This is the new book, all over again. I might as well sit here all day, overlooking the water - when I change, all the things I have done remain as they were, I curse those things in the dawn of the evening, the closing into. You won't remember me, you won't remember this. One more time it rains down onto the bridge and off and over the ledge, and when you see you seeing me I want you to know you see yourself, you take me of yourself, and I am none of those things






I smoke now more than ever, I light spliffs like cigarettes. At the office they said, well, you don't have a problem, so there it was, floating in the air just five feet from the iron fence and I welcomed her, I sang to her softly.












I make the cloud into so thick a fog the mind just moments from this heavy and weightless veil of nothing, never, and the purest streams. When I became what I have become I was not free, neither ever was I there, and now, it is. The night dirges, the exquisite palms, and everything else we throw into the corner.






You came to me that night and told me all our secrets. Then you said, clearly, that I will not recall a word I have spoken. Suddenly every conversation is also this muffled jumble of nouns and prepositions and everyone is named the same thing. I notice my pretty shoes on the ledge and assume some level of indifference.
















This, the glorious way, bubbling LED pathways and bursting fires into the air - this that we might inform our waking displays with the certain subtle palates of being cooler than you, of never being enough and what seems to me most often impossibly satisfied.









Instead, I wrote this silly poem, of all the ways we laud the artistic sciences and all the pitfalls so easy to ignore. Sure, you couldn't make this shit up, but then you have, and physically so to some extent. Latent is the power and dying are the drums. In your pace I look for what is lost and smoke all of my coffee. Others are building ships to withstand the storms of inefficient funds. Now name me the difference between that which lifts and lights and that which is just enough, no matter the weather, then explain to me how it is that you, of all people, might justifiably tell it from whether or not
















Before I really begin then I ask for forgiveness great mother for all of my sins including this stubborn pride and pounds of rotten weeds down the hatch.














There are things you say that say to me what I have known and what I have said. You tell me I hear what I want to hear. Other times I do not hear what I want to hear and I am met with great pains. It is as if you are telling me that I have chosen this destruction and it is me who is the sex of Kali. Walk away from this place or quickly prepare the needle.

















In action it is of the course not this way, when we all leave before it has had its moment to fully blossom. All the gestures become pieces of trash we spit and scoff at each time when I am with them then, it is over there is a kind of relief I have never known, the undead part of me saying thank you, rubbing my shoulders into a kind of trance of having been so knighted. To keep that with me, to know there are things you say that I have heard in right confidence, to remember that every angel is truly terrible.













You figured it was time to hear something positive, perhaps, earlier, this was what I was wanting to say. In which direction is this right of your left? I would not want to spend time with someone who was not fully involved with the scope of time I cannot help but be involved with, either. Yes, I speak to you. Yes, what other motion is there? I light the candles, I draw out the incense, I cover the waterfront. He appears as the biker on the road turning left from the wrong side of the street onto the same road and after I turn with hesitation he does not come. Only the lonely face of a dear boy forgotten, a soul trapped in all our inabilities. How it has all been forsaken, and if you could only see this with me as I see it.
















When I see what we have been and what has been done first I see us all in the living room in old Pilsen, I see Molly and how we loved her and how we loved each other so ecstatically, so spiritual was that blow in total confirmation in every exultation, this solemn oath of understanding. Then, massacre.



















How I feel this now is from how I see it then, then I knew that this day would come when I would love you more than the world, and you would revel in the bitter end and declare untenable. I see your Karmic scale and raise you Drugs. From the circle of degree I give you what It Is. Most days you do not have the heart to tell me otherwise, all days I see only blindness, and forever now I give you my pathetic self, in total surrender.











It is the first cold morning I have felt in too long, my fingers are numb and I sit outside with the blankets. I wake with the sun and you sleep in the bed.


I give you a kiss.


The infinite stream, darling, I wonder if you will remember it and will you remember it in this way, how tenderly I love you in these moments, how I reel in burning, singular contact.












