cut slack

said to cut you some slack,
so of course:
i will wrap you up in a blanket of slack and then roll it open like a carpet before a queen
from a pirouettes to a plié
dance like a jungle.
i wonder if i play the game. or maybe i play it wrong.
maybe one day the game will play me.

i don't know where we are going.
the future scares me.
i'm learning how to be myself
how to sculpt
i know i think too much
i wonder what you think about...?
sometimes i have no idea
sometimes i really want to know
but maybe it's the wrong time to ask

but oh well
you make me very happy
and im full of love
and you owe me a haiku

too much wanting make a young boy sleep bad with the wolves

in distance
a one or a two (things)
grows/grow
which dance like a rain god and squirm like a wiggle worm
and both may love the other but the other loves not both


like two question marks dropped on their heads, linking
to become (what would it become--??)
but who is really one?
a heart too, pumps in halves
and the veins, blue,
but the body warm and alive
and i want you

cus here in my room
naked like a dog
cold as a penguin
burning like a kettle
i feel everything, want to suck the world's tit
lick the syrup from the fingers of the trees
sing the song of someone's heart, someone's question marks
fingering the cobwebs of a soul
...living a life with details
the exquisite
a yawn in bed before the lights go out.

water

like it's sweet
to have water when the desert rolls to your feet
and a whisper's not so bad when it blows through your teeth
instead of holes you get treats
like the smoked lung can now breathe
after handfuls of hope become beads
to drape a necklace of dreams
over your toes when you sleep
...
i awoke in a stream
of consciousness
and drove my car to the green light and the painted intersection
taking big gulps
and knowing it's good to be floating
(to have a spring in my winter and a fall in my summer
..wherever the months go off to
and however the days melt and crystallize
the flow
through me
watered the orchid that bends and twists and hangs and grows with my
love
)
into you

nebulousnNever,neverNo where?

swim spinning in pools of turquoise smoke
my head spilled like soup with steam drowning in my eyes

pupil
lucid
born
through elephantine ideas gripping the hinges of nebulosity

cus crystals are in caves
and the most limpid iris
fused to an inky pupil

In this divide
a palpable pore
a wet lip
: the fuck in the tenebrous terrain

i'm smelling my sweat
riding the curves of life

this feels


good.





around

a silence with something to say

u

i

manage
i'm (not)
something
simple, (wanting a)

yes
over and over
u

Claustrum

claustrophobic hanging on
the dimples on a white screen
shavings of caterpillar bones
cocoons of cocoons


small plastic cell waves
pierce my ears
locked to bodies, two bodies
(claustrum, bolt)

the yoke i strain with broken shells
i put back together
and grow
and twist
like a tree
winding up a beanstock

more than pieces
gathering fully in bloom
there's a petal brushing your face
with closed eyes and a late summer tinge
deliquescing
into a winter reverie
tip-toeing around the corner

i remember when you jump on me with your arms and legs wrapped around my body like a koala










elephant tusks in the bath of a misty morning

horse pubes and pussy salad

my mind on a string of hard days
swung over my head
tied by horse pubes
and now
i'm gorging on tuna
with legs and dimples
while my friends in south korea struggle to keep their kimchi
.
my food jumps to me
i only open my mouth
the landmines in laos kill a 100 a year
more than 100 million left
and my tuna isn't fresh
it's like a rotting vagina
but the place down the street
they get their fish fresh daily
i choose like a wiseman who says
choose well

kingdom celebration

tourniquets and belly dancers caught in landslide victories
for the sheep herders and those who speak words of leaders
as king or pawn
-At the great party!
celebrate the kingdom and the golden year
for today we've turned the corner and shoved the stone in the sword
and spun a virgin from a cotton brothel.
so, come celebrate, for the kingdom's at its feet.

linger twice and the sentry station will blow your brains
snicker in the corner and a guard will cut your balls
eunuchs make the lasting impression
for the young ladies and perhaps a knight or two
and in a night or two watch
for
the temptress
dazzled with the white flower show
with a white power bow
and silk stockings stretching to the jester's bells
jingle jolly
the kingdom's falling
we all get up again
we all get up again

but everything is simple

i'm something of a raw intention
clutching virgin memories
innocent as daydreams,
plain like the moon.

