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November 18, 2002
Fuckville, USA i hope, however, that you, my readers, had a nice day
and i apologize Due to Rick's
The Goat
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November 18, 2002
Fuckville, USA i hope, however, that you, my readers, had a nice day
and i apologize Due to Rick's The Goat
Some days just suck ass.
Today was just such a day.
Specials thanks to eBay
and my accusatory, untrusting, fibbing friend D for this morning's
phone call that triggered all the worst of my emotional turmoil,
stress, and feelings of biological and physical inadequecy
in this body
on this planet
as an American
as a man
a friend.
sincerely for having nothing good to say.
-RSM
VeryBadNoGoodHorribleDay
he has asked that in place of any further miserable bitching on his part
that his friend & poet Mike Loutzenhiser take the stage.
Hit it Mike...
For ten years I collected the names
Of people whose loneliness
The moon spoke highly of.
Orchestras were silenced
Or sealed in passing doom.
Osiris escaped.
The ravens made it home for the winter.
Golden decoys scattered at the last moment.
A starfish of fire, a crown of rain.
Passageways emit
From unpaved corners of light.
The mutations of impermeable water,
Brother of the clairvoyant stone.
Combine the old to form the new.
Mosquitos build fortresses of coral.
I stumbled into the sacred tomb
And found the way to decode life.
I found slave-heroes
And people to foreign to be priests.
Allegorical direction translator.
Scope of angles and distances.
With vines of lunar stone
And a butterfly-wing dagger
I left and built a fountain of coal.
The heroes are buried in approximate ditches.
The cities between us will grow until we learn them.
Ships pass on teeter-totters
That all go in the same circle.
Move small walls inside the mountain:
Topology of breath.
Talk face to face with clouds.
The surgery is an excursion
Into the most primitive forests known.
The parrot had a thousand names.
Rescue unit lost in a blizzard of deaf laughter.
Wound of the future that the moment's eternity
Does not tend to.
Corners vanished beside our shoulders.
Transmigratorial volcanoes and chessboards of ice.
The ground as much a part of us as sleep.
Pearl down the sink.
Suffocated memories.
Clutter of diplomacy.
The salesmen will return to their cocoons.
Distortion will collapse under the feet of time.
Write Me!