In the condo it is warm the memory of itself will not sustain. It will be many years before, and when I do not expect it. Seeing how its been, perhaps now I will not be surprised when the cards have all flipped over and we are lying in the retirement home. We will tell all the stories, cascading from our lips and into the scrabble boards, hills and creeks of vomit and the familiar scent of our nights full of real, deep sleep. That is how it is when I am with you, I watch your eyes tell me all I need to know, in languages I have never heard.












Now that you are waking slowly I hear a little mouse and I relieve all desires I watch them dissolve at my feet so you may find it safer to come to me. I no longer know what you perceive or how much, neither for myself, then it all is gray and our banter again, the wrong names I have assigned for us and various insanities. You fall back asleep. I want this morning every day until the end of time, I want to stay in this place where I know that you love me and I feel that we are for each other, and it matters nothing except that I am near you and you are alive. How sick and dripping it is.












If you give a junkie a cookie, she is going to want the whole box.















The aliens have attacked, and you can no longer tell a zombie from a human being. I ride on the front of your bicycle, we ride forever into the sea. Each night we stop at the first dwelling that is livable. We eat on their dusty sheets from leftover cans in the dusty pantry. Sometimes you catch a wild animal and you skin and cook her while I gather leaves and berries. In the night we sleep close so as not to wake the bears, the wolves howling with Apollo. In the day, we marry by the river in the shining sea of love, and many years later we bare seven children. I look at you thinking, how could you have become so old, when did you forget all that was outside of me, and when did you forget me, too? You sigh and and tell me we have wasted our years, and it is time to go.














By that time all of the weeds have surely been smoked. There are roses in the garden, and they climb all the way up the stone house. The windows are always open to the cool salty air and we wear our bathrobes until eleven or noon, and take brunch in bed. This is of course before the children and during the time of sport cars, where we gas up the beauty and drive until I cannot see, we stop anywhere with a bed and work when it is time. The butlers and the maids throw massive parties and clean the house so thoroughly we might never have known. All this so that when the first baby does come you are so happy to be now so contexted into the earth and I think well this is the end. As I said, at the end of the day we have the opposite feelings about it, I feel that I have really lived and you feel that it is wasted and now it is another time.
















This, then, must be the process of healing. If only your drunken mumblings did not so continue, and you always wore dark sunglasses so I only ever saw the facade of you and could believe what I wanted. The way it is I cannot help my impressions of you I cannot help but evolve around and in concert that is how we know the way to go and I have known no other way but that which gnaws at your bones and devours away your kidneys. And of myself, myself which could never be just for me, no matter how hard we try I AM of one another, rinse, and repeat.














As a young girl I heard a certain opera. I knew then that I was and that I wanted to be her more than anything in the world, and it was more than I loved myself. I forgot about this woman for some time and when I had become her it was so much  for me that I died for one minute every day, now the dead matter rests on my skin and piles on by the ounce.






















None of this justifies in the heat of the night, we surrender ourselves to strangers that resemble something I might have known had I not been so plastered. Don't overthink it. Say yes. Let me be yours. All these which are also no longer. Everything has flown into the sea of regret, and I am on the ground cursing my taste in music.













Whatever, I will give it to someone else. How could we know the weight of  that which does not work out? All is mind but now that you are hungry all of a sudden it was simply destiny uncharted. Maybe generally means no, I take this as my challenge, and somewhere where we loved one another you play this game to bring me closer to you, you know me so well that it is as though if I am not convinced you do not love me and it did not work and you want all that is green and if you were not playing this game you know me so well you know I would never be here, so yearning and adjectival. I write plays and hope for money to take us out to dinners that you buy for us anyway.