But deep inside
where layers live
no longer lie
(one but two?)
or don't
but do
the folds uncover?
yes.
blood deep enigmas spill to my pores.

i'm thinking that sometimes depth means simplicity; that my skin is soaked in ideas floating up like dead fish born again; that simplicity is often the greatest trickery.

if you trust yourself,
if a cliche can undress itself,
you'll see
that what you seek
is on the surface.
go to a mirror now.
stare, wait
oh...
now i see.

best

for me, it seems,
the best, for you,
i think, i know
a distance born from doubts and fog
up to the knees and down to the sheets
a gap to carve up time
or stretch it closer
i wonder
there's more or less left
to right
this train track life
forevers gone in high
speeds of fears and
washed down with my first cigarette in a month

isolation sculpts a truth
a lonely longing loving
or a love(ly) longing loneliness
i've been here before and again i'll go
into myself armed and hungry
full of swallowed words and knowing
things i'll never know
which maybe should be burnt into a stone
and dropped in the water

call to weird

gimme a clear rope
gimme a tight rope
let a spike of fear jab my gut
today a wild fog gave birth to a crisp blue with marshmallow toppings like in Istanbul.
something went funny
i have no money
got caught running, keeping still
a monkey mind man, i caught the line man
you think i'm made of mercury?
i'm no cure no, just for myself, yea
a bubble in my vein yells, Let Me Be
i'm still coming though, politics matter, hope
is just a message to shoot at fear
but if fear keeps swallowing, and everyone's wallowing
following, then maybe we should all get more weird...
-
or have a beer
or feed my mind
with vicodin and coffee
to cancel the effects
make em into affects
and get me the fuck
out
of
here.

death of paint

friends who twinkle in their light rooms
empty with crumbling convictions
and the yes yes yes i'm ready
but the no no no you're not

because when did we cut the corner
but keep the hiding spots
when did the wrinkles in our veins
drain the melting pot

squeezed until the bleeding stops

red is red or something else
but not a blue or pink
but maybe pink
but not black

when you say all the colors are the same
they drown in your blindness
and everybody becomes white
and black becomes white.

don't forget the names of colors

jumble

sand pockets and the nasty spill of forgetting into the wash away shoreline where mixed up childishness meshes with wetsuits and dolphin dialogues which rattle til forever as the night swallows the day as a shark swallows a tuna and the sushi on my plate swallows me with its scrumptious suspicious fishiness. and i laid in bed til twelve because dreams exhausted me like the time i road a wave until i crashed into my lack of want and tore into the saltwater with a grin and a fall that gave me a backbone and a song to sing when i again took hold of my guitar

hello

in the soaring heights of a tomorrow
a dawn whispers its way,
teasing
giggling at its trickery,
licking the dew from its rested fingers
again
putting one on
the tip
of a blade of grass - the way you look at it when you're lying with your head on the ground, staring sideways, with the one warrior in site, standing strong amongst an army...
or maybe
petting a notion of patience
while the sun squirms for its spot in the sky
and the chirps rise and twist with the symphony of cars and horns and vocal chord vibrations.
tomorrow is already today.
hello.

trudge

grilled skin
pink to my steel bones
brushing indifference over a fucked canvas.

it's all a sloppy second
biting at my bursting bubble.
i'm hungry
vomiting feral strokes to cover costumes of permanence:

time spit the river
time fucked virginity
time crushes the diamond

--man in scottish dress shoots
white plates in the sky
raining over sprouting landscapes.
water over a desert wanderer
muddy socks, wiggling my toes, catching my breath from the air-

i'm sopping wet with my forevers
snorting the blues through harmonicas in a minor
grinding the squeeze
licking up the in betweens/
i'm gonna wrap up the extremes
take them to the dogs

got a funeral in my body
hearst carving up my arteries,
death crafts the flesh road
brain cut with cheap prose,
and lizard lexicons.
i shake hands with a wizard who takes my coat
gives my knees a shine
asks about the days where i carried a past
asks about the wherever in the supposed to be
and cackles when i say i sculpted lies out of truths in reveries
he says remember me and
sends me off in a rocket
baggage dropping out my skin pockets
like crumbs off my tie after apple pie.

