Tuesday, November 27, 2007


I get the best email.

excerpted from a recent message:

"After the vegetarians took their teenagers home we all played Homosexuality vs. Giant squid."

Saturday, November 17, 2007


Further excavations in scrawl

Another one from the files... I like it, but feel it needs more work.

Talk to me past midnight
In the sweltering air
‘Til we’re nursing our last beer.
Hold me in your gaze
Until our last damn cigarette.
Never closer than this
And too often further apart
I can sometimes comfort myself
With that smallest piece of your heart.
The music tells us a story
Of people who will never be
But for those moments
When play-acting
Might blurt out a truth.
I’ve fought too long in this war
To believe this a battle I can win.
You have your prize and your future
Both eager to begin.
I have a new world before me.
That doesn’t wash the bitter
From any possible sweet,
And I’m hungry to sweat some sugar.
So talk to me in these stolen hours
In the sultry air
‘Til staring at empty bottles
We’ve run out of hours
And all plausible excuses.

Tuesday, November 13, 2007


scrawl out of time

Recently I have been fumbling through sketch pads and notebooks looking for any number of things that I should have properly filed for future reference. This of course means that it takes me forever to actually find (if I'm lucky) the thing for which I am hunting. The consolation prize is that I find along the way scribblings and bits that never made the transition from paper to ether.

I recently stumbled across this. It is undated, but I suspect it spilled across paper back in June of this year.

Adam cries for a love
And a life that make sense
While anesthetic poisons
Flow through my brain
And back again
And I’m wondering where I am.

So much reaching
And so little grasped,
Held, pulled in tight
To my beating heart
And heaving chest
That bears too much
For too little cushion
Or flaunts some other flaw.

Cigarettes and scribbling
And poetry recorded elsewhere
Cannot fill
The hungry space they leave
The boys and men
Who find me but fail to
Find me worthy of pursuit,
Offerings on their altars
Kindly or not so disregarded
Despite their fostering
Of my attentions.

So here in the streetlight
Past last call and cab ride
And stumbled stairs
I listen to his pained questions
From the box with its lone red eye
And wonder how anyone
Thinks that it‘s different
For girls or guys who like
Either or both.

It’s empty,
I think,
Of reason or sense
No matter who you are
Or where your heart
Or hormones lead you.
People are confounding
And everybody is wanting
And needing
But never what is offered,
And seldom
What they pretend to seek.

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