free write viii

and///you are the knife, digging into me, you are the knife pulling into me, dragging me across the sky. and we cry together in the purpuling clouds, tears of diamond. diamond gold diamond blue tears, pooling in our hands and you offer me a drink, you pull it from behind, from the floor and you offer it to me with both hands, both cans cupped together and you tilt the trembling liquid toward me, and it spills off of your finger tips and washes over my chin, washes over my face. i am. you are. you are my communion. and when the skies have turned, when it all fades to black, where will your eyes go? where will they find us and our treasure troves? will there be maps? will there be winds at sea to blow them here or there, to or fro? wher, where where does the last breath of the sea run down the throat of nowhere? where will we find our cast and broken ship? which shore will we call our own? will these limbs be broken and dashed? where o where o where will it go. you are the knife. digging into me, carrying me across the skie. i am your kite tied with twine to my fingers, pulling you across the flats. but here but here but here i find the serpentines. but here, but here i find the roots, the trees growing through me. when i trip and fall and knock my head, all i see is red and the only stupid thing that spills from my sill mouth, is garbled and coded. it comes out in numbers. colored numbers and rays of digital mess. its a mess, a mess a mess all this blood an offal spilling from my side. but i dont believe it, i cant see it, so i find it with my fingers, i find the open knife. i find the open trap, i find you in my side, and i split us with my fingers and when i do, when i unopen us, when we unclose, there are notes that sound with soft distortion, a trembling ember of reverberations. moving hairs moving the tiny hairs on the small of your back, the tiny hairs, the tiny hairs. and i can feel the lashes like tiny british voices. i can feel them brush across me. but, but, but... it fades. it slips into clothes ive never seen before. memories, memories, memories fade, like fingers walking across a piano, drifting up or drifting down, either way, you get to a point where you can't reach and it simply runs out. the hall is empty. it only remembers the light. it only remembers the foot falls, the dancing toes, the sprawling nights. it only remembers the tide, it comes at night, but i never see it. you can see the timber, the sea wash up beyond any place it has business being. but where does this ramble? where do i go? i can pull the knife from my side, and it shatters like class, and falls in sparkles to my toes. i can collect it, i can collect it in my hands and cup it to my lips, i can take it in my mouth and i can swallow your blades, i can put us inside me, i can swallow all you give me, i can fill the sky, i can fill the sky with our diamonds. and i can fill my side with late summer grass and early autumn nests.

free write vii

when i fall back, when i fall back completely overcome. overcome with still, with still mists. when i fall back and feel the full weight of unbroken thunderclouds, cool, ready, waiting... i feel them on my face and chest as i fall back. and on the ground, as the whisps shoot past my ear, tickle round my neck,,, my mouth, my mouth will slack, it will open, and it will glow, and it will beam as stars, giant stars, giant innumerable prominences reaching, reaching across space, across the lazy, languid, thin space between here, between there. and my mouth will open and things will pour from it and run down my cheeks, they will run up my face and pool in the deep of my closed eyes. it will be golden, it will be honey, it will be luminous. it will take it;s time, it wil make it as it moves. but, i,,, but i will wake and i will wipe this from my face, let it fall. i will wash it with my hands. can i open my eyes here? is it bright enough. will i find them blind, my eyes? find them blind like hands reaching for rays of sun. will i find somthing on the air, can i smell you only inches away? i have dreams. i have dreams and dreams and dreams. there are places i wander, and it alls, it call out, only in echo, only in quaking whispers. it doesnt take much to knock me from the rail. i was balancing, one foot in front of the other. but it comes like a gust. like a swift push and im falling from words. im falling from open eyes. and im falling to the ties. to the tines. that wrap them selves, the fingers tying knots in your hair. in your mane. and i will fan them out i will display them for a collection. i want this enough. i wonder if i can tell the truth, if it comes out as some other language, can i find the breath to move these lungs? i question, i question. i wish for this and that. i wish for your pain. i wish for your broken limbs. i wish for your sick and your death. so that i can come. i can come with holy palms, so that i can find the magic to heal you. to stitch you up and mend your bends. i wish for, i wish for. i wish for voices calling me. i wish for nightmares. i wish for overturned cars and poison meals. i wish for empty beds and long drinks. long drinks in the long still night of middle age. and i can be the condensation you wipe from your glass, the liquor you draw out with your finger. i can find my self running to your palm. meeting your breath as you clasp them (your fingers) in your mouth. i can be the ice, crumbling in your scotch. i can be the pulp in your gin. i can be the last sigh (the last gish) before you finally slink back, tumble back into waves of sleep. it takes us all under. and i find, more and more, that i run out of things to say. that i find myself turning circles. but i but i but i could be, i could be the pall, the shroud that covers you and keeps you. i could be the undone. i could be the tomb, and i could be the stars watching you turn to ash and calling you home to dance under the proscenium of dust and other unborn stars.

