Friday, September 20, 2013

The Names of Things

"We should strive to know the names of things,
to call them what they are
and to act accordingly."


I am a courageous young thing a
cowboy and a crimson king a
nightwater pool a synthesized melody an
indian in summer corn watching the
migration of calcium from the leg bones of
a fawn a
desert spider on a turtle's back a
jackrabbit a yawn to laydown to
longsleep or crowfood and marrow
unfamine to form some depression in
the dust to become a sort of a bowl to
wait for the monsoons to come to be
filled for a while and
become a small ocean for a
few snakes a scorpion a desert fox a
cowboy and a crimson king but
somewhere along I lost my courage
when I capped her ass I
fucked everything in the desert sun I
wore her like a hide and serenaded
no one with my idiotsong like my
spurs meant anything because they were
silvershimmer and steelsex and horsespeed
until they weren't anymore

Wednesday, September 18, 2013

The Recognition of Home

I am an antenna for
detecting everything that might be
you anything who is my
path A>B to
born then
really born to actually live you are a
gateway or a transporting godhead quietly
swallowing the chosen boy warriors and
giving them the gift of guns and nets and
this is your power and in you or even
near you I fall to pieces in the
dissolution associated with
returning to the source.

Tuesday, September 17, 2013


I said I'd never be another church boy with
a broken spine I said
we ought to spend time near the grass and the
shade of tomorrow's catalpa and drink more
water and I promised myself I'd ride my
bicycle every day but it rusted and
I didn't take enough care of it
I said I'd write to you often and
despite myself I said I'd still pray
but that never happened and I
forgot cursive and the paper crumbled and
my desk became a stiff place that no longer
seemed warm I
lost myself when I crossed Walt Disney and
Walt Whitman and that has gone on for years I'm
always tired and there's a constant quiver in
my arms and gut like orgasm craving ache but
there's no pre-teen gift for me to remember my
caving and no chest to crawl into and
no human to inhabit and I left some
soup on the stove but it became
dusty and filmy and the windowlight burned a
hole straight into the pot - a cup a carrot a dish a
plane a place to seek a new name, one of Twelve
to choose from but I'll always be
because I always fall asleep eventually

Wednesday, September 4, 2013


make sure that before you know a thing, that it is
And if it isn't known yet,
you have to make sure
it's the truth."