Annyeong, antio

Friends, too many suicidal

Writings and wishes to be

Alive in the womb of

Persephone’s love.

Too much confusion-

Accomplices? I can’t

tell; now she’s slicked

back her pubic hair for

a night on the town.

But was it you pulling

it out of your teeth?

The least interested glance

Sidestepped for creativity

Soaked paper, running lines

Across the borders, art-show

Anti-war sentiments.

Life is the new performance art.

I break up with my girlfriend

In a cafe-bar, so you can pay

10 dollars to see my years

Of wasted effort, my tears over

Having to find another nest.

Pyrex shields- if you don’t see it,

don’t assume it’s not there-

Encased, I ask forgiveness.


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Christmas music

Sometimes I don’t even realize until it rains.

Summer rains are easier, more inclusive- I can become one with them, slam my body down on the ground and howl with the wind. The slaked thirst of concrete, the roar of overflowing rivers, the puddles that are lakes to little boys and girls; uncertainty at it’s most natural, unforgiving yet yielding, an event in constant flux, an indiscriminately consumed force.

But then, when the shop windows have been put up in front of reality, when I can’t tell what is glare and what is there- when bundled bodies accentuate the tiniest curves, when the street is coated with invisible embarrassment and the men and women of the city return to their respective grates- there, that is where I find myself. In the blink of an eye or the flash of a capture, in the valleys carved out, in the valleys that will be carved out, in abandoned towns, in the swelling instant, constricted lifetime of a dream.

I usually return to you. Ashamed to be in love, in lust, in mutual disagreement with life, in-fatuated, I ran many times until my legs were whirring and my breath caught on the sharp tar in my lungs. While running, it is always easy to forget what you are running from. You imagine the to, the great pot of gold at the end of the rainbow, or the rainbow pot at the end of the gold; “it is so much better, oh so much better there- there will be rich foods to fill my empty belly, the sweetest liqueurs to sharpen my sword and dull my heart. beat on! for you will only have dominion of this land for so much longer…”. But one cannot run forever- and when I fall to my knees, look up expectantly… I see nothing. I am in a desert, transferred through speed into a land where all there is to do is run, walk, try and get away. In trying to escape, I have imprisoned myself in perpetual escapism.

So, what can I do? I walk.

What was once satisfaction becomes thirst, hunger, and the organs that I looked to for pleasure become my torturers, my executioners.

Now I stumble blindly- it feels as if it has been days but the sun has still not set… picking up handfuls of sand hoping they will turn into snow. My alchemy has lost it’s power.

But.. what is this? There is a door in the middle of this desert!

After the house was gutted, put back together, after I was gutted, but before I was put back together…

It was much like today. In the basement you could hear nothing save the hum, or the small voices echoing from their chambers. I was alone. What had I eaten that day? In terms of food I was starved, the toilet had eaten everything I had and more. Ipecac? No thanks, I’ll use my hand. In spite of, or maybe because of, this starvation, I felt like I could slip away between the atoms, avoiding their spinning addendum’s until they accepted me back, as one of them. And I loved you, sweet Bacchus how I loved you. I would have given my life seven times over, I would have killed a cat and eaten it’s eyeballs raw, I would have started a war for you. Especially then, we didn’t know each other too well. Maybe better than we do now. But that never mattered, did it?

Today is that day, judgement day, 2012, Y2K. Zombies sung behind me as I walked from the hum into the patter, the response. I didn’t know how I could let you know, how I could make you happy, how I could make me happy at the same time. New york, new york. With my accompaniment I walked into the rain, and suddenly I was sucked down drains, edging myself between the boards of my deck, flowing down the driveway that has never been driven on, into the gutter and away. The roar of a thousand bonds being broken- the sound of a single key. Into the gutter and away…

and back to the desert.

I guess hindsight can rewrite history.

I stayed behind the door that day.Watched out from behind it and slunk back to the hum. Maybe, if I had been carried away that day, I wouldn’t still be running.

