| Flinch | ||
 |
||
 |
||
bob dylan stepped offstage in denver just in time for the band to play us to sleep archives Tuesday, March 02, 2004 singed curls and the new life party It takes a luminescent soul to waltz in here with her head on fire her clothes in tatters anti-matter eyes with bruises and green iris explosive It takes an unrequited passion to use the wind of secrets and sweep us all of our feet head first into floor and twelve feet deep furious telephone rings sings like a sword slicing air heavy with the tension of her stare It takes a mighty dare to turn their gazes into shattered mirrors to feel the hairs on her neck attacking my shaking fingers the sparks linger and then they're lost and left me transfixed with a big soft what It takes me a while to recover posted by Shaun Minus 2:58 PM bricks on the skull part one for a moment I'm thinking of sliding hands friction your fantastic intentions the effects of bricks on the skull fireworks and indentions fingertips in plastic bags marked with furious markers your thoughts on the matter then blacker than the blackest black friends and lovers attack here you'll see a hairline fracture the brilliant passion spatters on the pavement the morning after bricks on the skull part two oh how I am hung on your frostbite tongue with acid saliva stains bits of hearts and skulls and brains pools of tears regret depraved come hither fingers circular toward slick surface your river on my fingers a scent for keepers smelling salts further proof of my faults more bricks to fling for I was wrong the long strange psychedelic morning after posted by Shaun Minus 2:53 PM passengers I found your phantom wheelchair Right over there in the shadow He was afraid of passengers He dreaded being believed in Enough to carry your broken body across the water I had to talk him into feathers And blow him between my open hands So that he would not scatter He's ready to talk if you are ready to listen Soft warm sunshine stands between you posted by Shaun Minus 2:48 PM untitled Hands full of rock salt dust Feet chained to needs Splinters in the waistline The pain shot right up into the heart's piston Feeling like December in the belt Confused and shivering and remembering What it's like to be felt posted by Shaun Minus 2:45 PM sex sketches We had lunch and laughs pajama grafts where the skin still shows She had the sexiest microphone imbedded in the mattress where we exchanged secrets Legs lazily dangling a nap and a dream oh how serpentine how you live in that shirt of mine Missing buttons canines bicuspids saliva in buckets and salt skin breeze fingering the crumpled sheets Looking for that something in your faraway eyes posted by Shaun Minus 2:43 PM Saturday, February 28, 2004 7 i've been backgammon fodder too in past seasons held a broken hand the acid from her battery coursing down my spine fat lazy brain eats itself sometimes where she appears again on the tip of my tongue as a tiny battle between bitter and sweet gagging on a daydream when the shiv fits my throat like sick i spit blood at the audience you beg for a kiss i wanna go back to seven follow worms down the higway for the lost scent of ignorance before she ate my innocence posted by Shaun Minus 3:28 PM Monday, November 25, 2002 divorcee sentimental shards of shattered you on a couch of fleeting threads when you whistled insomnia requiem the lightest friction on quivering flesh rivers hung to perfection your killer reflection your stained glass features hiding behind the synapse thunderclap clinging to my throat like a million quarter notes spilling from the black and brown seethers, your eyes the pools between your dark membranes all over my hands for weeks your dark ink stains posted by Shaun Minus 9:24 PM Tuesday, November 19, 2002 parentheses sweet dirty fingernails you can scratch a song into my velveteen chalkboard and we'll put it on black wax and dance around the railroad tracks we'll tickle pink fancies in stereo sound bleed wine for the species smooth out the creases in her newspaper dress she gets my eyes darting she gets my infant distress moving like a plane crash under my rock rebellion humming a bleached garden full of fetal flowers sway lazy like a black and white screaming newborn baby fool moon undertow all spines entwined in a summer slave watching our fingers misbehave posted by Shaun Minus 12:29 AM Monday, November 18, 2002 tin can piano an eternity spent on gravel roads losing control of cold shakey hands making wheels of clouds and fields making homes out of memory drifting leather shoes and rubber soles and metaphors a bed of dry leaves and