my face peel Aug 3

--------
Aug 3 2010
--------







peeL thy skin.
spill of citrus.
rejuvenation.
hydration.
experimentation.

cruelty free
arguable. gel-like.
spread on my face.
dried.
like concrete.

face like plastic. I had to laugh and couldn't.

sOO tight and sooo shiny...
skiN.

to peel it off-
Like glue on my palms when I was a child. Teachers didn't like that.
I loved it.

peeling my face was even better.
oh the excitement.

As I peel oranges and the like.. I tried to get my face peel off in one piece.

My forehead stood alone.

Face peel, endless fun.
documented.

Aug 4::violet petal::

this morning it blew past my creaking stride...illuminating the greyness of all to be..
on a seemingly silent street..

:: viOlet::

this means something:

AUg 1 2010::me through his eyes::

a boy who forgot his age drew me today:

.... and a girl about 5 yrs old, (when I asked), told me if she could be any animal in the whole world she would be a flamingo. I asked if this was because they stand on one leg, and she said yes.. she hopped away...

and I was left to smile. I have asked this question of children and adults for years. Nobody has ever responded with flamingo.

be_AmUsemEnts

-----------
AUg 2 2020

through connection with a friend.. on the way to work i paid notice to beauty..
to s h a r e . across the seas.

a record of beauty kept.
questioned.
when is beauty amusement? what classifies beauty?
do i really think this is beautiful, or is it simply seeing that is the beauty in itself?
noticing?
paying kind attention to what catches my eye and creates an emotional response within my chambers?

a glimpse inside...

-----------
the list:
-----------
a.m. :

It's hard to see beauty on a bus in a temperament that is far from relaxed. Being late, as usual.. B R E A T H E... but still..
ahh.. there are so many things...

1.earlier at home: My long warm-toned, brightly striped sock was longer beyond my toes.. hanging off as if i had an extra long foot this morning. It reminded me of those bendy crawling tubes kids used to have when I was a child. I remembered always wanting one-even though they hurt my knees. I remember my mom never buying one. She probably told me to use my imagination.

and i am glAd shE did.

-beauty in a sock.. and the cognitive web manifested.

2. a bicycle helmet/cap like a horse jockey would wear.. the cyclist is smiling big, despite the early morning hour.
3.sign: HAND CAR wash. What is a Hand Car anyway?(insert imagination: giant hands on wheels moving around town)
4. a coiled plastic pipe (yellow like the cameraman's chucks earlier) in a BIG/HUGE hoop leaning against a wall. .. a HOOLA hoop for a GIANT!!
5.A bus announcement: Jewell Road...my imagination zOOOms away..
6.Cupcake for breakfast. Bleached blonde three year old..devouring..she was eating the paper too.
7.The reflection of the movement behind me in a patent leather bag across from me.. like a blurry movie screen.
8.Paint scuffs on white rubber toes. I see red. Yellow. Black.
9.The thought of this white space finishing and the lovely mysterious interior of this envelope awaiting me.
10.A blue headphone cord.
11. Two hard nipples, then two steps later, two white spray painted X's on the footpath.
12.Abundance of pink today. various hues. Including: a woman's toes, 2/10 pink. That's 1/5.

---------
pm:


1.Barely able to control laughter when I walked upstairs to a completely full upper deck and was greeted by sOo many eyes.
2.Tearing this envelope and white powder puffing out of the tear..
(hope it's not anthrax)
3.Seeing into 2nd story windows-broken windows, no windows, rust, fire, spraypaint.space, openness..
4. A shop called Mehboob Travels.
5.Seeing the same two old people sitting on the same green picnic bench in the same spot along the same road.
6.An all yellow display of fruit.
7. Bright. Bright bricks.. like vibrant rust color.
8. A woman dressed in all one color-chewed up mint gum.. (that veRRy pale green).

------------------
seeing is beauty.
------------------

lenses

It's sunny outside onLY with these glasses.

One to nine on newsprint with his glasses.

No glasses-
prevalent
pain.
in pupils and iris. Iris.
I hope for her belated spring bloom.
Room.
He's slept on petals of roses.

Pedal down and through. Pen down.
Thrust out

with lenses

of magic filters

and a bodily disposition to match.

There's something about••

-----------
10-6-10
-----------

There's something about that crispness-
especially around the edges.

almost burnt from touch light and life-
exposed grains from a n o t h e r t i m e
type-
nearly like braille with audible soul.

There's something about the aroma
dEEP in the folds.
bound. binding.
s e w n in ways the Redman could explain.

Like bread toasted golden, sight and scent
f l o a t i n g through-
predicted to be-
impermeable-
but-
- t i m e t r a v e l s -
penetrated.

There's something about the simultaneous mystery-
the understanding that thumbs and eyes have been before...
the slight grit of sand
paper
a n d
thin hEAvineSS.

almost see through-
transparent tissue.

There's something about the way light shines through.
past-
within-
g l o w i n g-
each
visible upon the turn.

There's something about the rectangles.
crisp-
i n b e t w e e n-
the brown . yellow . 18 carat hue-

like peanut brittle on doilies around grandmother's house...
tempting-
it stays in your teeth.

like a fresh baked pie that's been waiting.

There's something about that man, head down.
viewing intently.
Orthopedic Strategy.

There's something about the illustrations.
the way things used to be
and f o r e v e r w i l l -
the way of writing.

There's something about the pulling desire for me to ask him

to smELL his...

to taste his...

to feel his...

There's something about an old book.

