as a living thing i promise to
cherish my happiness.

i am a skin suit with a
huge bass drum beating in my guts
purple flowers in my eye sockets
gasping for solid anchored facts as
if i can't breath under all
this damn water,
the vast unpleasantness of chaos

you're not here any more
which is good
i'm not here either
love
black mold
contamination
human waste
gutting the house
the 60 cycle hum of the house
exhausted content
but love
soap
pinstripes
your teeth aren't perfect
shoes are scuffed
time sleeps under your eyes
i could tear you apart
if i knew where i was
and you were there.

always is an ugly word
never no better
heavier than luck
lighter than deadbolts
smoking in the bathtub
the air inhaling my lungs

alone with everybodycharles bukowski ( Read more... )

woke up with edith piaf staring into my eyes and her ( Read more... )

i still kiss him before bed at night my lips and blood are stilled ( Read more... )

to simplify matters considerably, i offer this simple user-friendly list ( Read more... )

when he says it's not you, it's me this really means nothing - it could very well be you, as much as it could be him, as much as it could be some secret grief he's harboring, some dark ugly hidden thing at which he clutches, nurses solitarily. coaxes some cankerous ember to open flame. it isn't anything - it is everything in the air at that moment ( Read more... )

i drove by my mother's old house in shoreham beach last thursday, three times to be precise - to make sure of what i was seeing, when something cramped and wet and noisy burst in my brain. whoever lives there now has a t.v. set in their kitchen, where we used to keep ian's old rolltop desk, but they kept the small concrete bench in the backyard ( Read more... )