lay upon this world
with your emptiness.
rest against this world
with all your emptiness.
it's a funny land of girls,
it's a painting full of bombs.
it turns to dust, but your emptiness remains.
often in the daylight
i'll emerge.
dizzy with my guts
left out all night.
they were searching
for you when i was unawake,
haphazard in that old dark sea of things.
and ( Read more... )

upon this
comes a poem.
where does it come from?
it is only of a river.
no one writes a river.
a fool mourns a whirlpool.

this beard, it has no man ( Read more... )

lord, i have messed
around. lord, i have,
messing around. you are messing
me up.

ayawaska. ayawaska.

you've been out messing
around. i've been here
glaring at myself. we here
messed me up, big time.

ayawaska. ayawaska.

pain is revealed, pain is revealed,
i show my face, ayahuasca.

let lung sting,
let lung scab.

"It seems that in the Tibetan culture people do not find death a particularly irritating or difficult situation, but here in the west we often find it extremely difficult to relate to it. Nobody tells us the final truth. It is such a terrible rejection, a fundamental rejection of love, that nobody is really willing to help a dying person's state ( Read more... )

walking around, my face
disintegrates with hoarse
croaks and mistakes.

i awoke caked in damp sand ( Read more... )

i have a friend
who i see from time to time.

he knows where i goes
and where i goes he knows
what i find.

he says, "who
is dragging this corpse behind,
you?"

i know a girl
she knows a lot about the world.

she knows where i goes
and where i goes she knows
what i find.

she says, "who
is dragging this corpse behind,
you?"

out my window, a gash
in the beast of
this world.

limbs struggle to close
the wound, bleeding
blue, loving you
and asking

for nothing.

a sad old naked
bear, this world, alone
but full of fools dancing in
her sores, her streets, her sting.

she shivers.