a blanket canopy staring at stars and the wind howls ophelia her oriental scarves twisting and floating the river now i have drums as bulldozers my ears holding fast the livid keys of a tin can piano snapping at the scars on my fingers aluminum salts in love with collapsing the shadow of stone mountain posted by Shaun Minus 11:51 PM Monday, November 11, 2002 wooden boy and wooden brain sleeping now and again through winter storms winter sores and winter rains frozen amid songs that sound as if tossed adrift among the sheets and saccharine dreams she tries to kiss me as torrents scream posted by Shaun Minus 9:49 PM Monday, October 07, 2002 el salvadore i am God's righteous fury in the metallic silver toss of tenement oceans captured in your heart's black box looped throughout your chaos and then the puppet shadows of beasts blinking eyes and tempest mind the sick surrealist bend of trees that potmark your population i dream the languid procession through lost decade streets a war memorial for mystery i dream the romantic villain navigating the storm empty streets of el salvadore desperately seeking refuge from afternoon sun an illogical fear of the final reveal posted by Shaun Minus 8:57 PM Monday, September 30, 2002 atrophy when i come apart at the sinew and i'm all pop at the firecracker heart and all that's left dancing are red bruised shoulders i'll be nothing but stitched lips and the color purple the gravity man dragging my bled spirit out of the bed in the morning posted by Shaun Minus 9:32 PM Thursday, September 26, 2002 city of bouncing souls running south through a dream new york city where the brickwall bronx should be empty intersections that roll around the breaking heart of the city around the base of the mountain streets that sing vacuous traffic hymns downtown plays the moon and follows me around on a seperate thundercloud paint cell and all the cells are bouncing in the background the whole world is dancing and screaming in circles my urban dream denizens stay scarce out of fear and me rolling over morning wanting anywhere but here posted by Shaun Minus 12:35 AM Wednesday, September 25, 2002 flinch yours is an independent film your edits condense and rearrange time to disorienting effect your head is bolted to the floor your eyelids held back tight fly-sized vices by paperclips yours is a punk rock soundtrack played at an alarming eleven in numb surround yours is bits of thirty-five millimeter abstract black and white abrasive and all color flashbacks don't flinch on me now at the treasury stock climax they all cry cry at your grave scenes posted by Shaun Minus 12:20 AM prisonparkinglotblues i slept the black steps the neighbors left for the weary i braved the wash of classic rock radio slumber heat and thunder wandered with my eyes the length of the prison fence against the sky posted by Shaun Minus 12:13 AM Tuesday, September 24, 2002 former horses shimmering gold september out the living room windows a place for translucent horses as far as the mind can see the pines walk the horizon in front of a barn's dark heap rust hewed wires and unmended fences a haven for your memories horses to sleep posted by Shaun Minus 11:33 PM 12:18 am it's a fan's whine pantomime euphoria the absurd bleach of cathode ray turns your temples gray the muddy gloves of saliva stains shafts of light from beneath the door across the hardwood floor is a dead giveaway every step is a car crash sirens groan faster the chicago fire and all manner of natural disaster your assassin silence replaced by the din of seven year ruins the midnight lives of jackrabbits and other such creatures of habit posted by Shaun Minus 12:20 AM Wednesday, September 18, 2002 will plinks restlessly at the stratocaster and the big muff i try my silly putty hands at the drums we make rediculous cacaphonous noise love somewhere in the middle of the song i lost all sense of present tense posted by Shaun Minus 11:49 PM this is the sound of a thousand heads turning forty-five degrees posted by Shaun Minus 11:40 PM terminal echo i sit shivering in terminal echo pockets full of boulevard rain purging on black leather shoes parallel police car visions ghetto silence in the bathroom holding hands with my ghost hands, my eyes misery cross double dime exposures the eye of God thunderstorm tears in the eye of God pale face reflection in the eye of God i sit sleeping on the television after the laughter went lucid and weird and the hunger ate my naked spine and i choked on my last wildflower breath i lay among the piano and dreary studio lights neglecting to dream my way out of the ghetto the steady