Zeus bolts

got the tail on the donkey
pinned, missed the spot
smacked my skull when i was strong
faked a war when i fought

fished paddles from a pond
upstream, eating flesh
cold pirhana life sinking ships
captain, a noose
flags, a ruse
the fast the fact you choose
pry a heart to shove a goddamn Zeus bolt of
conquest
blue fools

poster heroes, bloody veins crooked
seeping yesterday's life with a pirhouette
and a dip into streams of consciousness
skipping stones
wondering where to go
stop the world
gooey guitars mangled from blistering fingers
been too long
spinning worlds halting, one collides
dradle twirls on my holiday hair

friends who twinkle in their florescent chambers
squeezing out crusty convictions
throwing a contradiction like a boomerang
and cutting off your grip on the slippery globe

from a sad and lonely time:

you have no serotonin left in your brain.
your empty and withering away. pathetic
moving.
routine.
alone.
solitude with another.
myself.

wanting to die.
literally getting to that point.

friendship, love and needing people?
do you have that xandre? do you really?

you've never needed to actually take care of somebody in your life.
never.
you don't know what it's like.
to be in it together.

you need to get away.
and go somewhere. probably what people don't expect of you.
is what you should do. because that is probably the right thing.
get away. get away.
the music is there.
it is important.
you need it. it needs you.
but get away.

cut your hair

find stuff that makes you laugh. comedy.

buy DIRT.

dance.

together from past scribbles

arched over the white fence
my view has a slight bend

But I'm aware now
And I'm riding a ripple
to the edge of the world

sunset eyes,
cradled crescents of flipped moons,
the dark side melting
with innocent smiles of self-conscious modeling

insanity is what people say it is
who said the world is flat?

lines for this artificial conversation
creeping up my spine
like lemmings so I take
the first step
nonsense
consequences carry no weight when they land in the future.
when im sad i want to die young anyways
i've got dreams that need to be thrown into reality first

rose1

stitching quilts of ripping patches

forward but noisy

like chains dragging on asphalt

shelves with closed books

tired pages

Reaching for
MoRe.

grinding (to) bones

stripping clothes

foreskin hanging to my toes

growing nails to my nose

inhaling my past

ghost hit
shoooooooooooooooooooooooots
my boomerang cerebellum
to a Purity
like a quiet rose
in a glass vase
with petals fluttering,
blowing kisses of death
whispers
into grand charades
so a thorny stem
basking in a moment
free
from itself

born to death

my father came home
and kissed my mother
with a big smile
while she did the crossword puzzle
(for tuesday)

changed a few tires.
the sun shot through the backyard
into the cold pool for laps
bad for the body.

tripped over the suburban clarity
draped over my childhood
like halloween costumes and candy
luring me on

stoned
and skipping in the grass
i used to play soccer here
now i smoke cigarettes

achey breaky heart

body aches
rubbing sores
old, hot. the dead ones in the future.
swollen.
shut.
cat furs tickle my skin.
i yearn.
slumber calling.
the mess
of feeling like shit.

the biggest ever

the biggest pimple ever
explodes and covers a thumbnail
and it shouldn't have been there.

thought about what people would look like
if
at 4
a kid could choose
the size of their nose
eyes
forehead
the kind of hair
the arms
and how this and that one would say
i want the biggest mouth ever

great scott in the morning!

Roger, call the marines!
the doctors are making rounds
and your coattails are dragging.
please pick up Felicity from her nap.
she failed to return from the Scott residence
the cotton is growing by the bushel
deliver me a shirt by noon
you sick
fool.

grumble

if ya turn faces
and split ideas
for 8 cents a piece
sell the crumbs
for saliva
and zinfandel
over a bloody sunset
sprinkled with fog and water rays
you might find yourself
hanging on the edge of some
rumbling hunger
for the line
that splits your whispers for something
into grumbling nothings

lullaby #1

in the hammock til mornin
the one by in the garden
under the dark glow
under the oak

like the mind that swings
in a child's laughter and a perfect iron ignorant bliss.

good to be young
good to grow

and know
that once you start to learn things
it might not be good
to pretend you
don't know them.

zelig

if you
(chameleon)
warp and twist
with whoever, whenever
what are you
in i
.solation

are you balanced
zero
colorless
dull
dead
pumping
?