free write vi

i took a dream this afternoon/// when i was in that nap to escape the day/ i took a dream and you were five or six people. there before me. and i took you and your legs were splayed and we shared a pice of ripe melon. running in long drops, unrolling like smoke, like fog on a new wind, running like stumbling children down our arms and off of our elbows. you were five or six and i was one or none. and i took the time to search the sheets. to search your legs. there is no saving. there is no counting . when we whisper. when we hold congress. when we find this wooden floor/i find these dreams old and vaporous. it goes up in smoke. up in furls. up in curls. and lights. lights in the sky. lights in the trees. i lose my train of thought and it takes hands, it takes large hands, as big as they sky to hewn. to cleave the new earth. to dear a crescent. to find the nape in your field. there are dreams i can taste. and there are tastes i can dream but it all runs out like beads of water. it finds the cracks and drip, drops. plops. the sky has run indigo, and i find the evening breeze as i turn to find the east. i find the moon cresting, i find it. secong gues this and i know i need to open up. i need to forget this place. forget my face as these whiskers grow, as this beard finds its way around my face. i havent looked in the mirror in ages. i havent bothered to step through i havent bothered. i havent bothered. i stop. but why. where does this go. i cough and i feel the dust settle in my lungs. i feel it wheeze and i wonder, i wonder when i spend myself alone, where it runs. where you find yourself when your eyes are closed and sunken. wher i findmyslef when i drift off to sleep. where i find myself when i drift off from life. there are roads ive never run. there are tides that have never washed me. and there are hills. there are hills that have not called. i cant look up, i cant look up to see where this is going. too conscious. too conscious. too worried of the eyes that might see this, its neither here nor there but it fumbles and i tumble and i ramble i see the same images over and over and over. and i cant help but feel that im beeing pulled apart. pulled apart by feral dogs and wild things there are two ways to go, and five to follow. five or six, i cant remember, i can never remember any dream i can never remember touch. i can never remember the lungs that fill, the chest that rises and falls like the sea in my arms. i never told you and i lied when i said i could feel your heart. and i remember. i rembeber wondering what that meant. i wcouldnt dream of what that meant it just drips away. i held myself there before your open chest and i could feel nothing. my had was warm agains your cooling chest and it was there, i saw your eyes but it was too deep below. not meant for my fingers not meant for my pulse. some unknown rhythm to, some foreign language to my searching palm. i want to dream. i want to speak in tongues.