8-6-10-TODAY!

even in the morning RAIN.
patty whackers SPLASH
and sludge.
foot slips BENEATH
his box shoulders
and WADDLE.
wide step-
suspicion of swollen
test_ ing testing, one, two..

owner looks like dogs-
dogs look like owner.
companions.
aLL swOllen and starched up.

it never ceases my smile.
astonishment.
how does it happen?

glee interrupted by walker with one unnecessary over exaggerated, footpath manipulating arm swing. a half 360º rotation.

i imagine her dog doing the same.

7-6-10

forgotten.
lost.
again.
withing
this
mOnday mAze.

droPped and propped
with a smile and splash.
under covers.
pink.

umbrella upside down.

new paint in silver,
misspelled.
misplaced.
lace.
red.
bricks.
brown.
shit stained pave,
mint-
hint at upset.
feathers and fingers-
the past few tender-
winks.
stomping concrete to end
where i started.
repeat..

read the paragraph again..
mind_full.

and
mindful
(reluctantly)
momentarily.

until the next distraction.

until i can find the exit.

strapped in
a maze_ment.

again.

5-6-10, mistaken for 6-6. hYde Park, i hide.

30-5-10 biG lEAf

found.

10-5-10 again.

wobbly tin and tram-
a crinkle packet.
a whistle off tune.
another crinkle.
a leaking pen.
again.
emptily annoyed
i am baren.
i am torn
and
wordlessly distraught.
with apple skin between my teeth..
and grit..
nothing much matters.

triangles are everywhere

at this moment

my mind is nothing but

a yellow balloon.

my hand is black,
such as the ill described clouds
and the bags of my eyes..

so i simply drift away.
so i simply drift away...

10-5-10 at the library

----------------
observed
at
the Library
(of a different sort)
---------------

6-5-10 suNglASSes

another morning
sweat-
another scrap
ripped-
borrowed along my
vamOOse..-
another smile
initiated

with an unknown.
reciprocate.
recipricol.
under-NO-
over

one-
we-
are
WHOLE numbers.

dance past with handless hands.

he, a camouflaged
roadrunner.

yes,
like deers.

familiar
sky.
cry.

me,
an aeroplane
on the footpath.

room for one pASSenger.

a forgotten please,

a remembered thank you.

5-5-10 sOON to bE 30

contemplating it all.
collage with care.
sOOn to be
30-
and a lie revealed.

4-5-10

LIKE A VOLCaNO-

cycles melting unlike before
amongst carved glow of flame
and blame
of the ChAse and follow-

a sandwich made of marshmallow-
suds and streams.
salt taste and rainsticks..

laughter with the water's pull...

the yesterdays like a LiteBrite
pLUgged
in
with glory.

2-5-10 chAngE

CHANGE

... the sonG scREamINgggggg...

to not be afraid
of it.
of what?

mind and mouth closed for the time of sins and arrows-
the every way stride. strut-
wet mut
wandering stick
squares
like me, (but),
i evolved to only
walk on tWo.
A new two. Nearly.

Big eyes like the moons stare
jumping and rolling under
the
thick
grey
sky.
Canopy.

and as i sit
as a screen,
only mesh-
I am chilled to the core.
(today eaten)
but

with change.
with a hint of pain.

1-5-10

bright.
Brighton.

liNed pAper, wide rULed. scHOOL

while they worked_ i wrote.

----
a few weeks ago
or so
i say
----


sitting like a seagull perched
between passion, persistence pencils
and pULsE,

rubbers distraught,
temples tic.
knees bounce,
pages turn.

a new life with a blink-a-breath,
equations wait.
weigh the odds.
silence piercing
ringing
scREAmINg

like her inner r a g e.

Tids. eyes. heavy.
as are our shoulders.

i was once she.
her.
as me.
doubt in the grain.

led
astray.

dOOdle (and whistle) while I work

__________
April-May
cReatION
__________

lONg oVEr dUe- 10•4• to •20•4

------------------
while in Tunisia:
over ONE month deLayed.
------------------

10-4-10 (ongoing sketch)
a paLm.
tree.
SoL Azur
pOOl.


11-4-10
pOOlsiDE
SoL AzUr

12-4-10
bus tOUr.
man in front.
me. (girl behind;not pictured)

12-4-10
on a camel. in The Sahara. at sUnset.
oRAnge. ripples.roPes.camel fight.
onE hUmp.

14-4-10
violently ill

15-4-10
no planes, just ash

16-4-10

17-4-2010

----------------------------------------------------
April 17 2010
----------------------------------------------------

and so here i am. thoughts full of the sound of
sea
and so much more.
seams bursting and
seemingly seeping into the salt of the land
and
that salty drop of eyes.
woes.

so here i am.
where nothing matters, but yet which ceases to be.
me.

the chronic use of mouthwash in fear of oral flux.
relative to me.
although not chlorine blue..
the
true
one's
green.

like soft blades of grass.

at last.
(it's been days)

my pen's to ink and paper
like wind to waves.
i hear echos, i daydream with long arms of uncertainty like tectonic plates
await ing
movement.
contemplating
the swish and spit...

foamy like the sea shore,
fresh, yet reminiscent..
the scent of

e u c a l y p t u s

the sight of the pale bark-
smooth like sand.

jasmine is cradled by the song of german tongue, a hymn familiar. yet distant.

unknown. toxic. toxic.
tourism.

like the night's dream of diamonds distraught yet accepted because of feelings of must.

so here i am-
laying upside down
awkwardly scribbling the mind's trail-

too fast, yet with dedication-
with thought to go from right to left similar to which the ground i lay-
the air i breathe....

it's how they read.

so here i am-
a day later than expected, a day longer.

i fathom to discover the mind and eye.

i ride the wave with hesitation.
with shame to need to know what will disperse when this wave cUrls.

so here i am-
and my mind doesn't stop-
even when
upside down-

but, here i am.

so here i am..
i'm coming up for air
&
my lungs rise and fall
with the tide.
untied-

if even just for a moment.

listerine free.

so here i am.