staccato of my conscience echo posted by Shaun Minus 11:35 PM Wednesday, September 11, 2002 european son longs for mono squealing from cheap speakers in the spare bedroom posted by Shaun Minus 9:34 PM Tuesday, September 10, 2002 fetal a brilliant sketch of charcoal eyes clenched vise tight in the late afternoon i become quarter notes in the key of B minor laid end to end i can break your little napalm heart but tossed about like prize fighter sheets i am drifting odes to chemical peace and i hum the words in my chemical sleep posted by Shaun Minus 11:59 PM bob dylan wrote sixty-six songs just to get me through my fever and he water slides in my headphones then spiderland woke me up posted by Shaun Minus 2:01 AM abandoned love poem o mother in the corners of your home I dream of incendiary life like a cardiac arrest sustained for a thousand years rather than the short bursts of arrhythmia and long nervous silences I spend in the mirrors I keep my Wilde tongue tied to the closet and the fan blowing on the curtains for effect for the sake of fiction and a substitute whisper to listen and I feel the heart beating barely at arm’s length for the color pencil sketches of a girl who became a woman who became inertia for another and every treated photograph I have stapled to the hum that lives behind the walls of us all I sit in the stare of a forgotten bedroom in the absence of the artist the first to read to me the poetry of the myth of love and the essence of leaving that everything may remain incomplete that the carpet and the remains of my things may be my sky and that what may be my why flinching at a joke that reminds of time and yet it scrapes and bruises my arms as it passes it flashes to remind that it never quite extinguishes like unsettled alarms, quiet in the morning so I leave my fingers and bones in the bright corners of your home in hopes that my radio static skull might explode and I would be the violent spark the magnesium flare that blinds for a thousand years that would be something that would be quite a something posted by Shaun Minus 12:39 AM Sunday, September 08, 2002 Waiting on a marvel road for a lift through suburbia minutes from the country with my jeans on fire, with my feet on floats ten sketches of hundred dollar bills standing next to a mirror ball sunset flyers folded beneath the flags of broken mailboxes to an acoustic rave, a cacophony of pure noise subdivisions, ready made with a lost soul aesthetic a twenty megaton bonfire in the cul-de-sac sometimes we become fury like we saw in the city or deep in available conversation with a nervous twitch and then waking from a suspense dream being chased by your future through the playground at the daycare center the capricious youth live for denim, make outrage with a fabulous crowd, live with thumbs severed and outstretched fell asleep on the linoleum ceiling fans and then the early morning was covered with a layer of gray and red and black ash for their house had burned down around me. posted by Shaun Minus 11:31 PM Monday, September 02, 2002 magazine one the headtrip candlesticks billowing fire curtains and moonlight bulletholes make for perfect modern country living magazine two she folds herself up to hold hands with the long bang blonde in an american denim jacket magazine three in the den of survivors only skewed by trick photography in glorious black and white magazine four and five the story of windsome lovers crushed by a world's collective gaze unraveled by kitchen knife kind-of-guy whose water spots marr his reflection a response from a suicide written in secondary characters and the unmistakable splash mark of a tear magazine six 8:02am first clumsy waking thoughts wide collared shirts and vintage corduroy traversing the universe in irresistability posted by Shaun Minus 11:44 PM visceral southern social experiment 1955-2002 on the eve of afternoon there's an ornette buzz about the bedroom, disparate sentences that flitter about the corners among webs surrounded by men with eight-sided die for eyes inebriated beyond recognition and humming discontent the oppressed and unfashionable white man circus chant and I hold my ears on, tape up my cracks, avoid eye contact trade jokes for venomous spill my hands deep inside whirring metal wombs my tongue near bitten off one by one they parade to their couches with sad sad laughs and smeared clown faces, feet tucked into the cushions i endured a long high-pitched day in a prism posted by Shaun Minus 11:30 PM o.j. orange juice stains much like semen stains much to my lover's consternation posted by Shaun Minus 11:29 PM Amoureux Dans les