free write v

there is something about your milk. full of spring, pressed through freshly grown grass... reaching... reaching for the sun. amber in afternoons. peeling under our skin. creeping over our bones. but we tip the basin and it runs over us, arms outstretched,,, reaching for tall red balloons. and we laugh. and before too long the dandelions are blown for all the wishes we can muster, all the wishes in the universe. and the sky colors and murks, and sinks into itself and opens its stars. there are too many to count. too many to share. too many to divide into this and that. but i have come. i have walked thru your doors and i find myself uninvited. i find myself at the edge of beds, tying my laces. graces. ungrossed. there are. there are times to preen and there are times to flick this to that. but i am unhome. i am out. i am gone. like skin excising a foreign body. my thorn. my splinter. copy of copy of copy. coffee ground too fine and run too many times. i run over the pavement, over the free way. when the sky closes its eyes and you cant feel when you end and it begins. you are not here or there and i her it cry in other rooms. the floor murmurs and my toes are cold against the slats. we pause. i pause i take time, and it winds like a struck bow, arching out over strings it calls (and returns). it bends in swooning feedback and i find my home in the chest, in the bosom, between the breasts of stars. i hear an impossibly faint heartbeat. disturbing swirling cosmic gas.clouds of unborn stars wrapped around my interstellar ships. across time and space i creep. moving slower than the procession. and light bends round my face blinding me in streaming blindfolds and mouth agape. i am come. i am broken into infinence. too many pieces to collect and label. this one goes here, that one goes there. but from my rubble, from my unmade self, the bees, the furry bumble bees climb out from under. i am no pollen and i can only remember honey, i remember the spring milk and honey. but it takes too long and this is the only thing i can hear. the rhythm of your shovel taking limb from limb. the rhythm of your shovel, the spade crack crack cracking the ribs. plying a beating heart. with each mound that flicks over your shoulder, i exit in crimson ribbons, and if the trees take the time, if they take their time to knot their roots thru my threadbare sighs i will fill their boughs with trembling songs. i will hold the silver birds until their song, until their call shines, until it brings back lovers, until morning comes. until i can find my own words. i will i will i will, tip this i will top that, and when i put my arms underwater, and pull the lotus from its root, i will taste i will sup all the earth and her earthiness,i will climb into her arms as she sings her lullaby, and i will be her son.i will be her now.i will be her forever. and i will glow withnotes so green and golden.

free write iv

i can hear, i can feel the warm breath of bones. the cool breath of dust. and it will astral project. it will find itself a phosphorescent cloud in the sky. it will reach out with lights, with arms with luminescence. it will want to touch the ground it will try and find me. but i won't be for want. i won't be digging holes in the ground. i will welcome it's quaking firecracker fingers. i will let it pull me up to the haze. and i will see.... i will see what ive always seen and i will fall. back to earth, and it will take days. it will take days until i find my way, i find my way between the hills. i still have dreams. and dreams seem to be all i can talk about. i find myself longing for dark. i want it to come in robes. i want it to come alone. share a little drink with me and chase the day away. i will let it fall. let night fall down my throat and through my lungs. because i... because i want you out of my blood. i would spill it if i could. if i was a glass. i would simply spill it. fill the tub. stop the drain,and im sure we could lazily bathe. we could bathe. we could bathe. and we would be made, made for sheets and other clean things. but there are things much more simple and hidden. im not sure, but i think you can play the keys, if it's not the keys then im lost, because i hear the buz. i hear it on the wind. it's calling "im calling for you motherfucker." i can hear it hear me. and gone. gone gone gone gone from this dirt. this dearth. this mirth. there were, there were... iwant there to BE. i want the future. i want the future like the future creeps. it moves along at a suggested speed. plead. breathe. and i can see us. i can see it. and i want. i can stall. i can find my way down the stairs and flip stones. flip the concrete and find the ants falling in waves. i wish i could ignore this. i wish i could just run to the sea and stare at the sun. i wish it would lose it's teeth. find this animal stalking the brush. and its teeth wouldfall, not one by one, but as a curtain falling on a stage, during rehearsal. but im pausing for too long. i have to watch the sky. i have to collect the dust. brush it away, i have to keep warm. i have to keep cool. there are things i kick with my toes and things i flick with fingers. but most of all there are things ive spent. ive spent my luck. ive spent my trust. and ive taken off all of my clothes. ive found myself nude. and ive found myself gone in front of you. and there are bones reaching out for me. there are tears tearing me apart. there are things i wish i would have never said (as much as i know thats a lie) i would haveswallowed them for us. for you. taken them like stones. swallowed and out to sea. swallowed them like glass. break the light and swallow the shards. and it will glow. i will light. and i will dig. and i will lie. i will lie and look at the jellyfish dancing /moaning/glowing in the sky. a spooky action at a distance.

