Tuesday, December 12, 2006



is merely
the measuring stick
that marks
yet i grasp
at its edges

Friday, March 31, 2006



i'm still spinning

still spinning with you in my mind

chinese handcuffs

keep me close,

so close.

you run through my veins

feels like my hinges are flying off

rock me like a baby doll

in your arms, all night long

all night long

underneath the watchful eyes

of the pale street lights.

Friday, March 03, 2006


Sugar Cubes.

there's a sort of sweet symphony sipping our communal Kool Aid

as i'm lapping sugar cubes from your hand . . .

while time lingers in the twilight

wrapped in her eternal evening gown.

but time doesn't so much heal

. . . as she merely

e r a s e s.

Tuesday, January 10, 2006


p r i M a l

p r i M a l .

s o m e T i m e s
i t
i S
b e S t
T o
d r o P
t O
a L l
f o U r S
a N d
s i m P l y
g O
b a C k
t O
b a S i C s

Tuesday, December 20, 2005


The Exorcism: Part I

I'm a fake.
I'm self destructive.
I am an acquired taste.
I'm random energy.
I'm intense.
I'm jaded.
I'm restless.
So very restless.
I'm a ghost.
That hasn't arrived.
I want you to want me.
I need you to need me.
I'm a blur.
I'm a pillar of the community.
I'm fucked up.
I lust.
I'm wearing a mask.
But so are you.
I'm bleeding.
Lay your hands.
And lesions over me.
I will stab you.
For twenty dollars.
My shots are clean.
My shots are final.
I have eyes of amber.
I betray.
I plead for mercy.
I want your blood.
On my hands.
On my lips.
I'm nothing's everything.
I love.
I miss you.
I laugh.
When I cry.
I'm charmed.
I pick up pieces.
Of ancient queens.
I'm innocent.
I'm a picture of ugly stories.
I' m a sinner.
And I'm a clown.
I wrote a song.
That I already forgot.
I desire.
Too much.
I need.
A gypsy soul.
I'm smiling.
I want to see you.
I will regret this.
I believe.
In Everything (Nothing).
I want my tombstone to read. . .
I'm drunk again.
I'm sorry.
Self-realization is truth.
*steps away from the mirror*

Monday, November 28, 2005




The solitude wears on me
This mundane chained to Wheels of Time
I feel like I'm breathing clay.
Now I know true thirst.

Cracks form around my eyes
As I squint into the horizon.
I can taste yellow.
Why can I taste yellow?

Sand whips into the crease of my mouth.
As I stand above my carcass
Watch the carrion birds make short
Work of my brittle bones

This dust-bowl
Tries to consume. . .
To extract your soul
In its marionette's pose

But they will never get it
No, no they will not
They are too late
For I gave it freely
To another

In this wasteland...

Monday, October 24, 2005


The View

The View

From here it looks perilous.
Little chance of survival
Harsh consequences
I never looked good behind the vertical
I was always considered highly centrifugal
Feel the rails slowly stretch
This screech of brakes
In this inevitable train wreck
Bulletproof armor is an everkiss
For lies dripped
Between Nosferatu lips
Worst case scenario, they eat my remains
As thoughts of sugar plums dance in their brains
The deceit and wrath and chaos came
And here I am
Left holding the Blame
Don’t trust my rancid naivete
Of faith in people
Who kill indiscriminately...

I must now hold my head up high
Tighten the noose on my necktie
And head down the path
In my switchblade eloquence
This view… so lovely
In its deadly accoutrements.
As the murmuring strangers
Gather near the front door
Of the Bed & Breakfast
They never paid for

Friday, September 30, 2005



(from the Red Book of Lies by jaxe)

Half broken sunsets,
I try to tape back together
Shards of a broken mirror
Stare back in my November
My conversations with the moon
In confidence
Did I finally find
What I was looking for
Down on the south side
Of safety and apathy?
They pick my diluted brain
Throwing out reasons
For my behavior
Theories on the
Human condition
Telling me why
As I sit on the padded
Musty Couch of Weakness
Now, twenty past
A quarter ‘til three
And I'm still staring
At this puzzle
Eyes fixed on the gaping
Hole left by the missing
Am I doomed to this
Which is beyond my reach?
I will never be the same
In my palm
The lines I couldn't change
The creases
I could not rearrange
The want I couldn't
The person
I've somehow
The ache is pure
It is real
It will never heal . . .

And I don't
Want it to.
If it’s the only way
I can hang onto you.

Wednesday, September 21, 2005


Fire Dancer

Fire Dancer . . .

. . . And there you are again

Bringing intensity to the twilight

Painted on the inside of my eyelids

Dancing like a flame

Shadows playing tricks on my astonished eyes

As your fire burns

Your sanguine coronet flickers

The searing rhythms spellbind,

And finally mesmerize me.

Dance with me, fire dancer,

In my mind again tonight

Paint my world with your flame.

Make me burn.

Wednesday, August 10, 2005


The Boatyard (a/k/a Ghost)

(a/k/a Ghost)

I was fucked up before the glass kissed my lips.
In an instant you were HERE.
My eyes drank you.
Anxiety. Electricity. Hope.
Terror. Lust. Regret.
Then . . . nothing.
A false alarm. Just a ghost in my attic.
We've got to stop meeting like this. . .
Inside my memory.
My recurring shadowed dementia
of false realities
now blinded by the sparks
from my own self destructive fuse.
You know, I had to hurt you so you would hate me.
Then I could hate you for hating me.
It didn't really take.
Turn on the reggae - watch me pulse.
I search for lost words to toast the sun
as it sets in its own beleaguered eloquence.. .

My lover. My killer.

How many has it been since then?
Lost words or lost sunsets?
The air is thick –
like trying to breathe through a blanket
. . . and its hard to chew.
The idle sailboats still somehow sway.
I stare up the skirt of the tan woman across from me,
searching for
A tern slurs by like its being pulled
on a bent string.
No shadows now.
The colors fade.
The sun descends.
It is gone.
Like you.

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