obey your flesh and descend

i am of the country.

these brooklyn nights of mocked moons pass through us unslept

marrows of darknesses are unmet, forgotten in teemingness light

but it is we who forgot ourselves in the screaming clout of engines

and it is my flesh unkempt that has been arcing to and fro, unable to let go.

then somehow always dawn arrives as it has for a clockless bygone.

when once it spilled itself in silence til the sounds we made sung it found

now it bays our paused bones like bells.

in landscapes of skin you are here with me

and so is my witching soul dwelling--

its brawn of strange poetry clicks placelessly

while facing its fans on the embers of stagnant hours

words are spells, time has to be devoured and

death is gifting a secret forever.

i've learned how to hold a seed out among a crowd of deserts

and watch as their plantless dunes pant.

i trust language as an experiment of faith

though these sentences insecurely admit it

what we seek are not stars seen through chinks and mirrors.

what we seek are not shapes dancing anonymously behind a curtain.

i can feel your body and its faces

mid-blurring in cisterns of my mind swimming closer.

memories are not anonymous though their imagery is tricky

every day the red fruit i brought above roofs is for you

and i hope it is ok when carried off by living birds

to boughs of bridges

barely swinging in the gaps

we did not make but cross.

my totem body looks toward it loudly from the exhausting mud

what is it? only my confessions of diminishing teeth have guessed

my jaw sits bound so tightly it grinds in a veneer of sleep.

but you're right, when the cage door is opened my love does not step out.

ever since our answers disguised themselves as questions and

desires have been unlived ghosts called freewill.

i don't know who unlocked it and why.

each new day in modernity begins pre-haunted with

the hearts of people in the custody of history.

so you're right, i have been unyielding, bitterly and

my roots sent out poisons so that nothing may grow nigh

what gathers does so along borders

you have all stood in the shadow of my wounded dream

as it darkened--as it coiled and begged.

but we need not be bigger or smaller than we are.

i've shed and let it go, though very close to the sun, i had no one.

in lieu of a Man ill be a man and a woman and the plainest flower in the field

and become every day less afraid of myself

and less obliging to the throne of Men made gold and baroque with rape.

my chimera heart that has stiffened and stalled and trusted only itself

will transform and adapt along a curve not an angle.

what remains is sung

i am of the country.

i am of land and its wide sweeping parts belong to what we've lost.

i do not understand why we forsake life's tests and endless place to take our breath

so forgive me while running until no cars are felt and no road lies under feet.

love me and run alongside, and if in our steps we lurch, we can rest.

this day does not burn, or rather it does, but doesn't hurt.

what remains is screamed

i am of the country!

we must keep working and loving and learning

even amid flowers waking up in beds of dead bees.

we must keep walking an already over-trodden land

even as it yawns an uncharactered emptiness.

we must want yes while war is noisome and no and emptying

while its black blood runs deeper because we want life to be easy.

there can be no rising if we think we are falling

we cannot stand to not feel this--

something is waiting beyond our veils.

the expanding spring is here.

it is this lonesome side-walk sapling that is boxed in and pretty

it is the restrained blossoms

cajoling our callow nature,

but it is not this feast of fancy crumbs,

our jeering treeless stretches and

the worldless eye of city skies.

my existence was folded neatly and i needed to carelessly break it.

now i back track a mind that has lived to strip itself but worries about being too naked.

those of us who know how to weave find it tempting to unite loose ends that are messy

but even knots seeming to hold can unravel.

so be it. uncertainty is the soul of pleasure.

how could we not try? what else would we do?

this is why the wild fox said the prince the point is to create ties.

what we love we should tame, but we should not tame what we cannot love.

we have tamed the world as intensely as we fear to love it.

more than ever blood and bone are only home for the spirit that sees this.

so no more bloodletting, a body needs itself.

even if our love at times scares us and makes us strangers

it will always invent new invitations.

i try not to doubt this friend-studded roam

it's the only thing i know.

friend-ship wards off the bullshit of an uncertain tomorrow.

a photographic response to creeper's plea

i started writing a text-post. it was boring. you can read it in the drafts if you like.
here's pictures. that's more fun. i wish i could bring back the < lj-cut > for you right now.
love,
-me

p.s. you
probably will have to open the images individually to see all of them?


self portrait in a letter
i seem to be thinking about my blood, school, anarchy, eliot, my bike, madison, and my numerous crushes.


took elz' bread recipe to heart and have been playing around with that a lot


dreaming up ideas for dinner parties and then having them


debbie is wearing julie hagan's turtleneck (???)
while enjoying house-made dosa, sambhar, and chutney


visiting home


homebodies


homebuddies
(the salad cancels out the cigarette)
(he never smokes cigarettes)


an appropriate last photo of the home i love and will miss

i don't really have a picture of my beautiful bicycle: sweet dumps,
they occupy much of my thinking
oh what a hottie
mmmbikes

feeling awake vs. being awake

silence so loud: so this is the life of the infinite? i is alive, i is awake?
why so much wondering pursuing my life if i am indeed alive.
am i to go through it
ever propping up the illusion that i am awake? it´s a fine thing so far. after all, the illusion has given me dancing, good food, gardens, forests, bikes, funny haircuts, costumes, great sex, electric ideas so much! is this the climax? maybe illusion is not the right word: it suggests regret, disingenuity, failure. not what i am going for! never!
but no matter how many ideas i go through i am not safe; i am safe when i do, when i act, when i am .

i notice when i want to feel alive i reach for the typical things: hiking, traveling, newness, hitching, gardening, camping, la-la, fucking, beautiful company etc
all greats things, especially when shared
but there still is a lingering something that suggests more
for a wild grove of youth.
knowing what we may know
what we feel,
are times urgent?
is there something going on?
something going down?
haven´t we been talking like something is?
is there something we should be doing together?
we this beautiful pile of imagination, youth, will, creativity, bodies, wonder kids
are we waiting for something?
have we waited too long?
not taken our connections and experiences together as faith in something promising and important?
are we just going to float on?
is there something to be realized before georgraphy and memory have their way with us?
is place our fate? what about something nomadic?

fear love stability home loneliness will have something to say about this, i bet they will.

these are all real questions and not just round about ways of stating stuff

lately i do not fall asleep at night
i put myself down on things to try
but what happens is something like
my self opening up like a strange flower.
crumbling away into dream, trust, excitement
i am brimming with something terrible and wonderful
i see your faces, and your light.
our voices, talking
we´re moving somewhere
the world is watching
because it is interested in love, courage, possibilities of the young.

i dont write this to be romantic. i cannot sleep. i dont know what
to do. that´s probably the important part.
at least, i have it down somewhere accessible to all of you.
not locked in my notebook.