http://www.newyorker.com/reporting/2008/11/03/081103fa_fact_talbot

Perhaps choice is only slight of hand and God plays dice after all.  Perhaps lamentation is the ultimate spinning of the wheel and grace has nothing to say to those who won't accept the offering. Time only slows in dreams like these, making deals with Devils who refuse to collect on all the bad checks I've been writing.  It makes me nervous when ( Read more... )

When I had no roof I made
Audacity my roof. When I had
No supper my eyes dined.

When I had no eyes I listened.
When I had no ears I thought.
When I had no thought I waited.

When I had no father I made
Care my father. When I had
No mother I embraced order.

When I had no friend I made
Quiet my friend. When I had ( Read more... )

I feel like suburbia snuck into my commune and switched my free loving air with rich, canned, organic shit shipped here from Chile.  I feel the weight of all the spirit children I made with men I wouldn’t let inside me for fear of a burden I can’t escape.  Maybe it’s not the pitfalls that hold us down, but the insidious mastery of time itself ( Read more... )

I get caught half way out the door. I've never been good at knowing when to walk. I thought, somehow, I'd fall into place. When you're young, you don't realize how every step is mapped out for you by a million helpful hands waiting to pull you their way.  You think life is something that works itself out. Because it is...when you are young. But ( Read more... )

We all feed this keeping in the nature of what we assume. 
We all give judgment to the beasts who light our way. 
We are not the children of prophets here,
stumbling in the grove of fruits we can no longer digest,
obscuring the names of the leaves that fall
and holding on to the heat left under the blankets
of lovers who have already moved on, 
justifying ( Read more... )

I can feel myself slowing

in the wake of warmth

dripping up from dreams cannibalized

for want of a solution to the gauntlets

my fathers abandoned so many times over.

I hear the cries of women left

to burn in the fire of life giving

and lifting all but themselves

in the robes of cotton itching

at the well-worn flesh of ( Read more... )

The splitting of my armistice wills away those pungent reminders of how many times it rusted into the sulfur soaked poetries of lies you wanted to hold into the morning.  I could’ve made the dark rekindling abandon hope of refute, but it was so out of sync with the dew falling down the drainpipes, like a song held out of key flowing backwards in ( Read more... )

Walking through the sunlight of a longing cried out as the breaths of turning inward and over moved between the sky and you.  You were a million different ways of loving and knowing.  You were the turning of the wheel of all that was to become our lips grazing. 

Walking through the sunlight
of a longing cried out
as the breaths of turning inward and over
moved between the sky and you.  
You were a million different ways
of loving and knowing. 
You were the turning of the wheel
of all that was to become our lips grazing.