------------------------------------------------

20 april 2010

or 21st..friend made while "stranded"

wE arE (were) goinG to TuNIsia

---------
April 3 2010
THird NOT Fird
---------

this Day..
almost that
of egg
roll and rock
and stroll and
NOT a carry out>

drop and talk..

walk with the loose of foot-

Sunday toll and bread
roll.
baked.
caked.

question of fake
and
bake (d)
legs..

it to the place where all else is d i s t a n t

1000 miles.. again..

ON THE TOES.. AND WE KNOW..

IT'S SOMETIME UNTIL

the call of last.
until it ends.
until the Bath.

until we admit the truth.

until we know it ourselves.

and i scribble like the mad fiddler in the dark alley.

more Cianti please..
more ease..

and an ice cold waTer
-yes-

that has a T..

like that man with a mohawk and a gold chain.

(fOO)!

dots. last few weeks

slightly obsessed.
self entertainment.

contagious.

8.4.10, almost

Lines crossed and crissed-
hissed past like the hoop of the hoola-
Maui-her-
print. ink.. deep in my blood.. veins..

needles and needs.. years.
fears_less with the blossoms up high.

i can fly.

high high..
not in the Land of Nod-
tossing upon the 7th ground.
yesterwinks.

i got songs and they're not for you.

bop at the stop and go of us-bus..
i tap to the lack of drops
today-golden.
yellow..

but not really,
all is clear.

the link of who we all are-
what we desire.
speaking for myself-
penetration.

a blunt spear.

rays.
raising.
my chin.

... shall i not let the horizon of helpful blue be my influence..

should i not question ..

enjoy without doubt..

like a porous hell,
shell.
the beauty seeps in with all of the rest. there is no filter.

so much green.
so much green..
yet, i clench and the brick between my temples grows..

like a wet sponge...
as her elbow invades my moment of glee..

please, set me...

thirty one

31.3.10

Thirty one days March by..
31 in a couple years..
ago-

Thirty one flavors.
Only one mattered.
If you know-
you know me..

where tiny pink spoons were better than silver.
Pink like bubble gum.

Toothpaste puddles foam at the horizon
where filth and air combine.

The violin darkens the sky and a film begins-

Thirty one.
He is a character, not of that number..
he is a seasoned cowboy..

He is The Dude-
thinner than.. also looking for his
rug ged
woven dwelling..dwindling..
snake eyes.. denims adored..
folds like fish gills..
like somebody I met before.

I want to meet him again.
Re-meet.

Years older..
turquoise rubber bands the matted pony-
for the ride
the voyage
ahead.

Neutral,
yet he does not blend..
armored heart?
perhaps not..

Luminescent to me..

I am rainwater traveling through a tiny pipe..

and the thirty others have evaporated.

One.

I feel like dancing,
momentarily.

I am thirsty.

dRip dRoP

30-01-10

dON't lOOk bAck

Don't look back.

Brothers of wood
grain.
strain in the cavernous world of
wax.

Wood brothers in rain-
warped
ways split-
collided
midnight swimming.
swarming.
steaming like the buzz of
be ings
pressed like
pedal's
full throttle of a delicate
beast.
breast alarmed and
arisen.

Erased.
rippled reflection.
rips.
shadow following
-us all-
like a stare
a scare..

Girls of seven,
poised.
lunch pails.
uniforms.
pony tails.
should be speech of unicorns..

instead-
'racially abusive about driver
who keeps us still for moments.

Their feet don't even touch the ground..
making it all the worse.

... and i can't help but looking back.

Buckets of rain-
buckets of tears.
-------
fear's in the eye.
he said it is a good thing.

Fear the gateway
to the souL.

I ask why
and i continue to wander and
wonder through it all..

Still i look back.

Still i try to figure it all out.

I'm not sure that it is possible
nor
meant to be.

SaTurDay TuRn bAck (15)

_______________
January 9 2006
3am
_______________

Dark. I lay. Dimly writing. Barely
able to see.
See clearly.

Can't define emotion & circumstances.
Impulse.
Grasped by moments & acceptance
I will enter the altered state.

One will be there.

An escape from the confusion-

The iron mind will rest.

Free to live and imagine.
Free to enjoy and love guiltlessly.

All smiles and warm touch
waiting...
for me to seep
through the keyhole..

As one has seeped into me.

Lovely.

I will be freed.

Did and didn't 26-3-10

I layed in glue last night
and couldn't get out of bed..

I heard a song
and couldn't stop the feeling.
I didn't want to.

Seeing young life, passionate love & light about the letter F..
I couldn't stop staring. Smiling.

Stepping up the stairs upon destination
I couldn't stop counting.
Twenty-five this time.

What a good birthday that was..

What a cold feeling this is...
Morning Wind.
Open to interpretation.

reSt

snAp

A man causes a stir.
Missed train.
Doors closed.
TOO early.
Tearless shouts.
Repetitive biting of his hand.
Shouting of his ailments..
his obsession..
like Rainman
where a missed train means more to he than you or I...

I think of him all day...
and now.
He in his tweed jacket..
his trauma..

how me going with him would have been the wrong way
yet the right way in the burrow of my four chambered
beat
box
I board
mine
and regress
through the wires
of spring bloom-
bOOm...
_______________________

Percussion like a snake's hiss
miss
it as your eyes roll back
of the neck tender
with skin of a peach
in the sky
is the limit
less..
boundless
bounce
between my ears.
i am dots.
he is houndstooth.
palms of precision.
perfection-slick-
reflection
like a lake of onyx
a deep stare of a pupil
grand
piano.
stand
band.
snAp.snAp.snAp.snAp.hiSSSSSss

not even close to the
yester.

i imagine my spinal
cord are his keys.
none of which note-
to unlock
the harmony
of walk.

ahh, a daydream

AHH... The swank.