Torments if I should turn to carbonated foam and bleed into the cigarette holes that play connect the dots with your pleather sofa would you remain passion or better still dissolve into sparks in random blanket pattern about your room selfishly wrenching you from fitful sleeping would your lips kiss me even if I would become nothing but teeth sharp and shallow in the valley of your mattress sending you in circles and even stranger shapes would you still say stay posted by Shaun Minus 11:29 PM melville shaken by a vision of a man or was it a man lost in a photograph a French new wave scene by the romance of a European channel a street of wet stones from white to gray to black a gorgeous nightmare photograph of a fearsome figure in the fog or maybe a lonely night's dark heart frozen in a constant state of approach always just out of reach from the serpents beneath his coat posted by Shaun Minus 11:29 PM Sunday, September 01, 2002 a tiny lake surrounded by trees reflects the detached fury of a summer storm hours earlier the sun made ash of the mountain i held a pistol out over the water and i was eleven the blast lifted me into the sky and through the window of a nearby farmhouse surrounded by trees into the lap of an old woman who would one day know the haggard face of murder the pistol made bruises of my brow to compliment the scars on my arm made by a dog in the street as unforgiving as the summer was in 1988 posted by Shaun Minus 10:52 PM A Rocket's Wild Whistle Boy you’re a rocket’s wild whistle now You’re the thump, the bass heart at the battle over Britain Your sister’s a sweet seductive bayonet With a feel for the soft of flesh, the salt of sweat You make disco for the sky in Africa A spectacle for God’s inquisitive creatures The funky beat of evasive action I hold your sister in my tatters And sample her croons for my masterpiece These hands Shiver like a flicker And I invoke the majesty of your explosion As I compose the great American death ballad posted by Shaun Minus 10:40 PM Mi hombre negro de la rabia I was riding the perforated edge with a black man of rage Hovering vicariously in his vacuum across the margins His teeth shown like the river blur in sharp contrast The speed of blood, the instincts of drums, the song of screaming souls I became hum and shadow in the negative of his body Together we traced the fractures of guitar strings Making the most of the ocean’s feedback and symphonic crash We drew a portrait of mountains and savage spirits With the calluses of his Caucasian feet and my razor tongue Watching women naked fire and wind leading one another In a dance of ellipses and suppressed sorrows He wore anger and hunger and there were veins in his eyes I gave way to city streets and gaslight smoke atmospherics And he found sleep and silence in a field by the turnpike posted by Shaun Minus 9:59 PM Wednesday, August 28, 2002 The Paper Ghost of Alan Lomax Where the dirt road ends I draw up crimson earth feel the ashes of my kill through my fingernails squint to let flashes of the yellow sun in, listening Tiptoe on the tops of devil grass blades swaying like a congregation possessed of vinegar spirits nary a whistle among them, listening still I the rotted wooden wagon wheel casting sparks among the eaves and indigenous sorrows of Central America risking a blaze just to catch a hint of song a fractured tune, a burning melody hiding in the woods with nervous hands I get to listen to the births in person and later the wind of tape hiss, the whir of dying motors reflections on brown muddy waters you can almost hear the sound of my elation posted by Shaun Minus 12:24 AM Tuesday, August 27, 2002 Below are several older poems that I couldn't find copies of on my own hard drive so I had to search them down from the Capitol Radiohead message board where they were originally posted and stick em' here for posterity. Thanks for your patience. posted by Shaun Minus 11:57 PM Decapitaded Ruth's Blue Buick and there is her hair again singing summer songs medusa, she makes for changing colors, she croons constantly for green we fight wind against skin and eardrum, trying to let the music in. she oblivions in my smiles highway 85. eyes hide from passing fantastic and me, mind wanders over to hers, squint from the clouds she moans. she comprised of dashboard bookbag has a moment like she'll say something and there's a pulse quicken tightening tendons listen. moment goes wasted by my sigh and i search for an exit. windblown too long, maybe. posted by Shaun Minus 11:55 PM Highway Miles Those grey skies have come inside and when she moves her lips, it's