some things i'd like to share with you by esp (i like reading books txt) 📕

bio


i was young
and shooting up blood
and dying daily
and smoking fate

always identified
as the trouble maker
since a fish in my mother's womb
to this filthy beast
sucking air
as much in common
with the holy soul
as this finger
and this ring
(silver shuts the inside in
but no metal will cage the flesh)

the middle
who can say
night was night
or day was day

now
the compassion of a reptile
the longevity of a spark
and just a promise to become
a seed in the earth
a seed in a seed


snow & smoke


blowing smoke on snowflakes.
destroy
the only gift of morning.

i am hobbled
world disdained
grape ruined
on god's day
in god's way
(it's sunday)

sipping my goblins,
my nightmares,
bloody.
red.
remembered.

they are adequate
in their riches
of poverty's regret

i fold
and take some pride
in folding
wishing i was a journalist;
there are stories here.

but i am inarticulate...
pavoraticly wailing
nile weeping
gaea freezing.

when i awoke today,
brutalized and bruised,
i wondered why i went to sleep
at all?

if i only had a cross to wear
i'd bear it like a soul
a spotless bride
to sleep beside
forever

but i, of course...
i sleep crossless.
and all i own for pillows?
these snow-blown footprints,
the earth they've scarred
and the shadow
of your ghost
at midnight.


onset


ok
rape of my tongue
blasts of hate
and confusion
and "poorly timed attempts at jocularity"

a rope
from the lizard brain
through the chemical soup
or chowder
trickling like the angel
in the backyard

will dead lights flicker
fly on for me?
like jupiter
and his paternity debacles?

what happens once
will happen again
you just need to know
where to stand


i've seen where circe lives (for m. cortese)


i've seen where
circe lives
pale finger pointing
to the mists of mediterranean

the distance

islands - rock
water blue

remove
the glamour
your men
are still
pigs


plath cut up three from: hardcastle crags and grantchester meadows


there, spring lambs struck
stilled
silvered as echoes from the steely street.
nothing is big or far. blued crooks
from the black small child that she heard.
the quick air
of grassheads
and each thumb-sized bird
that flits
nimble winged.

flintlike, gnaw beetroot.
such a rhombus of sun glazed buttercup
tacking on the benign stone buried hawthorn
that hides its spines
with its tinder

a firewoman, the water rat to wall.
but the dents stroll or sit;
gave wan, moody indolence of love---
but unaware, riding in mild air.

of the stoop from his turret
the rat cries out.
tireless...
moves on.

up from ahead,
guarded thickets, and of good color.
behind,
knelt in hollowed willows slanting over,
sheep double their white for green water.

twig upside down.


hurricane


we lied,
breathing sleep,
adorned with dried flowers
and warm sepulchre to bury the seed
(goodbye colorado goodbye hallellujah...)

but now
i've cast my entrails
to the sun,
for reasons
as imperfect as the steps
i took
to reach you

your tombstone hangs
across my face
and everyone we knew
is here

i feel your ghost
a fist across the moon
and a hurricane sadness
(what have we undone?)
with pressures low enough
to suck the wind
from the lungs
of a bull


one working week


the first comes down,
a fist >lethargy + inevitability = frustration
of one finger
made of sand.

the second arrives
on an hourglass;
curves like >patience + vision = martyrdom
woman,
three times
as ruthless

the third?
its own monster,
image of its >centrality + neutrality = acquiescence
looming brothers.

the next:
come fo(u)rth
salome'.
shatter the
silken >allure + promise = anticipation
barriers;
the tease,
the rapture
around
the next moment

the fifth,
by then...
i'll drink that >release
and to that

broken chains
'til monday's mourning


summer storm


a duality splits the sky.

a dichotomy
like sisters;
like the ocean
when it's breaking,
like the death
that visits granite
and the wind
that touches wind.

the screaming night lights up the ceiling,
a fire born in the heart of storm.

and the evening shatters
and the wind eats weather
and the granite dies
and the god's wounds open

they shine like veins and crash like the broken sea.

the paisley blonde

in love with her awkward beauty i don't remember her name because names make a person real and there are no real people just don't cover her with flowers since she's not dead anymore she said i was somebody and i was reincarnated and i don't like to remember the child's name it was winter and the steps outside felt as if they could break under the weight of our sorrowful so longs big grey day like night-time in dreams when you can see everything but don't care to that is when i saw her hide her blue eyes from the world she said i must not care we are all alone and it's better that way we never touched nor spoke nor loved again

whisper


whisper in the silence
lips sealed
against the wind's soft wind
pressing
gently
like the touch
of my lover's tongue

this morning
note the silent catechism:

in the thoughts that smile
through the breeze
at daybreak
and through the rosy shades
upon my eyes
stained glass windows
without the martyrs
without the beasts who'd call this folly

in the poetry of sighs
of time too soonly expired
and time so wistfully
ignored
it could be eternally now


good saturday '05


the soles
of my shoes
are filthy with the world
the endless road
and all this breath
like one is the other

and i was that thing
with leather on my tongue
(the taste of death and silent idols)
massive snapshots
or cinema in a dream
where liquid runs away

don't get me wrong
i had the friends
their naked bodies
like new cars
bright and hard
glowing
with destinations shiny

and colors sped
with the permanent voices
and those names
that mean nothing now

i knew them all

yet water dissolved the tears
and air, the air...
those metals rusted
evaporated
the chest is full

faceless now
(grieving my secrets)
i've squandered
2 months
or 33 years
in isolation
like the son
who will rise tomorrow
when i'll be just like you,
as lonely as the smell
of summer rain


ginsberg from: indian journals


when i was young,
and all that human meat
-a voice of tender rock-
i vomited into my transformation,
then passed into the dream-afternoon.

"he cut and severed the relaxed meat; a small ox hangs near a featherless duck in a very large window"

exclamations,
a dance,
a walk,
a big blackened tea-cup.
another foot in a typical gesture.

husband of russia
and wife at midnight,
an hour lost in female spouse of all sentient "my country 'tis of thee."
shall i not prophesize cunt hair of patriotic noise?

then i waved my arms like a chinaman.
all these fingers
like feet walking.

"excuse the police" i said,
& chased away the war in the street
"go away and let me smoke." .


tombstones


failures
standing
in the night

stark teeth
snarling at the
sky

memorial to
mighty life

but a landmark now
were only death lives
and cut flowers
(soon to die)


cut up


will you die on this material plane? no convention is left. do you love? a considerable pleasure, left unfunny. standing there, realize, our lives are furious. the crumbling on, the various economics and ironics. the world won't live this way. it's not so good on saturdays. i've been brought together, sitting in exploration of this "envelope" until i want to scream. scars running underground, in joy, bizarely scheduled. perhaps i see the way that i hear, with the head. and i look at it. i hear it too. that show. the seconds. the challenging episodes. a plaintive way of thinking and being.
i move only to age.


sorry

she said
i'm sorry but
i guess
i just
don't love you
anymore


green fly


everything becomes
unraveled
here

frenzy is my mouth
fat
with what i've taken

look at a relic...
i see us all
and i've been soiled

stagger
through
my 4th dimension
(green eyed
from the bay)
with teeth for bullets...
for fingers grasping flesh
(but only when the wind blows
from the west)
and you'll remember...

nothing heals
i thirst for corpses
yet i never go hungry

the earth holds decay
in her cleavage


moon2


when the moon is gone
the wolves will howl at nothing
and i will forget about you


nude.2.


floating down
a banister
supports
her promise

muddy twinkle
eyes afire
lithe and clumsy
a static fury

derrick
dervish
dominatrix

flow the many
sided