Low lights become bright

flashing with the
s l o w turn of that
disco-
let's have a ball, doll.

Come here-
to my mind,
my lap-
the tap of my toe...
on the count of four..

let the horns play-

stop and go-a slow stroll.

the smoke makes it hard to see-like a dream.

pond mist-
it's a jungle. Jane
with red lips
swinging those-
hips
if you watch
twist
with the rasp of the rattle..

Ringlets and wing tips..
slips and rips..
lines and rhymes..
powder and puffs-
snuff.

Mirrors,

Separation of the time,
reflection of what is sought to be seen.
Scream.
Screen.

Sequins lost..

What a lovely train ride.
Keys smile..
glisten.
ivory teeth.
Underneath-

Another gin please
dah-ling.

Make it a double.
The night's young..
and we're all getting

old anyway.

wrinkled

on the way. in between. where we meet. where we shake
heads and hands.

last wEEk. HEIDI

by
Johanna Spyri

Illustrated by Pelagie Doane

1956



"Heidi makes us feel how grateful we should be for all the lovely things, and all the loving-kindness that there is in the world."


.... She remembered all the exciting things she had seen the previous day and wondered what this new day had in store for her.

mar 7

There is more contrast on this rise of Sun.days pass and eyes see the inversion of all what has been.
Paint drips in black and glistens on the way down but never makes it.
Bulbs sprout. Opposite-reach. Roots, i remember:

I once knew a man named Cheeseburger. He was big. Smiley. A scare bear. Same space, a man named Cocktail. He mopped for money. Got stoned from an oregano joint with benefit. We laughed a juvenile stream, scream. To some a gutter, but here, also a woman named Pearl. They say the world is our....

.... all within a palace on 7 mile.

Blue bottle of Bombay. Navigator..
and nicknames remembered.

mar 3

Forgotten black book.
Instead, typed. thumbed in pink, rewrite:
No, written:
_____________________

Yesterday on one of the longest escalators upward, a bouncy boy of 9 playfully tried to travel down. he. prompted three smiles of strangers. One of them is still existent. One of them to share..

Only to be buried by the morning commute and the of captivating dreams that made the a.m beep unrecognizable.
Late.

Cold and waiting, train jumping.

I wear layers. I see layers.
Dots. bumps. lines. engraved. yellow. white. a curve. grayish brown. bricks. darker than above. 2 layers like upside down steps. covered in soot. flat wall like barnyard dirt followed by a thick cable bound tight. variety of thickness. four pairs stacked high with purpose.. maybe more.. leading to rocks, pebbles..

I'm thrown to a a game of hopscotch in the school yard.
That one time.
On the black top. Inhale. The smell of it on a hot day.
I think it was RedHawk. Despite my age.
I miss tether ball and the time it entailed. Concrete in tire.
I miss it all. Family aboard, where a fist is a toy and a custard cream is worth tears.

They sit down. The mother juggles it all. Mom has yellow dots for eary jewelery. Candy Dots never made that color. I don't care.
Actually, the cognition proves that I do.



I was wrong:
They did make that color, and I do care.
One may say I care a little too much.
Is there such a thing?
Caring too much?

mar 2

A dream of a catheter and a paper chase in my pocket.
Another day of shine and cyanide.
The waves sparkle another green line past.
Another day
Another start.
My path, a new way.
Excitedly, I see the continuation of people's paths; the old way.

The sun is too alluring to look down.

With each step, I have a word(s):
Rust .Teeth like shadows. Ivy. Barbed wire. Dots made from sun-negative space. Angles. His curls. .. Deep bass slung Lo. up high. Not one single puff of white. Tiny plane. Fade red door. Salmon. yellow box. Blue sleeves. Turqoise phone to match. Pigeon toed. laces also like the sky. Three nests. Bare tree. Pine cone flowers. Lilac. four bags stuck in trees.

I somewhat obsess over that.

mar 1

Another first.
Thirst.
Fist.
List
of to dos and not. The surprise sun makes all else
irrelevant.
For this, we waited so long.

Chicken bones-molehills of sick, like a rhubarb pie filling. Crowded paths of feet and an elbow next to mine when plenty of space... a missed alarm and eyes closed, I allow the sun to make my eye lids see through...

I see orange. My lids are thin. My imagination elevates beyond..

pen down.

feb 26 p.m.

C2C.

A partial man. Line drawing. Off the map. He's gone. Unfinished, exactly as it was destined to be.

Deep metal transfer.
dArk mAtter.
The end of the South.

feb 26 a.m.

With a noodle around my neck tones of misnamed grape, I spiral..
down.
over.
through the sky's release-a tightness is back.
Jack.
The other day and green it is this day.
Blobs and dots. Swirls on fuzz. Oval elbows, I told him, I liked.
Never mind the morning rush:
Upon my tap he turned with haste. Surprised;reply, "Wow-you made my day."
Separate stairs we stomped, raced rather. He had nice elbows. He had to be told.

Green again. Leafy spinach on my lap. Morning richness. A smile from a stranger-a "good morning" and thanks to the driver-
I get it..
I pull my harpoon and my dirty red bandana...Joplin.

With tarp blue ruffles my spin becomes a dance..
now, I am spiraling up.

The richness is manifested from within.

feb 22

There is so much blue today.
A new blend, chipped polish.. AAh.. the friendly ink has been far too absent.
Blueberry blue-the kind with more red.
Textile of the 80s.
Hue.
Multiplicity.
A crane-more yellow than green. Like the sky that is not blue.
-A saddle bag-
sack duo B-
Hood stripe-
Her puffy shoulder.
Yarn on my wrists.
Offy plastic, suffocation. Speckled trousers on square seats. Cubes of chlorine-I imagined like ice. Does chlorine freeze?