nothing but a leaky faucet It's reverberated plinks that clang like swords Dull eyes a requiem for a dying fantasy This old house is falling in on me Falling in love with a test pattern and the national anthem but broadcast days go on and on exploding heads i wish i was the outline of pornographic fuzz I wish I was a dirty little pixel I wish I was an exploding head that would be something vs. City Miles I aching swell toward the city with a dizzy crowd, February. This month means so much nothing, it isn't even funny. We wear cringes disgusting politics and religion. She swears me a soda pop, one straw, and jealous jealous me. The team is laughing gimmicks and mixed feelings, all saliva barely contained. I find myself despising oxygen blue skies contemporary fashion and the marked earnest passage of time. We have clock faces and odd numbers for eyes. Dancing at flickering angles and noxious smoke, and this is where it's at. I mimic the joy of seizures with friends and thumping bass heart, what with all the sex. He looks at her through a tube and splinters into a thousand sulks, does the whole sick thing. I don't even really want her. We can't find our feet in the dark. I half present the headlights around a dear friend who chews the scenery like it was nothing, man, like it was nothing. I can't relate and she can't stay awake and flung headfirst into the morning with horns protruding from our recollections and best intentions, we are. It's an apocalyptic sunrise and I just can't stand it. Serpent finger to my lips and SHHH and I'm all out of protest. posted by Shaun Minus 11:53 PM Ferry Ride on the Birth Canal (Echo Test) You can just about make out the hands amid the dead air squalor as they sign funny feelings they never found words for. It's 1975 and we've just discovered white noise, pillow songs, prayer songs, riot gear in Soho, tears, burning tears from a game show. I wear my hair long in the womb and attempt one way (echo) radio communciation with a mouth full of amniotic. Except I am still in the folds, swimming with the sheep, singing redemption songs with our tails and being bumper cars, me and my generation. We seek sound and milk and love, we split like twins, imagine what our hands will look like when they start to speak. Fine downy hairs, big blue veins just beneath the surface, chewed fingernails and short sweaty lifelines. We vibrate and become opaque with anticipation and dread, all tails and heads. And by we I mean me and my twin to be. posted by Shaun Minus 11:53 PM An Irrational Fear of Windchimes bare brown on the hills and fields listless ground for the smallest of feet the green is so confused high-tensions wires yellow teeth warm silences lose their appeal a horizontal walk through the west with easter summons cold cold wind dreaming of desert eagle she has a lovely voice and a vicious twin long gravel roads a sin confessed safety-pinned to the celestial squints and stares straight into the heart of crows and carrion their photographs seem to glow in the dark dwells instead on sleep and perennials the last one in a pack of four atrophy grits his teeth and starts a fire smoke exposes the ghosts dry mouth salt tears high time to retire just miles before the pacific shore posted by Shaun Minus 11:37 PM i turn to rage When we return to the stagnant silence of the bedroom and train our ears ever outward for the comfort of panning effects and automatic psychadelia, when we are left with nothing but bits of shattered plastic pornography, sharp shocks to our best bits of lyric, panic breaths for a flaccid handful, waiting for faces to emerge amongst the pixels... something rushes by my window and I turn to rage. posted by Shaun Minus 11:03 PM Paradise Via Backwards Masking (An old bit recently rediscovered) I saw heads wide open and endless fields Arms like bedsprings A communist consciousness I saw taking freely and sharing alike Eyes that roll and tongues that shiver I heard a sound like every man And woman who ever lived Pitched perfectly to the same note A song like wings if there are such things A moment's peace and a letting go I saw trampolines and their children Frozen mid-dance Victims of happenstance, circumvents circus tents, avalanche I saw a single tear That I'd seen before Yet still I felt for posted by Shaun Minus 10:58 PM Sunday, August 18, 2002 I need a week off to paint my bones sepia tones Feels like rusted teeth and their chattering sounds Feels like shattered glass floorboards behind the Masquerade I need a few days to collect my heads brick red Sounds like a piano for the mirror Sounds like a never-ending nose bleed