free write iii

artichoke. pomegranate. split open, splayed with fingers. the oil, the nectar. i want you to dance on my tongue. i want to open the night. i want to own all of the things that crawl. i want to slip under the crashing waves. the crashing digital waves. buzz. hiss. hiss. but, but and i say but. there are ships. there are interstellar ships. that travel around the gravity. that wait. that wait for time to pass like so many arrows shot over your fence. your fences. into your garden. into your garden as i hav said. i need to lose control here. i need to open the taps i can feel it holding me from my chest i can fell me wanting to open. to hewn. to unhem. i dont know what i dream about anymore. i just leave room. i leave room to unfold, but everytime i wake, i find myself on my side. i find the plane lkzlk., m. thats cheating, those arent words. this is too bound. too contrived. i cant let it slip. i want to hold it too close. i want to drown this. like a bag of kittens. im grasping for threads. for red threads. from my fingers thru the serpentines. a big fucking pile of snakes. my muscles are knotted like a big fucking pile of snakes. and my fingers fall like wet stumps. broken branches. snap crack. dont you dare stop. there is too much distance to cover. but my eyes are heavy and this is going no where. im driving in circles i cant find the on ramp. my feet are dirty and i can only think of sleep. but that door doesnt. open. i dont find it takes me anywhere. there are roomss you dont come back from. there are rooms pregnant with sunlight. i remember a few things about that morning. i remember a few things as i dance. as i dance around this fire. the un fired fire. blown out by the wind and sizzled. sizzled by the rain. this should be shown to no one. i cant find my way through the dark. this is getting worse. i cant open my brain. my eyes wont focus. focus. i just want to pund the keys because i cant find the fucking bottom of this page. i can feel it cast. i want to turn over. i want to feel the world turn upside down as i go under. i can see the turbulent see. i can feel it list, i can see the caps so high. the caps so high of surging tides, all bent. all black on turning me over and it does. it turns and im under. and i cant find up. and i cant find down. but i just end right back up again and right back down, turning again and again and a gain and again. this shouldnt be read. this shouldnt be a language. this isnt lucky and its nto going to end. its too conscious. if there is such a thing. i used to want to live forever. scatterbrained and self edited. there is nothing too honest here. im holding too much back. there is. there is something i would like to tell you but im not sure that i can even tell myself. i cant even. i cant even tell if there is anything to tell. this is. the worst thing that has ever found the light of day. CONTROL. ALT. DELETE. worse before better.

free write ii

you, you or i press my palm flat. press my palm flat against the morning or evening earth. what is it you ask? what does it feel like. its cool. but it warms to my touch. i can feel it move. i can feel the life. the bugs. the tendrils of grass and weed breathe. i can feel them grow warm with prespiration. respiration. and there is that mother in you that loves to see it smile that loves to hold it close like something heavy. heavy as the sky a thin marker of the space between where we live, where we live and where we dream. but i try to find the truth. i try to find my utility. there is nothing more. there is nothing more than all the sum of time to this moment. try as i might i move in this moment. the remembered present. moving thru jam or jelly (helly) never tasted so good. there is a place in you i would like to dig. cake my fingernails with you. watch you unfurl. like sails. like snails. like all those things alive and crawling. there are drinks ive tasted. there are things i wish i would have. it's amazing how many things move like wax. in packs. in packs of wild street dogs. animals roaming the barren cities. willl the wave come and fill the streets. i wonder. i wonder . i wooonelknsda . it moves in different languages and i struggle to keep up. i rmember shoulders. shoulders like jungle cats. stalking sleeping prey. but thats it. thats all i have. is a memory of a memory. a copy of a copy. there is nothing in here holding the line that plums my innards. there is no balance with that divide. i promise to stop checking the windows. stop waiting for something to hold its breath. i am a spent man, spending his last breath. spending it on empty sky. theres nothing up there but everything ive ever wanted. if i was massive. if my shoulders threatened to knock the sky from china, i would lie flat across the continent. i would hold the seas together. i would do my best to push. the... pushe thee. push the lines. push the blah. that was going no where. it's in the earth. it's in the core. i would dig myself raw to hold that molten light. to hold that trembling mother heart. to feel the lava, like first time lovers unable to hold a kiss between their lips. it slips. it slopes. it finds it self followin ropes. to the end. to the mend. around the bend. and it, we, i alone fall, i fall, i tumble and mumble, bumble and fumble. i am the sky. i take it with every breath. i take you and me and she and he. i breathe the stars and dust and ash of billions and billions. they say. they say that the atoms in my right hand are from a differnt star than the atoms in my left hand. fuck you. fuck that. i am those stars. i am still glowing with the light of a thousand gulls carrying the crest the sheets of night. i am become. i am that is. we are what all will be, i am this improper grammar and these mispelled words. i can hear the beams. the berm. and to quote. to recall. to make up... this bends and lists like a broken mother. it will give and it will break down. i am waking to find something beneath the earth.