Back to blue-
Help point in a rectangle.
My umbrella, can only help the true blue if it fell from the sky instead,
Eye. Continues
to spy
and collect
those drops
of that hue
y o u.

feb 28

Another bumpy road. Big Red, a g a i n. Held to regulate service. Drums of f ears on repeat. Resting. Lack of.
Looking instead. Out. Wet. So wet.
D
r
i
p
p
i
n
g

Puddles.
Mud. Stone darker.
Road slicker. Cars make more sound. Tar and tread. That hiss of friction where the rubber meets the saturated path. (imagine) Tread. Bread. Crumbling. Fumbling. Mumbling between words and ways-whys.
no surprise. Clinging at the curves, my spine, jagged. White. Line. Up. Set me down-the glass like a thumb print of streams-never to be replicated.
precious. Drop. Drip drip drop..
let's
try to smile.

blog break.wake.resumed. the BLOG IS BACK.

broken letters and words, connections.
wireless and beyond. wheels turning.

pitter patter and daddle. doddle. waddle in blur. fur. fury and fire. fright. all night.ers. broken cords.ties. zip.
long strides.hide. in the rush of it all.
still i scribbled. here and there.
now, to share.
the yesterdays,
gone and returned.
finally, i am still.
i am here
as i have desired.

SaTurDay TuRn bAck (14)

--------------------
this day: October 15 2006
--------------------
Written in red.


MMM... So much to say.. So many emotions.
In the commotion of it all.

Old times mixed with newness of growth and growing a p a r t.
Me
finding happiness and moving along.. the normalcy of a friendship when yesterdays are left in a field of fog... No attraction
actions..
Holding onto my promise and feelings of my heart of today surfacing. enjoying the moment. The win. The wind.

Craziness of screams and smiles, high fives of carelessness..
The resurrection of connection that has been lost.
For a moment, a night, a goodbye of sorts-
A conquered fear on my sidewalk..
An open door to friendship.

A good night, fun and innocent.

An amazing baseball game.
Love for understanding and letting me be free.
Be me.
She is beautiful.
I am lucky.

We all are if we consider it.

blank and tank

12-2-10

The White album. Like these scathed boots oh so tight. Today.
Like the blank canvas called
our sky-
scuffed only by the film on the glass.
I am in the tank.
We all are-
swimming.
Sea. Monkeys.
Urchins.
Searching for a wave. A current. Ripples on barriers.
Again.
All men-minus two. With intent six eyes play and I day. Dream.
With the smear of speed like the swipe of a thumb upon wet paint.

We are nothing more than a moment and this, not even a second
thought.

TEn tO tEn

10.2.10


I won't chase-
Sunshine of brothers being a beautiful glow-
shadows traced at the Idiot in the village. A blue blanket above and this moment.
awareness of that time before-

a pause

and a red circle-

a stare-
a lid pool.
gratitude for now.

Power of a flower and calmness of colour.

Dots and stripes.
Hype.
and a royal mail man.

Men.
Write.
Sleep.
Read.
Text.
Game?
Listen.
Lean.
wait.
only one other woman upon this sheet of tin.
Do I count? Does that mean two?
By two by four-

Building blocks.

Houses like those for dolls. Perfectly placed in patterns. Pillows fluffed. Hues so bright.

A seemingly spring day.
Daze.

Shaking train-
trained to press. The pavement-persistence-
with resistance-

passing with a lasso,

I see it.

I taste it.
Cherry sorbet along the horizon.

SunDay the SEvEnth

I always walk this littered road.
No Sunday solace to see-
Rusted can-
partial scarecrow man
and clothing hung in a tree.

Hub caps, bottle caps, wrappers, butts and bag-
thrown out the window
by passerbys
upon green shattered glass I lag.

Tires and tires and tiredly-
I tiptoe toward the start,
a heavy lock and an oxidized chain,
I beg not to fall a part
of me
is here and another bit is there
expectedly
within that realm of nothing but a tear.

A rip
her drips
on morning travels home-
Possessions stolen from her shoulder,
she chased them,
screams unknown.
Grassy blades, sharpened-
first night.
New box.
Blue door.
Chased through blinks and winks as I never have before.

Questioning it all-
my place
my breath
my choice.

No other option but the ink,
only this of rhyme and voice.


A pattern to distract
a journey-
yet another ride.
Frozen digits like fish fingers
and
in my shell I hide.

Red drivers press hard zooming,
pedal with jerk from either side-
I sway forth and back and a woman sits beside.
me smelling like wood,
similar to a hardware store,
I inhale and commit
to having a better day today than before.

Lady Lumber
minus slumber
Party on, I stumble.
With a shake,
a rattle
and a rasp-

and my soft Sunday stomach grumble.

SaTurDay TuRn bAck (13) delAYed

------------------
Another (delayed) Saturday turn back.
This day: 29-10-09
-------------------

A waiter by the window.
Yellow backpack.
A purse hunt /treasure dig.
Purple plastic of Tate.
Paper passer.
Heavy metal leather.

large S.

First inhalation.
Half circles above rectangles.
The Old Bell. Crowd awaits.
Hood court.
Arrow to the sky.
Big pumpkin.
Balls of steel.
Stained glass diamonds.

Built in 1624.
RAM.
WINE BAR in bigs.

A crunchy leaf.
"I never painted my own dreams."
Flyer taken.
The Coal Hole.
Stringy stairway,
The Strand.
Sequins.
Paper hat.
Trench.