That's just what I need posted by Shaun Minus 12:44 AM heads ajar heads ajar jamie farr one stab in the tram ooh snap hotdamn lovely birds how absurd gettysberg getty lee stroker ace commonplace magnum force magnum weave abner has a filatious rumour good humour good god freaky how hilarious broken lips elevator cheeky tongues far flung well hung jail bum dunce cap mud flap trap door dirt poor finger cuff apple scruff orange twin dick butkus mike ditka frau farbisna los angeles indianapolis sarcophogus ghost house ghost hum see dirty hum me and my hum gee whiz toothy grin jews and gin hebrew kin abraham nation bad karma bad karma bad karma bad karma fools rush over fools rush in quarters dollar bill kill for cancer whore for laughter rapidly ever after silly bastard posted by Shaun Minus 12:37 AM Wednesday, July 31, 2002 Smashing tubes for solid state broken alternator radiator jumper cable sleeping through the '80s, ragged anthems drool pillow filter black black black monday velvet paintings Miles and Coltrain freedom fighters misfits and junkies the tragic death of Marvin Gaye in self-defense every last lighter tunes down half a step if only I were 21 in 91 I would be done by now sinister migraine medicine abuse explosive stomach apothacary moods in your overcast skies, in your lightning eyes in my lumpy gravy of a brain streams in a drifting lie of a life so very fine posted by Shaun Minus 10:00 PM Wednesday, July 17, 2002 (the following is an old poem being reprinted here for the sole purpose of keeping the Blogger people from shutting this blog down for inactivity. But enjoy, nonetheless.) Sullivan's Ghost There's laughter in the tomb, a pool of fire in the womb. There's an echo of a smile from the freon fumes. A small black dot where his soul once stood And eyes like wine once upon a time. The ghost of Sullivan, spirit king of hooligans, Had us running like banshees in the shadows of the streets again And then we laid the funny man to rest In a midnight garden, in a misfit heaven for an eternity of jest. posted by Shaun Minus 12:01 AM Wednesday, June 12, 2002 a splinter Brushing debris from the steps, I came across a splinter that delved headfirst into my finger and made a home I held my finger to my ear as blood panic seaped and heard ticking like a cartoon time-bomb It reminds me of immenent explosions whenever I play tiny imaginary violins of sarcasm whenever I hold down acoustic strings posted by Shaun Minus 1:15 PM East Atlanta Via River Mourning With two or three dollars And a friend called Firewalker We cast off to reveal the city It was endless floating pavement Hour ‘pon hour in the vindictive sun Melted wings we hardly even noticed Stumbling into a coffeehouse via Lewis Carol I tapped my head on straight and made love To a quiet indifferent microphone, sans cigarettes Firewalker howled his delight Drunk and passionate as he was Waving his broken antennae in rage and protest There were water-color faces spilling Grinding gold teeth to Latin rhythms An audience of inverted prisms blinding I fading photographed the restaurant Half-waiting out a moment when love And grimace clashed with .44 caliber shells The exploding head of a movement Of apathy poets and listless windrunners An urban myth generation, shaking about the campfire How I missed cigarettes, tossed cars The terminal passion of a capricious youth Holding hands with a deep swallow, salty flesh And a total absence of morning But then Firewalker took ill, singing sad And lonesome lullabies to a delinquent infant I abandoned him to his melancholy And wandered out among the flaming sewers Took in the bright hazy morning breath of the apocalypse posted by Shaun Minus 9:28 AM Wednesday, June 05, 2002 Conversely, I collected spare tongues to build a beast of flesh and rage and dressed myself in his/her spirit. The chemical arms industry thrives while I serve as a paperweight. If anyone asks, tell them I'll be five foot nine and one half, soaking up aftershocks from orgasmic blasts at the rock quarry. posted by Shaun Minus 2:12 PM Monday, June 03, 2002 Waltz Through Elysian Fields Desire too cliché, close my eyes hard small dots shooting stars darting beneath the lids hypnagogic showers, sound like gunshot I've got you in my ears, your piano soft and sparse an empty warmth in empty arms, comma for orpheus period for styx I fury enough to cross a fair day for a waltz through elysian fields Clinch and finger broken stones and I can build a woman with stones for eyes and stones for emotion stolen slippers, sun spark eurydice come to life with a white album incantation, me ex-magician I will make