That was called love. You set it up for this, I see only that, how far a little thought can travel. You felt so modern to move away from this I feel so wrong. I smoke another joint and send you a good recording. I know the way to do it is to leave and leave and leave but I will not, naturally, I refuse like a good good good girl. What it is when it always was, and love can only ever grow. As for ourselves we are in tune with it or denying, how I watch it blast into all of them, and how we cry in the still of the morning. It takes all of our strength, if only we did not fight the vines, your armor is steel in the rolling metaphors of our lands, and now you are not William Wallace. The dog is just a terrorist, now, and I want to die the death of an airplane. I become the pilot, and masturbate myself to sleep.


I figure if I am able to replay the rocking of this coral island of with you and without you I might find a way to land.












When I arrive the sirens begin and the rest of them tell me what you did. Outside, cement trucks and the police  and the wind all make a pulsing hymn it sounds like the harmonium. I want that instrument more than I want you, I want most things more than I want you, but desire is a funny thing.

















When the floods came you were not beside me, it was the navy seal who came to find me; it wasn't what I was, it wasn't what I was looking for but I was able to find the land. After all this time out there the resentment became so fierce.











The attentat began later in the afternoon than expected. There was not one witness and he too had perjured himself, so we were left with all the lawyers standing in pools of their own shit, intestines running out of the solid holes in their guts, not quite damaged enough to find help and not dead enough to die. They fancied themselves great martyrs and invented a little room full of gold to reside in. I drew the curtains back and waited for the wailing to stop. Then I opened the windows and like a choir came the beams of light it sang the song of the angels. They said to me,

take this, eat this, this is my body and my blood and it is given to you

but they gave me nothing and I was filled with the beauty of all things. I settled down, and married young. In little time I forgot the whole thing had happened and when the shine faded he left me for someone older and already ugly. We were all frightened of the finished product, but soon no one could tell the difference, because they too had forgotten the days of light and glory.















Now that I am repeating myself and it is different now I can only continue this appendage for so long before it is heavier than its body. I think of the book she stole from me in the ward and pray for you, and all the other lost souls, and me. Apollo waits outside for me to finish, until he is truly satisfied with my sacrifices.  Other times I am so far from it I cannot process even my directions,  I become enveloped in the wave. Stretch it out, listen to the birds, take time. We mean these in all the ways we are able, and my meaning now is only to close and to sell sell. Another marketing scheme, another shot in the dark. Bring me to the place where I am wanting, lead me to the valley of the shadows, place at my feet the garden of light. Then, tell me who you are working for, and we will let this all go.















But before it began to fall and I am okay or things are okay and I am okay and vice versa when it will be some time before the tides come in - you take me with your mind - I am taken and so taken that every wall and molecule fades into a disappearing into of a place without color, time, space


Worse, then, that all newfounded-ness should be of and in you, then, more so that I no longer curse this. This that makes us special, you who have given to me. You knew what you were doing, and it was you, it was you the whole time, me so marionette, Maryanne and the rest of them. Inevitable is the counterpoint of you, playing the advocate of everything else and other even to the sound of my whole thoughts and full mind. This is and this has become my full confidence, these things, and when it changed. I move forward in the doing of things, and I do what I must.  

















After some time in this way my body is full of heaven, I eat to sustain my mind. I let Apollo bark because I do not know what to do I let it play out like anything it wants to be, I follow simple instructions from my gut. It becomes a yelp in the hopelessness of indecent refusal, the balance of I am not in the mood with goddamn you how dare you so blatantly ignore. In the age of cellular calls we are living in a place of never again and meaning will forever be replaced with


Therefore negating all that which was said in the time before our egos which somewhere must have affected you enough to respond this and that way - when it is time again after all of these years to finally reach what you have been driven toward, in this capacity, how many eves must we spend in the dawn of tomorrow? How many centuries in the age of despair? When will I look upon my sisters with the love of the great mother?


When will we share in this great beauty?















When I go to make the call I see the motions that I am going through from some lake of a difference and I see in my observations that I am nothing more than these motions which I have made and which have become me. I pull the knitted balls of hair from the blankets and from my throat and from the coats. I reassess the room and think of all the things I want, I wonder what and how I could possibly want more than that and remember I will I will I will. Give it to me, then love me with every tenderness.