All out the window.

fRidAy the fifTH

__________
Last
Fri
day
__________

No Rain, but suspect-
Proof in puddles and reflection of trickery.
Blind Melons for breakfast and my pocket (left) alone. Cheese and tomatoes take me.The last formality of a Friday,
in that space.

Down the stairs of slip, six. A bid of hopes of good and rush the usual way. The previously known to be- usual day.

Further disillusioned.. distracted.. cavity of resilience.
I finally remembered that word.

Resilience.

It sinks and stinks.
Familiar faces at the place so many times I stood a wait.
The usual woman.

Jet black hair, faux fur hat-shopping bags.
Long face-kind heart.
Like Tia Francesca. The bigger of the three.
I've noticed-her partial run across street...
Two-stride high. Knees..

Mother and son again-on the bone-she slept through a blockbuster. Hit. Me. In the face with

small beauties.

The patter of the droplets atop the bin.

The new absence of the wobbly brick.
That same school boy. Many times before.

Fish marketeers with treasures...
Not quite a Yogi float, but tolerate. Wait?
None for green.

Poles.. seats.
hear headphone cord.. Bright against the black drop
me off any time between here and now.
Calmly she sits, eyes closed. Hands crossed. Hair in place. She exudes calmness.
A porcelain doll... neural connection to Baby Blue.

And those blue eyes...

Blink.
Pink. Sheet on clothing line.. like a first bubble blown after several chews..

A first whistle lifting me from the extra gravity upon my mass.

I ride on and I hum that tune.

lost

Aubade

The wait. Again. Excruciating. Repeat of delayed door. Slam.
Four and twelve plus twenty behind..

Abscess growing at the fusion. Con.
and a remedy of the scratch of chickens. To calm my own way.

There is a scrap of envelope, the window of my wink. Linked. To the chipped white, like eggshells.

Soft wooden barn. Yarn. String on seat. The blur of motion. Commotion.

White the non color color. Befuddled.

A wrap around porch and children with bear feet. Pause.

Fresh lemonade and the earth of the forest. Claws by night and a creek of a chair to rock. and roll. Over.

New setting- regroup. Refocus. Readers of quality. Tin snake scales. Peer over shoulder..
"Warning of Web Addict Danger" and a knife in neck. Spared.

With the irony-confess?

PA wouldn't deny.
Duck-duck....loose.

A V shaped escape.Widow's peek planned. For weeks and ways of days-
Fascinating feathers within the state of fridge. Spans and spoons of wings and sherbet. Sliced sky and a side of squawk. Widened eyes and a similar neck stretch....The dive into the atmosphere. No eyelids. Win. No skin. Same air. Same mission.

Possible.
Miles in between
it all

to get there.

Pocket LinT skY

Dashing with Donovan-
Gunna have forever to fly.Horns and a woman of the angels prelude.
Electrical banana.

Like a neon sign after glow. Dust. Moths. Mites layered thickly
on tubes-
Florescence and fabrications of friendliness.

Glance up. He digs for gold and stretches as he owns the land. Closely he smells of a young brother, out for summer fun-
Metal and mesh. Skin.
Trebor.

Thick or thin-
Translucence.

Alert. Rotten eggs aboard.
Opaque.

It's a day that seems unlike so.
Darkly jig-sawed
like a stumble home-a stumble upon-
recollection-
A childhood rise to amusement. Parked. Here. It is not.
Roll and coast.
Closed eyes of seas and salt. Sway.
Foam.
Grit.
Need to floss.
Lost.
Ripples more than so.

Pocket lint skies.
Surprise.

A bird flaps and flaps between
these amputee trees..

Seemingly a race-for the worm or woe.

Parallel universe, wings we used to have
with strings
I ask

Why finish first?
Let's cut them.

Monday ONe

Feb ONE. Won. Onto. One another's steps.
Patters, paving ways.
Waste. Waist of chocolate browns.. the horizon shines.
glows.
mesmerizes iris and pupil.
Like fire and feist, a penchant in my pocket. Padded.
Morning madam.Purple and patched, I am familiar.
I see her shine-she hails the red. Sprints past.
I tip toe in seizures of spinal tap bindings. Dripping
d
o
w
n
from that vile.

Vile wads.
Loogies.L EEW gies. pale yellow like this paper. Like the moon yesterday-
Moist mucus dotted along. along. Loong. Eyes down in disgust of lungs and specs.
Bean shaped,
I snipe them.
Avoid.
Fury inside, shoe bottoms agree.

A pigeon thinks he (she?) is a chicken. Proudly doing the neck jive. Minus cluck.
We are both alive. A live wire, Spitfire.
Doubles for deals.
Not a big deal.
Sharing a path.

Readers sit. Animals they resemble. Reassemble.
Left, koala.
Across, dolphin..

Distracted.. shadows and sun zig zagging in triangles.
Caramel county, country, beauty in bricks and bridge.

Sprayed with solar. Paint me

whatever color you like.

Just paint me a smile.

Etch me a verse.

SaTurDay TuRn bAck (12)

_______________________________

This day: 25-5-09 8:19am
London Paddington to Bath Spa
Collaboration of notice: jam/bfr
_______________________________

Yak Yeti Yak
words, taking turns.
____________________

tingly buds. suds. mushy generals. hiking chille pods. vibrant options. zigzags. ruffles. and four-leafed walls. a wish? a flower. salt pepper. grated. shoe. horse. hats on heads. woven. spiral lights. two lanes. green glass. chisel chains. crimson whine. electric wizards. bold and blue. lemon twist. stars half price. and neighbors crunch. cushioned existence. soda pulp. hooked. spoons. tasseled corners a float. snow mountain fusion. porcelain, ideal standard. cobblestone wall pop outs. charcoal. chiseled. pine cones. guitar. chrome statue. eleven circles and a stringy thing of tin. maybe more? stripped wool. wicked patterns. wood. water rings. mist. laughing rose bushes. clenched noodle. cling-clangs. spinal eruptions. seven circles more.