who are you
if you
are
you
20 times
a day
in different ways
with a wig
and a bottle of scotch

something operating

in the wheels, the gears, the hinges, the doors
desperate whispers of grinding flesh
and the low hum
like french horns in an orchestra
a xylophone man with sunglasses and chipped teeth
pounding on your stomach
because you can't digest your lies

the good grip of a window washer
slipping on her work
shooting senior yearbook pictures
folding over in her rolls
wanting a smile to be genuine
to fuckin scared to be(so)herself

worm dig

somewhere in the dark there is a polish of liberation that soars
and swoops
and stretches
and it erases and burns into something that roars
and dances
and howls

because there is a forgetting
because the wrapping is cheap and lovely
because there are paper people
plastic songs
rubbery acquaintances
and all sorts of schemers and frog hopping slippery toad-like scum

so you have those diamonds
and the spread
sloppy kisses
a friend who says 'i know you well'
and the reason to believe

when a chaos gives birth to a cancer and a sapphire
and things go unfinished
as they do

metal

rust
strong
cold
except
when
it's hot
then
it's hot
losing
strength
had a
purpose
now just
lovely
to see
at dusk
in a glow
or at dawn
but
i wasn't
there

retrograde - this lobby

is crawling with swine
swarming with electronica
. young men and women standing behind counters
with gel in their hair
in all black
frozen in time
.
because like those two periods above
things get trapped.
between, under and over
somewhere
the hands of chance cracking knuckles

and this picture above me
of ella and duke and ray and billie and louis and some of the greats
just like this image of the present
drawn into the satin background
already 40 years past and lost in some other future
which thaws and gets swallowed up by a thirsty poodle.

Grow

hard rush to the head
snake tongues wrap the bed

sweat lips soaking skin
rough scruff and sandpaper chins

wipe rooms with time sheets
five ticks and the time sleeps



never endings and fastfalse starts
memory working on wood souls
carved into a eucalyptus
riding the high
waves
smash on the shore like bowling balls
and roll down alley

last night, once

for the sip at the bottom
the lips at the top
stick
wrapped on the rim

film talk
actors and control-
the power direction,
towards the plug
plugged in, out

the move, tomorrow
for alan, ourselves and the world.
the handshake oracular.
licking the glass
for the last drip.

waiting for that creaking futton
the last time
goodbye

some power

some power is the absence of power
or the tucking away
into a pillowcase
after you make your bed
and sleep for a day.

some girl is mad at some guy
and she speaks
in short snaps
sulking
leaning her head against the elevator
as we move six floors up
and she walks ahead
and i lean against the bathroom
in a torn short shirt
brushing my teeth
nonchalant, cool
behind two flossing lovers in a fight.

some power is a freight train.
and don't you forget
some power is
always
here
and there.

(like mist around waterfalls in spring)

schadenfraude and political snake bites

she spoke
with tiny eyes and small fingers.
she fell off her bike in the dirt and gave a strong smile.
it was fake but she threw it at us.
her tongue was strong like a serpent, poisoning us with her rotting phrases on wealth
and personal responsibility.
i told her she was part of the problem.
that i am too.
and so is she
that this masked lounge, washed over in blue
with turntables from the future
playing jazz-electronic
10 dollar appetizers
delicious
stella artois and a sore throat
choking on my own words.
and loving to watch that girl squirm like a worm
hurt but strong
us against her
when i knew i was right

Le Bal.Cony

new
(again)
more,good,strong
urge.
want.
more,good,life
floor.
dirt.
goodbye.
more,good,tongue
more,
that.

fast

behind.
urgency.
comfort.
new home.
new people.
the day - fast.
slugs and owl bones burnt on the street.
films at night.
new roommates.
wine glass, vermilion.
new sound. new guitar. new voice.
old wanting.
forward.

6am

a spider crawling on the wall
feet covered in smell
worry doused in sleepiness
evening good,
people.
6am cigarette - one car,
one light,
one human,
sparked
shot to the corner of this world.

/No foRm.Old song.\

A smiley face
a fuzzy finger-painted face
is mouthing off
A neverland
a paint to paint the weather and the dreamer's (dream)

She held her hair
in her arms and cried
and left the bathroom drip
ing
wet with wrists and bloody soap
the madness hit reality
silly reality.

A blue moon walk
a jazzy tune the city plays
wide eyed mind
waiting for feeling, contact
from the past
connecting back and forth the past.

Him and her
And her and him and her and her
and everyone
forgetting hunger
all this happening now
now
Now.

The game we play
dynamics and the window gaze
the worshiped ones
and all the dead,
the history - dead.

and me. somewhere alive.
a quick hello, goodbye.
hungry uncertainty.
solo, slide,
once and twice before the number crunch,
the machine world, crushed in gears,
spit out like everlasting gobstoppers
chewed with violence, violet bursts
and happy songs to pop the cork on champagne bottles
to shoot me to a crisp land,
solo
slide.

