we are from the spinning and in all our laughing, all our protection, all our self-preservation we will have forgotten that we did nothing but hope for the best while we were dying, lost and alone, across from him and across from her and though they have funny noses and though they suffer each day with insecurity, pain, rotten families or the inability to cook a souffle they are in this drain with me and with you and there we go, down like a carrot in a garbage disposal...

i had this dream. we were sitting on a couch and the couch was at a round table in a restaurant and we were surrounded by people and on our laps, over our bodies, was a granny afghan made of bright colors and brown and black too and above the collar of the blanket we were laughing and making jokes and everything was normal and fine and healthy but under the blankets, our hands were clasped tightly, explicitly, making love to each other as if there were no other place to go but the cold air out there and if we wanted to, we could stay, we just would have to stand up, in front of all these people, and show them our hands, but we could not; we were afraid....

and i woke up in a sweat with my shoes in a tangle beneath the sheets and the cat was on my face and i remembered that time when i died and my family and friends mourned and i was dating a man who said he loved me but he moved on and what kind of love could he possibly have felt if he felt he could move on and what kind of love did i really have if when i woke i thought only of myself and how sad i would be if i were to die and never meet the man beneath the blanket who was ready to stand, who held my hand tight like an acorn with a stone inside that breathes and tells you futures?

and who can i tell about that dark spot inside of me that i have held around forever as if it were a stone to be treasured, savored, never advertised, a place so deeply hidden that even in death, dreams can't capture it? but my life branched on and in that dream i held a towel up between me and the man with the gun never realizing that this towel does nothing... when we're drowing down the drain of a giant sink called life.

it is not a tickle but...

2005-01-28T14:26:00.000-08:00

It is not a tickle but a fluttering of air
    skirting the upraised flesh of my arms.
It is not a sigh but the sway of the air
    swirling in the lip of my ear.

They are seconds trapped in a nest of space
    so secure in memory, my body experiences it
    like a birth
And is reborn
Again and again.

Again and again.

Blush

2005-01-28T14:17:00.000-08:00

this is the part of the movie
when you hide behind the crocheted afghan
and peek between the holes at the full tv screen
blushing.

don't watch me blush.
this is a private moment between the screen and me.
if i show you my teeth,
the spit between the corners of my lips,
i may sink in the cushions
and pray you will capture me
in a comfort just as blushing to feel
as it is to wait...for.

Berlin in June

2005-01-12T16:44:00.000-08:00

Berlin in June

I fear every relationship
for the end it could possibly become.
For the heaving at night
alone
just a wet pillow and sticky sheets,
and lungs
sore from the gasping.
And a body—crying for arms
to wrap it up in warmth,
and lips…
lips pressing into a thin, white line,
knowing that one day
they may mutter again
the words the heart feels
lying cold now—
swollen— hard—
in the chest—wishing, like so many times before
to never love again
and to love again
quickly.

06/2001

Fingernails... (6/12/2000)

2004-12-21T08:18:00.000-08:00

Fingernails bitten to raw splintered bones.
Red skin, flesh, reaching to the wrist.
Envy and rage and heartless conjectures.
Sighing.
Sighing.

Taste (part two?)

2004-12-20T09:43:00.000-08:00

the stocking i don on my leg for you
is a treatise, a thank you,
for the luscious and langorous swipe
of your tongue on my chest
and between my breasts--
a slip that forces it's wet and hard softness
between my lips
pulling them apart
exposing them to the cool but fresh air,
halted and momentarily by your breath.
I whisper the word, but what I really mean is
"more."
More. Of you. Now. In me.
More.

rustling like comfort...

2004-12-07T13:41:00.000-08:00

rustling like comfort
in a cozy space,
waiting for snow to fall.
I can almost smell it,
whispering on my lips--
taste me to see why it makes me swell,
listen to my neck beneath the breath;
closer in this cozy space...
wait...

Late

2004-12-01T13:07:00.000-08:00

After the call was called out
and the lights drifted by behind us
I brought you home in drizzle
and showed you my movie collection.
We smoked next to the window,
the fog of it blanketing our speech
and when we saw the hour,
how late it was,
we vowed we could just never sleep.

Autumn...

2004-11-29T11:33:00.000-08:00

Autumn,
changes the air.
The leaves reveal a shade of life
hidden by the envy of the sun.
So we go.
Walking--
across streets, over bricks,
each taking us away,
bringing me closer.
Without a conclusion, there is hope.
With a conclusion, there was life.
Without one there is no other.
We come to the stairs
to the sheets, cold all night.
We let it be
for a day...
for two...
and despite what may--
there was.
And so there will be.
Like the green on the limbs of trees--
and their return after the bare truth of winter.

climb beneath the skin...

2004-10-31T13:19:00.000-08:00

climb beneath the skin
and send your slivers
of icicle glass
to the inner crick
of my elbow--
suck on the bone and explode
in a shaolin spin
of blue and blinding wetness--
lick the slip that
trickles beneath my lobe
and never forget the pulse
shrouded in my ending.

Pussy is a slit...

2004-10-30T13:18:00.000-07:00

Pussy is a slit
embedded under the knot
of a chastity
capturing taste
like dew on the tips
of petals.