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Old Holes, refilled-

Is it, is it that season again?
Come, will we disappear between
The cracked earth? Is this our
Destination, all, au revoir
Babble-thwp-tock-psh-how do
We answer the river’s cry?

We are silent, we sit under,
The bridge, we wait with,
Open arms, barred teeth.

As I walk, she takes,
Strips of flesh off my back,
Putting them over her eyes;
“Is this how you see?”

“Is this how you feel,
Do I get in your nerves
Do I touch where your secrets
Reside, where they herd?”
Keep your tongue! And here,
Hold mine too. It is tired,
Of scraping off the roof,
Of my mouth.

Yes, oui, stumble and fall,
Upon your words, your sword,
The clever blade you wield,
So proud.

“Qu-est-que c’est la raison?”
Je ne sais pas, madame,
Is it not your calling (mistress)
To impart these truths? To
Push them through your lips,
Slowly, now and again.

(I sit with you without
Answering your squeals-
I sit with you, broadening
My definition of boredom.
Porcelain doll, dressed
In your skirt.)

Open air; stage for defeat,
Plodding along, extended flesh,
Th-thmp, muscles contract.

Your eyes on things, I can’t
Even see myself.

I remember you. When the
Snow fell and steam rose
Off of each thing we found,
You stayed nestled, sure that…..

That winter… Summer now,
A blinding reconstitution of who
And what, and how? Of
Breaking lips on cold stone blocks,
And rending tips of fingers off.

Wooden friend, we’ll be here evermore,
Your arms positioned to hold me,
In no way could you be a
Solution; so confused, so
Confused- sit my wooden
Friend, lay beside me.

Th-thmps, muscles contract.


Look! There’s good old Socrates,
And hearken, Par-e-menides to
The rhythm of the strokes that,
Once again give you life.

And have you ever seen, sir,
Such a glowing copy, sir,
Of Hegel’s ideologies,
Of Nietzsche’s insecurities,
Of art itself?

But no, why should your ink rest
In pages blown across the past
(“Oh Melville, he is such the pest!”)
Now watch his being ascend this mast

And paint across the sunset sky,
A piece, a sliver of our lives,
(no matter how hard he may try)
The clouds will always look like knives,
The moon will still rest in her eyes,
The portrait done, the painter pleased,
With no room left for you or me.

Excuse me,

Where does my tongue live?
Kan I spell, Kan u spell,
Words click clack crack,
repitition; fills lines?
Where does my tongue live?

Can you see what is choked out,
Again, and again? Where I
Lie, all day, the company I
Keep? There is an itch in my throat.

Structure: question, answer,
Answer, question; Forgotten
Eggs, “We’ll try again, oh,
I just need time, sparrow”

Who does Eliot know? I
Met him once, seared into a wall,
He seemed unhappy; brick lips
Muttering the lord’s prayer.

We went to the chateau,
Out of the hofgarten, stolen,
Perky cheeks chewing lament.

Smaller pieces: easier to swallow.

Held hands, read Rand, indulged,
In privacy. we tried to see
Past the dead trees, rocky eyes,
We looked into those cracks
Which blazing gaze looked back?

“He will be too much like father,
Or mother”, but what else did you know?
Stay in them, they know you best.

Did I pencil out your excitement?
Apologies, always, for the attempt
To invade your skin.

(Where do you live?) These hooded
eyes, overwhelming stare,
(Right here sir).

It is a dark morning, bright night,
Our sheets stained; love could not
Make such an even mess. I found
You later, among the tulips.

“Dear woman of the flowers,
Sit in my metal expanse,
And here, let your teeth,
Caress my dwindling figure”
Here, let your body lie
Where mine does, and here,
Bring your cardboard friends,
And we shall have a dance.

Your failing shadow reminds me-
My mouth is stopped; moving away,
Your shadow, my mouth,
My mouth, your shadow.
Looks the same to me?