you pure passion before my head comes off double negative effects on suspicious skies and a rainy day tumble through elysian fields O half dead windrunner, o serpent sex theme o how you winter when you sleep, summer when you curse the silent shocks saunter up the small sing ballads down your spine, how sweet you twitching and me here decapitated lover live reluctantly forever another radio silence, syncopated 3/4 rhythms daydream waltz through elysian evening posted by Shaun Minus 12:10 PM Friday, May 24, 2002 ode to drift with your fire quenched and your breath anesthetic say a short hollow prayer and give yourself over to drift walk on splinters, shivering boy vintage corduroy sun stripped and livid your jonny walker rebel with shoes disconnected from a dirt road, a specter on middle america you play spanish guitar for heathens in the suburbs drunken notes too soft to matter much nylon strings wrapped around your wrists, purple hands strung from an absestos ceiling for the evening walk on broken bottles, mystery fiend and prove your calloused feet, a rhyme and a disembodied melody you murder down the coast a tramp steamer with your lost sheep countenance, sad tantrum eyes dust from the east still communing in your frenzy hair fugitive from your shadow, scripture, cling to your feet dead weight you've mastered the music of the lonesome sigh a symphony of disparate static and found speaking captured american on a tape loop number nine with the broken toe of your boot scrawled the name of the father in the desolation of the desert in the red dust of Arizona, you rest your aching fingers posted by Shaun Minus 9:13 AM Thursday, May 23, 2002 Leaves Missing In the quick of May, elliptical climate looks over her shoulder at autumn slightly refracted by winter, of course daring plinks on the piano in the upper register are the bits of stems from oblivious trees and when I sleep I dream and when I dream I meet the silly id of the trees in winter who frequent still slumbering eyes when cold gets coming but I always remember the fall slanted and there is an argument and a three day darkness in which our mouths are sealed by indifference meanwhile, my body tosses on my covers waters when we meet again in waking life spring and such trees become debutantes and ungrateful royals but I knew them when they were afraid and bewildered, leaves missing naked and scrambling for sleep taking refuge in my imagination posted by Shaun Minus 11:26 PM Thursday, May 16, 2002 There's a hole in the roof for sunsets and after that, for stars The tips of my fingers escape from distance from drift from pop radio and Heiligen Schrift into the open evening playing hearts with the wind and laughing at me from outside the car. posted by Shaun Minus 9:42 PM Monday, May 13, 2002 dee kennedy on a sunday i never run down fence anymore what with the swarms of police sirens and provoked animals i mapped a path the other way two o'clock pm and walked a spring/summer continent, wasting essence in an abandoned cul-de-sac, then i rested on a precariously balanced diamond of earth, forgotten aquaintences passing with nary a wave my fluids freely flowing into my old high-school book bag holding a hundred years of eighth and quarter notes which stubbornly refuse to bleed together i found a slope recently paved and a bovine congregation thirty or so under one rather reluctant pine, fear struck i felt flesh vaporize in my shoes, paths that wandered up hills and behind gates, sending sure breazes as consolation there was tangled screaming nerves where my legs once were, a total absence of cloud doom guitar and piano, slow motion music if you like i turned mercury and slid down the rollercoaster where the road once was an albino cow bathing in a pond of mildew, looked over and through me collapsed on the phillips' porch with my tongue held a quiet communion with vicious insects, dirty pillows i murmured my defiant lament, though i'd come so far only to have serpentine roads defeat me posted by Shaun Minus 10:41 PM Requiem for a Lost Poem piano: minor chords, fifths low soft moan by a neon skeleton guy paper sounds, shuffling and such heavy eyes half past anger lamentation piece for alto sax and clarinet rusty pipes closely mic'd trembling lips, traces of hymn politely borrowed from God and given over to the thoughtful fallen soldier, words about a restful moment a portrait of a portal in a dirty bedroom some damn wistful arpeggio right in the middle of a solemn reprise, unsolicited smirk posted by Shaun Minus 9:52 PM Sunday, May 12, 2002 punk rock (preliminary sketches) a prayer for you, sleeping embryo