Do not ask the night, do not ask the day, do not ask, do not tell

Claw
Sprawl
the mixed up call.

Swoon
june
the past too soon.

jump up your leg,
one tease,
the charade
. . some escape
. . the parade
.a curtain fall
.we all wave
.A bloom storm, is soon yours
and the wet sun, gushing
'cus the moon doesn't ask where the sun goes
when it slips from the night

Trust and the nobody there

no
body.
but weak
nesses.
i want
to spit.
but
there
is
nobody.

no
trust.
but souls
sucking.
imagine.
but there
is nobody.

jello

I'm eating a book.
Feel loose.
Rubber arms.
movement smooth.
Rubbing
belly.
Jewels
jelly.

Chipping away at im
patience
with a toothpick.
'cus i don't need it for my teeth.


weird world.
the job hunt hunts me,
haunts me.
but bukowski made it,hemingway made it.
but im not them.

i'm a turntable.
scratching my head at a heavy gush of thoughts
which i hope will turn to a trickle
so i can catch the drops in my hand
and stare at them
before i roll my tongue across my palm
and laugh hyena-like
through the messy,
no longer thirsty.

where i get anxious at the buzz of a fly
or laugh at the sound of a scream.
so things stop making sense
and i start wanting it-
sense.

and nobody will ever know.

in
sane.
like everyone else.

Guts

When I sat down at the table
with my copy of Galapagos, borrowed,
and the end of a bottle of wine (i could not waste)
and a banana
and some carrots and broccoli.
and the grapefruit was my desert
I dug the knife in and cut it up
with precision
until hunger began to grip
the knife and thrust it violently
mashing
juice spilling and squirting
I shoved the pieces into my mouth
chewing on the guts
of that grapefruit.
1/7 down.

from the past - 'Alone'.

The moon looks like a pearl
Held in starless sky.
.
Like a ballerina leaning sideways
Her hand paused
...........................d
..............................r
................................o
..................................pping delicately
under her arched body
and in her palm - the milky pearl
glowing
and rolling
off.
but
it seems i’m the only soul outside
enjoying the soliloquy of silence
and the spilling freedom
(beautiful and alone)
in the blank, black sky.

DragonNight

There are drops of honey dripping from the corner of the ceiling in my head.
The bottle of wine is almost gone.
One sip in my glass.
Cigarette burns filter.
Dragon skin twisting up
Time eating itself and shitting a new day

And swallowing morning
And one last sip
and one honey drip
Dragging by lips of curiosity

A
Dragon
Night.

Ouroboros Over a Week

I am a shadow
Craving light
And bending with it
And away.

I am light
Carved around a shadow
Unable to penetrate
Burning and afraid
And helpless.

I am invisible
Melting and erupting
Into stacks of Me’s and What If’s and You’s and Him And Her and Them and Those and This and Fuck That
Forever.

I am an escape
In search of comfort, in search of a prison
Safety from
What I can handle
What I fear
What I don’t want, what I do.

I am love
(d)/(ly)/(less)
Swirling into Sundae – (just past)
Scooping up the remains
Dropping them like sprinkles
Picking up the pieces

I sometimes don’t move
I sometimes don’t scream
I sometimes punch, sometimes punched
I rarely trust – trust takes time, trust takes fear, trust takes love, trust takes shadows, and invisibility and escapes and light and ice cream Sundaes and.
I sometimes think it’s too much to handle.
and get nowhere.
But here, to myself, and to everyone else again and forever.
thanks.

1

A night.
Dragging its feet in a muddy breeze, muddled
breathing.
72s and a sick taste lingering like sound waves oscillating in vast rooms
for thought
and
in between - the time
spent dunking your head in the water for apples and new things
When conversation licks its paws and curls up in the corner to sleep and dream
.
A night.
Darker and bare amongst elephantine structures
and stone bears,
like ones propped up on my bed when i was a child...
and i would walk into my room
and see sleep resting its head on my pillow
and i would dive into dreams
off the diving board,
splashing around
islands and wherevers,
gripping joy like a lollipop
down to the end.
and swallowing the new day with a yawn and a desire
for sun and play.

Good night xandre
sleep like a child.