So high in the subway,
In other positions,
I am vulnerable.

Do I feel it,
And not express it;
Do I express it,
And not feel it?
In between, a happy
Medium- bacon and eggs
For breakfast.

That solution, is lost,
I am left at the edges.

Stares, or redundancy,
Smiles, or twitches
Discerning between the two,
Or rather, being caught in them,
Such an uncertain circle,
Too many variables, I wonder when
The ends will meet. Today?
Tomorrow? I don’t know,
That is,
A hopeful forecast.

I was swimming in your eyes
Your lips- instruments of creation,
I didn’t foresee your certitude.
You exposed, me, trying to take
My clothes off, finally.

Maybe one day,
I will hand this to you,
And smile. After that,
My plan is broke, the pages
Empty, so how do I throw
A gun to someone who will
Kill me with it anyways?

Maybe he would,
You would not,
Willingness- Could you trust a man,


Blank; did Plato say,
A slate we were,
I do remain,
In this foul state,
A slide and eyes
To orient me
Towards the prize.

A prize of what,
A pile? No, I can’t
Foresee a coming
Hibernation period.

Then what, accomplish?
What is that? For if
It was I were a rat,
A garbage pile would act
As a pilgramige-
Where my excrement goes,
A citadel is conceived.

Or perhaps, I can love,
Try to bring together
Strings of harmony for
Smiles and someone
Who lets their heartbeat
Against mine thpthpthpthpthpt-
But wait, I’ve been- I can’t,
I’ve been; I could try; I can’t
I’ve been- we are
Proroguing until

A decision is made.


inexplicably infatuated.
it’s unfortunate that you don’t exist- even though it’s viable for you to step through, we don’t have enough flesh, enough blood, and our water supply just dried up. the stuff we are using is reserved for the most revered, feared, irritating and persistent. we keep them in chambers, frozen for when we need them. i am so proud, so proud, of what they are, of what i am, i stand on a golden pedestal and scream my personality so that you can catch it, so that my heart is hardened- too slippery to throw normally.

the pathetic and weak have no place here, we will crush them- sonic pressure, how much did it cost? a culling or two, it’s no big deal. they’re the ones who were meant to be naturally selected, picked up, eliminated, exterminated. selective vision.
half of life is obscured. if you walk with your head held so high, all you’re going to see is the clouds.



I feel that a death without explanation, at least in this situation, would erase the meaning of the sacrifice I am ready to make. I’ve realized that I am too self-obsessed to actually kill myself. But, I began to ponder during this cruel and wet night what it would mean if someone else killed me.

In the past I have written long winded speeches on why society needs to be cleansed, why our cancerous lives need a cure. I’ve mentioned myself before, in these speeches, as the person who could bring an end to societal discord and malcontent. But, I’ve realized that I am truly part of the problem. Unfortunately, I am not an easy, simple piece of the puzzle. I am a subtle disease, who infects those around me and kills them slowly. I am one who is purely evil. I have to cleanse myself. I don’t exactly want to. But I have to.

A murderer disregards the value of human life, a rapist disregards the essence of dignity and personal choice, and I disregard the notion of a self. And, no matter how I try, I cannot rectify this. In  the typical conception of heaven and hell, we see heaven as good and hell as evil. But in the middle, there is purgatory, a place where those who are close to absolution but can’t achieve it are raped repeatedly by their shortcomings. Those left in purgatory have no home, no safe place, no friends. Or, through their doubt and misery, alienate all those they could call friends. Well, that’s not exactly true. But it leads me to this

I gave my heart to you. You rejected and alienated me, and at the same time smothered me so much that when I went back to the real world, really experienced it, I was kicked in the head. I’ll never forgive you.

I am ready to go to my deep dark place of punishment.

I believe I have already seen hell. But I’m still scared.

When I go out at night, with my friends, by myself, or with people who I’ve just met, and have no status in my heart at all, I always wish for a scenario. Tonight’s was a fantasy- a nightmare.