After a conversation of mutual denial it becomes clear that this has all been one big mistake, and I hang up the phone.











In my sleep that night you come to my coma and lay me down. You drink warm wines and tell me not to think of anything other than myself, you say, not everything is about you, then, concentrate only on you. Even when I am dead and you read this you will not acknowledge that I am reaching out to you to touch you for even the most minute fracture of a moment, no I am not a lover, yes, I have a luxury suite and a well barricaded door. There is nothing else for the broken hearted. I fight until you see, kicking through every lying body of nothingness and malintegrity. You abet while I stay home, to regret.












Later we'll say, this was only what we were thinking then, and continue to laugh on the absurdities of ignorance. Try to find a way for all of this to be funny, will you? Of all the time you have given to the page, goddamn you, find a way home. Then, nothing will suffice, and never will I ever. This is the last time, again, this is the final time forever I say farewell and fuck you too. Never will you hear me say this again because never will you see me. We share our ink and spit and mind and street but never again again, fuck you, and fuck you too.















They'll all say, it doesn't have to be like that, you don't have to think like that, but we all know it has already been spoken.  You see, it is not so easy to just go ahead in the doing of things when the mind is stuck on one overwashed element. There is no leger to retract. I drink ashes and occasionally experience moments of profound joy and beauty. In between it is what it is but when it is not we walk through the valley without a leash and I hide from the cars to steal the rose in the forgotten yard of the forgotten house. I carefully knick away the thorns and bite. My teeth feel the echo of this for some time. We come home, I do the dishes and put the flower in water. I sleep for twelve hours.














The next day it does feel much better having bled it all out. Upstairs the child runs from one end to the other, dropping marbles and blocks and garbage trucks. Light from the kitchen windows, and all the money I want to make so I can make long white beautiful drapes. It is so important to me to inhabit this space, the only side effect I can figure now is the twitching in my left eye. If I maintain this kind of emptiness it is an  effect I am able to accept. How it comes from the fingers now and with what ease how lovely it is now to say I am nothing I love what I love and I do the best I am able. I believe in nothing I believe in beauty and I believe in you too.














Then, for the first time in some time last night I cannot sleep because we have passed some hours in good graces, because I knew  that we are for each other. Earlier in the evening, when speaking to the wife of the party, we discuss at some length the virtues of being a good woman, and how to take back the pieces you have given. After so long, it becomes quite cowardly in the eyes of the pious to walk so brazenly by and away. Some of it some of the time brings me to sleep, then always something else of the sum of our parts.














As it comes of it we know I need you for something so I end up calling. Perhaps this will be the final last of it, I say as though this is my lifelong dream to be free of you. I need to take a walk and forget all I have ever felt instead I smoke and Apollo gnaws at the bone with the fresh blank cold.

Look what you have you made of this

is what I hear in all resounding of what I am with what vigor ardor and flesh so hungrily torn into nothing. How could I have ever known, and why have you forsaken me? I have never been so close to you but in these moments, and you will say it was not you.














You see, when it changed I was not who I am I was not in the fullest when it changes I am nothing I am the water to the wave that is no thing that is all of that is all it is when it changed. The things I need to remember and the things that I need to forget, all the ways to mourn what is lost in the process of forgetting. I give up my love to you in endless surrender. Then I close my heart.















I leave you knowing you have already left, I leave to show you I need you. You think it is unhealthy to love this hard, I think there is no other way to love you. I dream of the years I was not present in our presence and I finger through these moments in constant yearning. When the throbbing subsides I am still empty, beside you, and angry. I cannot change what simply is. How can I know what you will not give me? I try so hard and I try again but when it goes on forever there is nothing I can do but leave this at your door, and leave. The night comes in over the skyline, the water returns, and I wait for the next nothing.

FALL 2012, 2017