Wednesday, June 9, 2010

the rube goldberg issue

did i ever look like i wanted
to be someone alone?

Into the washing machine

I've never really minded that
feeling like cascading into
uncertain futures or all the
hours spent sleeping within
sunbursts of diverging
clarity. Oh, yes

I am


--steve curtis

what is the
'fell of dark'?

scanning the edge

or just
forgetting to log out?

important physics


cut the ciggy butt, the lonely blank skin, where underneath a city with blue millions run? or maybe a worm, who will grow a new heart, dark as soil, rich as dirt. or the extra s in cheeks smiling wearing dimples thin? i would like to if possible change, 'dirt' to 'blood'


prairie light

Anonymous said...


hang me
she said, so i
did. upside down, pulling
her hair out of her face so she
could see.

i had
a scrunchie, tied
red tresses in a bun
redder yet from her heart runs
her blood.

she hangs alone
i left her there, her hair
entwined with other carmines like
my love

Anonymous said...
love is not

a blue cell
all greasy with who should be calling who

love is not
how much can you send/spend

love is
getting pissed off because you no longer have his version of
I Wanna Be Your Dog

& can't bounce off of his words
to write things you actually like and keep


A nonymous said...

i don't understand
why you want to take magic
out of my world.

you have your own box
stuff it full of doubt.

or discovery. it's
about point of view--spell
me some miracles from the moon.


there are good lines
in there, like mushrooms
among noodles

Anonymous said...

What the dream holds

a sieve holding water, with damp
traces of a kind of passage

so I wake, without clues
just a taste of something having
been there, dry and bitter on the tongue

Life, no rain barrow,
usually, holds only a glimpse


two red birds darting
above the cat watch
your glass of wine
held by the stem
in the late afternoon light

soon the dark and whispering
memories, crunch of leaves
closing the door on the day


1 comment:

burning moon said...

what gorgeous little poems these are. Yum