I wished that I would walk into concert hall x.

She would see me from the other side, I’d spot her too.

We’d walk over to each other, blushing and fumbling, make awkward conversation (when all we were doing was lying to each other, and we both knew it)…

We’d get closer, a brush of an arm against another, a hand on the shoulder (when we both just felt like screaming and running away)

The night would progress, we’d dance, captivated by each other (when we were really thinking about the ones who held our hearts in their hands)

When it came time to leave, we’d stumble away with each other, getting into the back of a taxi (when all we sought was sleep, escape from this)

We’d sneak upstairs to her room, giggling, hoping her sleeping parents wouldn’t hear (when the anxiety and fear was crushing our hearts)

We would start kissing, I’d lie to her, tell her she’s beautiful, she’d lie to me, tell me I’m sexy

Hands would move over the things we just discovered, breath would quicken, our ears would be tuned to the sound of each others pleasure (when really we were just holding back the tears with physical distractions)

I’d push myself into her, she’d accept, we would make love, and when we were done we would stare into each others eyes and kiss tenderly, tenderly (when really we could see the vacancy in the others eye’s and we both wished we could bleed ourselves like cattle, string ourselves up, leave empty flesh hanging on useless bones)

And that’s where the sweet nightmare ends. With the two of us intertwined, not bonded by care, but by a mutual feeling that we had become the things we hated most.


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Too well acquainted with somnambulance
Life left behind a paper cutout, light,
Remember that you never had a chance.

Recall harmonics that shone overnight
Spinning grooves delicately given voice
Sounds of beaches “Bro that’s so damn tight”.

Tossed around and on the shore like a toy
boat teased by a promise of treasure down
under the seaweed (what a stupid boy)

All that was found was a broken, horned crown
Ignorant of function, tied to fashion
Tied to the bed, gagged but never bound.

Drowning, grip of slimy, natural hands,
Beats lying under your piano bench, Sam.


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You sand me bake – part 2


cannot invoke the sun-

2000 years can do a lot of

skin damage.

cannot control the moon-

leave that to Tom Robbins

and the ocean.

and it’s not the wind

not the treefingers that grasp my hand

not fermented berries

not fine foods or shiny things.

she is

opera at 4 in the morning

and tupperware that comes back clean.

the grace of an otter in the water.

the hair on my back.



the most beautiful shell i have ever seen

housing the most gentle and equally

lustrous pearl.

Love doesn’t cut it-

whatever has been said

can be said again

as a baby learning to speak.

you are the star that shines but once a millenium

you are bodies in the soft grass

you are the undiscovered

mother earth

and your hands are made of Minoan bronze.

You laugh with Thucydides and take

Walks in Drapetsona when the shades are drawn-

You are the vitality that all else could hope to have.


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You sand me bake- Part 1

Thousands of years ago

In Piraeus, walled off (Waldorf)


Exercising imagination in stale air

Drawing lines in the sand, before Bithikotsis,

Far enough away that they would not be swallowed.

Thousands of years later,

found in Moscholiou outside of Triana,

haunting, hunting, a party that stalks and

a party that stays to be captured

by shadows in the tobacco fields.


We are the vine running slight fingers through

the trellis’ hair.



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I was partying, naked.

I met a girl I never had before, her name was Tess. I put on my clothes so I wouldn’t make this girl feel uncomfortable. Something about a bathroom. It was very important. Guys with guns walking down the street. Throwing a fircracker at the wall and having it shoot back at the crowd of watching people. Falling in love. Hiding, feeling my heart stop. SWAT team moving two at a time down the street. Thought they were going to get the guys I had seen earlier with the guns, but I went into my backyard and they were creeping up on a peeping tom who was hopping like a cat or flying squirrel from fence to fence, an older Asiatic man with a red shirt on. They asked if I was with him. “Certainly not!”, said I.

And that’s all I remember.

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