Monthly Archives: August 2010

There were Parchman Farms and now Parchman Pens,and my face grows fat as I search withinfor a means to progress despite the senseI get when I push my mind into sin:I was captivated by the lightness of skin – not color, you perverts, but weight;I m… Continue reading →

Am I really so twisted that I seecolor that isn’t and hungers unslaked,and flavors unsavored, fresh miseryaccorded to inkblots and whispers faked?:There are at least two rules one must follow in this world of gardens and of dungeons:”Stay out of t… Continue reading →

Through diamond panels, the light crashes in,and the wet wind whirls and wooshes outside;the metal tongue lies in practice again,striving for the fragrant taste of the bride:New patterns unfold with a certain spice that piques the palette with bro… Continue reading →

I flicked a switch and then the sound shatteredall around my feet, and I heard the voiceof passion — never logic — unfetteredby the windless escutcheoned sails of choice:Each shard was like a new meaning explained by dint of feel, never fear of … Continue reading →

Filaments were broken, fingers retracedand the maps were useless, the charts were blank;The mindless consortium of class replacedby the intestinal quiver of kink:The plants were not yellowed, the soil was moist, and the birds hawked and prayed in … Continue reading →

In the marginal trace of the paper,I am empty and full, foul and emptiedof that feeling, that instinct, that taperto spark a dream out of the yellow seed:I hear the gambol of the watery drops titter on golden strings of baseness,making movements s… Continue reading →

The taste of living can be so, so sweetwhen the dew of sound shines under the bulb,like late fireflies rushing to the meetor constrained fingers that can scrape the curb:The slow heft of brown wings leaves a shadow, a trace of movement, a placemen… Continue reading →

I never know what to do tomorrowwith a vexed step and a most narrow lipthat arches up like a flagrant flyerand a presence that shrinks from the nightstrip:True heroism dwells in the pits of vision and priceless thrusts at the centralcore, where th… Continue reading →

When facile similes relate the selfto larger but shallower tendencies,it is an indication of the gulfthat rests between passions and memories: There are flames in my eyes for the cold truth, the little flutters that pass over meas I dream or think… Continue reading →