Tuesday, January 31, 2006

a love poem xxxxvii he was quite the svengali — and she, with her bored apathy, quite the lover. anyone might have presupposed the logic of their dégringdade — but who could have guessed the fever lying in wait in that jungle, so quasi-familial? 7:37:13 PM    comment [] Trackback, Jack []

a love poem xxxxvii nodding heads, metal frames inside the tracks: the dead out of their caskets look fragile sympa or. sympathetic and que? the dead in their caskets metal caskets look so fine, nodding heads.                                                                 even a brick wall aspires.                                                                 even a brick wall aspires.                                                                 even a brick wall aspires.     7:32:55 PM    comment [] Trackback, Jack []

Thursday, December 22, 2005

a love poem xxxxvi you cost me something. holding onto ego and self onto self. you come nearer, smoke spiraling up to your hero, your image climaxes right before i blink. you're peering, you ask, is your head in the oven?  well.                                                                                                                                                                            i'm just looking at it. 9:15:08 PM    comment [] Trackback, Jack []

Sunday, December 18, 2005

her, a  heron-like species, rare visitor, most recent records referring to winter months & the tremendous silence of mid-July; a quick gasp very active at dusk but shivering like you — she says she's done if she drinks again — how can you hurt her? yours is the same story: the thoughtless lyric of a storm clouding the sky. him, spidery thin, agile, angular; viewed at a distance, caught with a look over the shoulder; a                                               turn of the head. lazy when unprovoked. travels singularly one concrete step at a time — a narrow look down, subsiding into a sharp left corner. eyes shifting constantly will she meet him? two shots in back of the building — he should know better. 7:51:04 AM    comment [] Trackback, Jack []

Thursday, November 10, 2005

a love poem xxxxv capture the image in a line—                                                                                         my letters could bring you back: cold air drenched in the smell of burnt mint— i get inside your hell and it makes you so nervous. what will i do when you're in my house of mercy? 6:50:16 PM    comment [] Trackback, Jack []

Thursday, October 20, 2005

a love poem xxxxiv driving down the boulevard hot love looks fresh as allthelightshangingonthecity or a lady dressed in the frills of good manners— and feeling plays easy from far away. up on a ? w/him wait 4 yr s— if you want an original piece of wrk. so many stuck in their lives, slumming               street corners, working on spec. i even turned down the tv and— nothing. 11:27:42 AM    comment [] Trackback, Jack []