when you tear through the womb and ride the entrails through the streets Detroit via acid rockets madmen violins kick in your God-stained lullaby heavy diapers on the mandolin you wave to the spirits like stars black eyes so far apart you do the math in your head samples the waste tenement culture tiny increments then take a lover and correspond skyscrapers you hover umbilical intents inside the baby's brain of flames skipping like stoves across the water you will one day grow up to be volcano with fingers for knives saints alive but these are just head reels tomorrow and further on piano crash ushers in the bomb from the guts you explode to the ones you hang on over the forest and the city like some sorry stray twig of spit from a former kiss fair and thin where the walls can't reach you my trembling baby bomb remember soft kerosene notes like Coltrane down the hall I fancy your love for flame I do were it to consume me too Din silence from the open womb not unlike horns in the ghetto inebriated embryo swaggers into gas station restroom to look into a broke mirror posted by Shaun Minus 11:10 PM Ballad Between Women I faintly remember you June 18 1994 for stripping flowers of their oblivion and furrow brow. And high pitch violin swells temper. We have it on VHS wrapped around the door frames so you will not have forgotten, long shattered and weak from days of drinking and commentary. In vogue painted fingernails cum colored, and also in the airport. It's moments like these the gruel and acid won't go down, the ricochets in the stomach that I keep dodging. She is you and you weren't around in 94 when I peeled the sleep from my eyes between screams and languid sighs, crushd for a girl who returns my yawns across an expance, yes she does or did she? My, how the mind wanders erect and ums and ohs, for at least the sake of signal. I would have her eyes bouncing radio apostrophes off my bed, where she was already in your coccoon with pencil wings awaiting ink and color little girl, hiding from my machine mouth. I scarred so easy at sounds not unlike paper cuts and paper planes and pain, before I learned to shrug it off. Into pixels and solid state and tragic static transmissions I hope she got I hope you get. This life begs for cold and winter wishes it was now and June wishes you were her, foolish object of my tragic affection. posted by Shaun Minus 11:04 PM teeth on teeth By the river person you look like longing fingers hooked into feeble strings of flesh with the faraway sounds of a water made of bodies trace with your fingers its path past the city into and under a rock dancing with anticipation He and his with a cold numbness that comes with a swim through the prison, mach schnell and you and he shivering in the same photograph as double exposures teeth on teeth his rotten hat komes spinning from his skull like klay pidgeons you neglekted to mention In an effort to understand the cold that comes from wind and sun he took his myriad bouncing soul expedition and boarded a stiff breeze bound for Mogadishu along with you dull cramps and his precious whiskey hat yellow molars echoing a skraping sigh posted by Shaun Minus 11:02 PM untitled, notable for its progression of time 10:36 PM wild flowers protected between the fury of the highway hands pressed to the screen to touch white noise, trumpets and bells percolating brown eyes dialating confusion as a warm comforter just off to the side a bent figure awaiting headlights 10:40 PM the digital reverb of jazz classics clashes with the contemporary sounds of sprawl, the cliche of modern crisis and the cringe of country western amid waves distortion laden and guilt surpressed there are speedboats adrift with sabotage with cops and soap operas and razor thin streets cutting a swift kick through Cabbage Town 10:45 PM more nicks that don't make sense crosseyed denizens of midnight world sit craving embrace and hating the hug one of those where you stretch your arms wide and lightly pat across the back so as to not connect 10:47 PM a hum from under the door american standards on scratched 45's a listless vacant silence made in Korea a startling resemblance in black and white mourning the stillborn in his arms between two electric lights the same dull exchange, lead eyelids sleeping limbs under the pillow, between shallow breaths and rattling cages modern restless man dodging shafts of streetlight from the open window posted by Shaun Minus 10:56 PM Fingers don't reach the small where the itches and burn is I look around desperately for another set of fingers posted by Shaun Minus 2:48 PM |
||
 |
||
 |
||
 |
||
 |
||