my first sonnet, disfigured.

29 November 2010 § Leave a comment

i’ll stop writing this when i can no longer see.
but all the times I’ve penned the dark of night
and the morning after, found my blinded scribbling,
I’ve learned my favorite sense is not of sight
but that of feeling. And to disappoint
the deities of earth’s infernal imagery,
audio is that love of mine once coined
to be her rival. every note a memory,
every step a song – sound needs her servant
like the devil wants to write his psalms
with gold and LSD, til our friends the vermin
no longer run along with their shock and awe.

now the sun is down and out from that tempest sky,
so let’s drink and fuck and tell each other lies.



28 November 2010 § Leave a comment

he keeps repeating
til tongue turns black and
fingers numb

the first and the second
is a crowd like the
fifths and eighths
so the third person parties
until the morning
can’t stay awake

i need a portal
that takes me
to somewhere else
so i can look at me
here and now
from the inside, out.


28 November 2010 § Leave a comment

revenge is young and sweet –
a lady in disguise
sold up and down the empty
trenches, despite her glowing eyes.

the patchwork ceiling
is reining in oblivion,
collecting up the millions

she earned with her denial –
a dinner set for learning
the business of communion

drunken originality.
he didn’t say that color was dull,
he promised the ashes
a miracle and a tabby cat
so he could watch
the flames unfurl
before he fled to the back
of the wartorn room

the man up front growled at him,
said something about doing his best
and to please sit down,
for he’s distracting class.


27 November 2010 § Leave a comment

i haven’t been displaced yet.
this is where i belong, in the crux between
the fog of night and the light of day

did they hear the sound that
she picked up from the icy road
as she happily turned around
to take in what followed her down?

i parted all of our what-ifs
and traded with the solstice
for her barren, landscaped lips.

as i watched the sun descending
behind my ideas and timely cues,
the sea within the rhythm section,

then i knew it
but the music

didn’t fit.
couldn’t hurt it.
wouldn’t go
any further.

so i hid it.
kept it secret.

thought i’d give it
to the wind,
thought she’d hold it
somewhere safe
from me until
i was told

i couldn’t have it –
then i’d take
that love again

and see what art
would make it feel
like being read again,

a tortured child
now and then
reaching out to
help her see the dark again.

26 November 2010 § Leave a comment

the wintered sun is breaking in
the temporary architechture with
spyholes through the snowcaves –
the ambivalent kid sees nothing
of the vanity we’re saving


26 November 2010 § Leave a comment

she wondered where
she spent all those years
wringing out her soul and
drowning out her vocal static
that blasted through the woofers
but only when he wasn’t looking for
the numbers that she added in her head
or waiting for the fissure in her poems that
she said were never finished – sometime later on
i found ’em. we had stuffed them underneath a bed
that no mystery was held in, no master with a key had
been searching for his missing galaxy – no, it’s not in there,
but the fire spread empty and envy all over that scene of agony
in the darkening garden where benevolence was fittingly starving and felt
as if it were shamefully dying, been kicked in the stomach and for the wordless,

dreamland haze and curl

26 November 2010 § Leave a comment

Two guys and a girl sat in a cramped room full of mattresses. A lamp and an end table fit awkwardly in the corner. Blown glass pipes travelled from one mouth to the next, each in a different order, each with a different drug.

The sun shined through the white blinds, and it was in this way that the city overwhelmed them. They could not escape that bleak light, which seemed like mostly reflections anyway. It was grey light and red, bouncing off the bridges and windows. It fed the animals that crawled in the alleys.

The highways were packed with cars and anger. The yells of drivers and honking horns seemed to birth from the depths of the city itself where no real people lived. In that apartment they were alone and pure and free to dream and create and destroy.

They did not know that energy could not be destroyed, only transformed. Their intention to put an end to it was noble enough, but went unspoken. The incandescent lamp fought the sun and today, it won. ‘what is this?’ she asked, inhaling as he handed her a smaller pipe with zebra stripes.

‘a little of this, a little of that – thc, pcp, maybe another acronym or two…’ his Spanish accent showed up more when he was stoned. So did his misery. He did his best to act and look like a drug dealer. Probably because that’s what he was. Despite this, he was a fake. His black wifebeater and khaki corduroys made him look hard, but in his heart he was a peaceloving hippie who hated the town he lived in and wanted to escape from it.

By escape I don’t mean that he necessarily wanted to leave, because he made lots of money there and he liked money as much as he liked peace, if not just a little bit more. So he wanted to escape by other means, and that’s what he was doing with these two, who just at that moment were blowing smoke rings into each other’s mouths and kissing. He wanted to think a different way, to be more pure, and that’s what this did for him. “get the fuck out of here and get a room, guys.’ He stood up and switched off the lamp. That was his signal to them that it was over. It was time to go. Time to deal with the city again.

They didn’t get it. Instead, they were entranced with each other, lying face to face on one of the mattresses, caressing cheeks and giggling and things like that.

Normally he would leave them alone, but feeling particularly staggered today he went to the side of the mattress they laid on and lifted it up, dumping both of them onto the floor.

‘what the fuck is your problem?’ the girl immediately got up. He could see the livid look in her eyes that just a moment ago he wouldn’t have thought possible. He stared back. Her boy get their stuff and took her hand.

‘hey. fuck it, let’s go.’ She followed him. Reluctance and anger washed over her. The door creaked.

They drove through the underpass and the sun sprinkled them occasionally as it found its way off the buildings and through the cracks of the city. It was so very newyorkdramafilm, this drive. They were silent as he drove into the depths of concrete and steel.

(as we drove on the highway into the depths of the earth, the image of the dying sun gleaming off the glass and into us was brilliant and tragic)

Where Am I?

You are currently viewing the archives for November, 2010 at Structured Roots.