free write i

somehow it tumbles from the sea like electric. electric sea creatures. with spines for skies threading the clouds through knots, notches of vertebrae. drawing maps accross your back . over the sheets but there are things that i cannot say. things that i can not remember. because they have slipped out the back door and out the back alley. to meet and have drinks and smoke cigs standing in puddles. rain between the eaves. there was a time when all of this made sense, when i allowed this to all spill out. spilling glasses of gin across the table like a dribbling old man, lost with memories. ive spent way too much too much on what i hoped was, on what i hope will be. i need to make this now. i need to take that walk i promise myself. because time. time. that fucking prick fuck. is slipping thru with his veil. his vail with his eyes, smudges of dreams. these things are going to get a lot worse before they get better. letter. there are letters ive hidden. ticked away for another time. there are letters ive ripped to pieces. there are letters ive burned. and there are letters ive promised. its funny the things we tell ourselves just to make it thru the day , just to make it to another person. roads we drive. lines we cross. ive spent these years, these worn and tired years following a ghost. a ghost lead on a line, down a path i thought was mine. but my eyes were closed. or half open. i cant tell anymore becase i cant hear and i cant see. i remember the sand. the sand at the sea. how the tide would wash up and swollow pieces of me. carrying them out to where i couldnt see. sea . leigh. you have to wonder. at least i do. where the time. goes. there are places in this w;e world i will never touch. never. and there are people in this world i will never see. it ends unending. it ends before i begin. ive drawn this bullshit line too many times. there is no me. there is no you. there is only is. we are ilkasd floating. we are not floating. hey, keep this positive. keep this constructive. i am paper mache. i am cardboard cutouts. i am construction paper. reds. frayed edges. torn, not cut. not cut with big scissors. but with the ones that split and fold the paper. there is no end. there is no fucking end. but i will make a path. i will open these doors and i will let myself go i will find my path. i will lose my shoes and walk along a path that i have long forgotten. i will toughen these soles. i will let them bleed and scab. becasue this is my path. and only i can walk it. oh jesus fuck, how miserable does that fucking sound. how goddamn cliched. but at least as the sky. as the sky forgets its name and the morning forget to call, i will find a place where i make sense i will find a place where, when i wake. when i write these fucking things i wont be hitting the goddamn back space nearly as often as i ahve this is my mind and it will be slowly opening one freewrite at a time. one page ata time. warts n all.

dont. becuase i dont know.

are men marching with acoustics over warm and rolling, tumbling, hills. the downs. here and there. knobby knees of cast iron kettle green. a stretch long enough for the clouds to lay their bellies on the grass(and run along and thru a wood like children with streaming ribbons).

pretend youre an airplane. an airplane above the sky. you know no better and i want no better than:::

:::arms in the rain:::

please let me remember: i take you by the hand. knot our fingers like a language you cant untie. with fingernails clenched white; there is no place i would not follow; fast first to sleep then vanishing shadows running from; parted morning curtains; swollen with sun.