Tag Archives: creative writing

Perennial (I am back)

Flush the electrical
of my beating heart
with the sulfur
pink ore
of gypsum

May the crushed
shells of oyster
calcify you to your
true love

Let the kelp
entangle you
into submersion
of nourishment

You will be
by the lung red
lava rocks of time

Don’t believe
the Jaguar
when it leaps
into your chest

Blackstrap molasses
will become
the milk
of your microherd

The worms
will feast upon
the slime molds
used to dissolve

You break apart
the sky
and fix it
deep down below

The ground dust
of ancient rocks
within you

It’s the fungus
that will aggregate
us all together
once and for all

The seeking

               I heard this poem
        on the radio
           they were playing
                                              drum and bass
    the death was alive
and a sitar looped
in explanation
                                                        as the broadcast
              faded                                            into white
                                                                      off the hills
                                       something new
something different
                 a womans voice
                 a transaction
                 a program
                                                       to pay her rent
      and persuade us

I wanted the tabla
            copy and pasted
       over everything
                                                 the prison in Folsom
                                     folded up
like an origami guffaw
                  on the bronzegreen bridge
                                     far above the things
                                surfacing to scope
                                      the ample flakes of ash

The precurser

from the cunt
rolled back

It was like an eel
the way the chorizo
gutted and slithered

Wide open
hollowed out
carved clean

By the hybrid marbling
difference between
thin flesh slick with death—
the ooze bubbling out
in spurts blink blue,
blink cream

We were on our own—
dabbing rosin onto
the toenails of time

Breaking off
from our homes
like a trichome

the phosphorous
into the bone
just like that

The hole glowing
white hot
from the wild oak
kept dry

Neon green and indigo

               What is this
                                  blipping in
        and out

we got five minutes
   then it’s back
and it’s always back
          it don’t matter

    how do you even describe
               the way the light shines
     gourdpoked and bouncing like a slinky
down the temple stairs
      of a wooden ribbed

           or a strike of lightning
     how the white
divides                            just nodding
with your headphones
               just wonderin’ things

Everytime I hear Boy’s Latin

I used to take off
      as fast as I could
                                                 across the street
                like I was running away
                                 from babylon

        down the hill
                                      to an entrance
            of the forest of Nisene Marks
   before the rest of the world
                                                       was awake
and the redwoods
                                        were mine
                                                                   all mine

                                a blue jay alerts

         sometimes foggy
                        blowing snot rockets
  the wild cucumber
                       and limegreen mosscovered

                            towering redwoods
                                       dripping with dew
the floor of the forest
                                 covered in xanthoparmelia
                    and clavarioids

        heavy breaths
                                              heavy footsteps

                                                with sweat

plowing through
                               last night’s
                                                     spider webs

                     crossing stonewobbling cricks

    a deer’s vertebrae
  attached to a stick
                                    poking out from the mud
                                    like a ka-bob

it’s funny to think
                   of everyone I brought here

                                                  everything we did

                           running as fast
        as I could                                  
                                  to the top
  of the mountain
                              before the rest of the world
      was awake


An engine
                                      in the distance
is it coming
                                      from the sky
the protocol’s
                                      in place
deep breaths
                                      to slow the heart
not until we’re
not until we’re
an engine
                                 in the distance
is it coming
                           from the sky