dedicated to...

i'm still smiling through groggy eyes,
the weekend a success.

i'm keeping it in the library and sitting on it for a while.

i'm finding things in old notebooks.

W. Monroe on a thursday.
3/00

i smoke
and eat kisses from silvery men
a holy tuesday order
you're planning fake orange murder
and the pot brownie guy
and sprinklers and
diseased goldfish
i had forgotten the sound of crickets
big spiders by the screen door
cheesy high school movies
with the wednesday night
television goddess
now i'm a street light
no one standing there
a bush, a stop sign
and all i can think of
is the pollen count and
bumble bees
the South of France
the number twelve
somebody named lucky
and Sarah Michelle Gellar's tattoo.

Untitled
2000

the snappy pops sit unattended
he's wearing my name tag
and that spiffy green shirt
smelling it all up with the pungency of boy
i bought some granola
free potato salad for dinner
how fireworks are like people
they sit,
wait and wait
not knowing their beauty
they have one shining moment
then
black.
ashes.
dust.
he held me there my breath too
a simple gesture that says decades
i put on my bowling shoes
go out to find a missionary nurse
who smiles and hugs like Mother Theresa
like the father down the street
small Greek and shiny
with his finches and his death penalties
the former methodist church now
covered in Gold

Untitled
1999

this giving tree
you milked its fresh leaves
its waving green branches
slowly it transforms,
a single greying stump
you come and sit
we talk of ages
and of strange persons in white coats.
you disappear
the men come with their machines
to pull me up into
your garden mulch.

everything isn't happening

in a word
mockery
i cannot remember the words
i dare not descend into genuine writing
i know not how to regain my composure

inadequacy
fills my lungs with migrainettes
small pops of pain, rocks
success
a distant candle

truth is not the friend of many
it has very low minutes
on its bill
each month.

the science of 911.

so in the past 24 hours i've been awakened to a woman crying on my doorstep and asking for help at 1am, and i have yet to decide whether she was truth-telling or sleepwalking with the enemy and secretly trying to rob us. her male assailant arrested, she drove off into the darkness with her old truck.

this afternoon i witnessed the glory of the fall foliage festival in martinsville, indiana after a long night of police reports and turntossing. at the parade we encountered not one but two separate shriner motorcycle accidents, one with the larger gold-wing that went flying into the audience and injured the crowd(i think-i didn't see this one as it happened...it was just around the corner from us) and one of the mini-bikes fell over with its fezzed rider. to top it off, a bit later a man riding behind a marching band had his horse spooked and nearly got stomped to death in front of everyone not 20 feet from us. at this point T and I are not sure we're in reality, so we decided to vacate.

after a dinner of mexican elements, we blearily motored home in our separate not-quite-equal vehicles and T slept while I watched The Science of Sleep. I haven't figured out if this was a good choice considering our recent ventures, but i would recommend it highly.

i am not sure whether my life will continue on this weird path or return to normal after i finally reach sleep tonight. i do believe that every human needs some randomness thrown in once in a while so we can remember what being truly mentally awake feels like-

it kinda feels like dreaming.

also, you must see tideland, terry gilliam is insane and beautiful.
The Dude makes an instantaneously horrid and resurrect appearance.

my brain is running off to dream.
it is time to follow.

also, more pictures soon. hopefully tomorrow.

a part of me likes to rhyme.
only not all the...