__________
and later:
on the ticket
__________

tracks. bath tubs in kitchens. droplets of fuzzy blue bonzais. mohawks flapping alone. black bird. blue sky. stomping to check. gaze. white buds booming bright. laminated inside. popping drums. twelve different trees. giggles and hums. archways. cardboard barnyards and cotton sheep. peeking through corners. man and dog. best friend in coffee castles. two browns in the middle of yellow. staring ripples-illusion of optics. graffiti on canvas. plumb bark and steeples. pomade. stronghold. spears.


beautiful Bath.

buckets

T w e n t y n i n e
Like me. Today. Odd numbers. Times chime to rhyme and ring of stings of unknown. Measures. Denial. Destinations.
Wet.
Like corrugated cardboard in that puddle.. the algae on the tin roof.
The f ears on repeat. Whether to rise.. one said you'll never know.
Orange sky? Not today. Not tomorrow. but a kiss goodbye and a false
w i d e stride.

I carry buckets. I carry buckets. I carry buckets.. like them, but not at all.
Morning buckets on bus. Fumes. Fish. Farm. Fins.
Bags leaking. River map with suspect. Gag. My buckets go up stairs.. sparkling. On the outside. In disguise. Sit. Stare. Blankly as I have been. Unable to do most. Head filled. Refilled. Drilled. Song of a violinist under a bridge in the shade. Shadows. Reflecting. Echoing. Alone.

Shower cap.

Long brelly, suit plus thirty lets me pass. He gives me a gift.. one he didn't know.
Better than wrapped. Better than this and that..
his smile...

today I wear it on my sleeve.
Next to the other shape.

Buckets lighter and heavier at the same time.
Grateful.

Putty chin.

Time to roll..
time for the masquerade.

bruised baNana

From a different port. Entry.
Reenter.
The Monday mayhem as they call it.
From the south,
I release.
East.
Beasts-of crowds and flurries. In a hurry. Hurry.

Like my bruised banana, eyes stand.
Still.
Swaying.
Curved. Clenching. Withholding the
u n a v o i d a b l e
heaviness.

Back and brain-extended train. journey from Games and Guess.
Quest.
For less. Stress.
More blinks, links.
Relinquished-
for tock of this tick ing in my mind..
will nOt stOp.

This woman has been staring.
Glaring.
Without shame..
Into, onto, at me. For a multitude of minutes, I test. Her. Write. Look up. Stare. Look down. Look up.
Stare. Stare. Stare. Stare. Stare.

Caught every time.
She
is
worn.
Possibly unraveling, like much is...

Waking in higher spirits, I walk gently.
Slowly-
in preparation to peel that bruised banana...

and take a bite.

SaTurDay TuRn bAck (11) delayed

_____________________
this day: July 8, 2009
_____________________
-writing while walking-
_____________________

Wanting to wait and wishing in water-wells for women. Worldly. Whys and wheres. And where nots. Why nots? Walk with white on a whim.. warm in wool, like a whale on a wave... watching.


http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NFhqghww9sM

snipits read

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------
for this I cannot take credit. These are not my words. My eye was caught.

I care to share.

collections of my scribble, blink, think.
-------------------------------------------------------------


It moves toward a thin line where what happens can or not be repeated by interpretation of the text.

We can lose the movements, the feelings linked to these movements but there are still souvenirs of these lost feelings and movements.

We can learn the experience of not knowing and the playfulness of being in the dark.

For the blind man in the dark room is looking for the black cat that is not there.

Art is not a code that needs cracking.
Keeping art separate from explanation.

Celebrating the experience of not knowing and unlearning.

shaDED pocKets

He sleeps an incurable dream.

She walked beneath my shoulders.

He reads with interest.

She applies with moisture.

He chews with force.

Sleepy one wakes, moves. Supposedly. He. Looks beyond pitch. Black. Lenses. I cannot see with certainty, I will now not sink alone.

We dig and search. Similar pockets, we grab-each. A book. Matches. Awe. Orange. Nothing to read and cannot light. Marlboros, he inspects from another lintless pocket. Decadent in denim, crossed-legged and momentarily arms to match. In turquoise, like the iridescence of a fly's eye..bugged out from another night. Hidden. Not so much his pleasure on this lambent day.

Lights in the sky-Knitted at the wrists. Shielded.I want to know if he is in my head as he is my pockets.
Does he want to share a square?

Colorful companion and an orchid diagonal.. I will never know the answer...

and I think it may be better that way.

in tHe STudiO

In an invertebrate's dream I wouldn't be this bear. Bogged down. Out. In. Every direction. Ripped. Chained. Strained. Weather-rain. Beyond. Whether. Or not. I chance it. I follow the beat. Street of spine. Disaligned. Wet and wetter. Matted moments. Matter most. Dark. Transfers through a portal. Pothole. Possibilities. Hibernation halted by a sandy shore and rust...

She called me Black Beauty as she healed. Heels to the horizon.

now, a

h e a d a c h e. Head in sand,
grand.

SaTurDay TuRn bAck (10)

______________________________________
these days: July 8 2009 to Jan 12 2010
scattered throughout, Ps dropped. Just some Ps on a page.
_______________________________________

______________________________________

this day: November 2 2006

______________________________________

______________________________________

this day: April 11 2006

______________________________________

grandfatherly glare

_______________________
whilst I remain:
sharing of a different day.13.
_______________________________________

He stared at you with spite.

You, in all black and cracked. Screen. Solitaire. Remnants of a night's nail. Knight. Long and thin. Stringy. Downward face. Focus.

