October 16, 2005

slipping and stretching on strands of stars,
tumbling through torrents of
awkward gazes, gathering sanity in the easter baskets.
Sit back and relax, let it out, keep it in, get up and move.
That phone never rang,
that mouth never talked,
that music never played,
that night never happened.
She made the decision to make everything wrong and
wrong it was to be right in every sense,
since it was nothing to be anything, and everything to be something.
A thing, one thing, more things, something.
piling up in a laundry basket, these words must be aired, the are musty.
a masterful representation of the repition that represents the mind on a temporary rest.
tepid thinking,
tranquil talkking.
rip rocking rustling leaves leave her on the porch alone.
Lost.

October 3, 2005

focus on an unfocused joint, slender fingers slogging through strange wastelands of typography.
maps of mountainous menageries, lingery-lacey lakes, and superficial sand bars,
snapping and snarling, simply searing the skin of wild animal thoughts that manage to slip inot the lip of the thought and through to the cusp of the emotion that sends it to the mouth.
The pen stops and she raises her head, a safari of words are tracing around her toungue.
An enticing appitizer for a seven course novel.
a novel idea
a nobel Idea
a grand thought
a gander around the mind.
Let’s take a sled and follow the paper trail to the mountains of rejection, crumpled bits and peices
penciled words and penned out sentences
a brash smell of ink.
it’s like home.