He, unnoticed to you.
He. Didn't blink.

Speared with his sight, you.

I.
Fought back.
Peer and
pencil.

Ravenous graphite.

Grandfather.

Like a bat. Quick. You, flew.
Away.
With stealth.

Another came. A new you.
Desire to cross. words. Dead pen.
Try and try.

Silent. I, dug.
Without eyes.
Without ears
Without audible
words.
I handed

you a candy cane to complete. To keep.
Dull point.

A new you.

Still me.

and still him,
staring.

RE

Slowly into it all... timidly. Y e a r ning for that deep breath- a relief. I am in the slow lane. Seemingly forever so..

People passing like gazelles into this c o n c r e t e terrain. I take my first steps. S e p a r a t e. Card empty. Empty. Recharge. Rebuild. Refuel. Relive. Revive. Revitalize. Reveal. Restraints. Reality.. release.. into the night.

Earlier than it seems. Remember- not so fresh air..
repair. Relocate-

Relapse. Ticks...

Contact of eyes exuberant. Five in less than four. Ten, a young love to multiply. Notice:

He wiped his knees before he sat... another sits with a stick. Chin rested upon. Long face, I understand. Scent enters at Bank. No cents. Nonsense. Unpleasant.

She flees. Jumps. A gray and furry, silver sparkle of lip. Man like monkey hangs. Hang on. Monkey bars. He is red and red and red. See through eyelashes. Gingerale. Ale. Inflicted. Infected. Influenced.

She with a broach, a pin, on top. Bran muffin balancing above her forehead. Poised with brass buttons of a soldier, the double row. Each large, imprinted-Adolfo.. bags, mittens like my home.. Brown and burgundy. She side stands. Ah, gift granted, a seat-next to mine-she topples.

She may read. She may know. The above is her...but, there is nothing to hide...

but I close my book anyhow...

Rewind: Stickman, broach on a broom and monkey from a bar all exited with. At my same. Smile.
End.


as if I knew.

caterpillar speed, I returned.

WARrior of the cOOp

Momentarily released.. from it. The place. Cave of green. Limitations. Sanctions by sacrums.. Slowly out. Wise to Body. Bound. Bounce. Back. Flex to reflex. Like magic hands, the Mary of Rose.

D6 held to regulate. Oh, I miss. Bomber. Cold. Brisk. She says it's summer here... Experiences shape the silence. Smiling sun reminds of what could be. Wishes to flee..to that volcano beyond. Warmth. Healing. Blue. Yellow. Tan. Grains. Dusk to dawn. Timelessness.

From behind the bars, reunited with it all. Movement, lights. Rattle of red. Frigid anticipation at the stop. Mumbles of unknown. Exhaust suffocating us slowly. The us being only me. Him-reading over my. cold shoulder. Not today. Warmed by a touch of home- Yesterday years, a decade plus. Cape, revisited. One bullet missing. Pockets plump with preciousness. A sister's touch. An uncles square. Chipped.

Daydreams and piano ears press the pain away.. purple seats and lilac ruffles, crocheted.

A moment of silence. Goddard.
-
-
-
-

Graciously interrupted by a lift of helpfulness.. a step out-down-over and on.

and
I'm


left to ponder this growing magnetism of humanity. I feel. Connection. Wonder. More and m o r e.

My chest cavity, an abyss of wild flowers. Severed, breathing, bloodless. Growing. Rapidly. Vines swirl. Buds bloom.
Spring came early-if even for a moment...

Please don't pick the flowers.

They hoped to last...

Wilted by human touch, I run from the sunset.
The snowfall returns.
and
I'm
a warrior of winter.

SaTurDay TuRn bAck (9)

____________________
this day: January 30, 2008
They will never know you were here..
__________________

jan 5. isPY

JAnUaRY 5. t w e n t y t e n.
________________________________________________________________
Confined by injury. Out the window, I saw. I snapped. I spied.
I documented. I share:

dandeLioN tEA

Unable to travel.. stuck to mend... I share my world...I take a sip.


Jan 6, 2010.
________________________________________________________________
___________________________________________________________
____________________________________________________________
____________________________________________________________

the RETuRn of the TrAveLs, post criMbO : MoNdAy KnuCKLeS

Monday, Jan 4

A tightness that won't quit. A tense rubber band.. stretched to maximum threshold. This is my leg. Strum my banjo.. We have moving on our mind.. but n o t h i n g. Still Monday, still here.. back on it.

Moon light awakening. Buss miss. Bus wait. Again. The same. Drab faces and dragons for heels-me, a slug today. With a crutch needed. I saw several people with them a few days ago. (sidenote).

The usual pavement dance, slow motion.. dodging spit bombs.. man immediately in front of me didn't mind practically showering me with his putrid flem wad. Continuation of disgust. Maybe I will make a spitball machine for next time.. purely for defense. Or just carry a shank.

Friendliness, 7 o'clock hour,(clearly, me included): Man wants on big red- door closes. Man knocks. Driver ignores. Driver drives away. Man punches window. Man shouts. Monday knuckles, fists ready for the new year. Plan of perforations. No Bow, No Driver, just knuckles like the Andes, deep and jagged... and me, surrounded by stone faces. Chiseled with this frost. Another mountain, rush. I think not.

Impatience resonates. Still here.. Missed trains.. like missed opportunity. Stalled. Stop and go. I know this story.

Frosting roofs, like waffles..and sugar stick grass. I can taste it. The land of gingerbread... memories of no matter whats surface.

I woke with a sweet tooth today... the sky begins to brighten, like c andy floss. With a blink I snap the image...

Stalled again. I'll never get there. No jet pack, just a pen... and pain....my shield is up.

The collective rage is intoxicating...
deep breath.
and
my
imagination
wanders...