2010 -Final Post

The years back up            into their corner
like the separation of a line where people
wait to order coffee, water. East Bay doesn't
foster so much love like the animals at
home do. They're much more satisfying to
touch on the tops of their heads, purring.

The sense and sensibility of; made nothing
to eat. Food is always a subject when we're
talking people. And who needs something?
Do the greats dine prior to their creations?
Or after? Not in photography, certainly.

Reasons the fork; a utensil prodding into
the remains of a density worth chewing.
No more food, no more water to drink.
The attic's lights have grown dark pink.

The end began with snow       little radiance.
The sun ends with a redness never duplicated,
as unattainable as the meaning of prudence
while sitting alongside a Latin speaking woman.

Adaequatio intellectus et rei. Adaequatio 
intellectus nostri cum rei. Adsum. Adsum.

Marsh

Do they need their friend to be a lover, or a lover to be their friend?

You're in free-fall
and you may not
know it yet, like the
all that haunts those
moments of uncontroll-
able bodied factions:
sweating for no reason
and tearing up at
the sound of an indifferent
piano key -a black,
boyish grin worth every
inserted penny.

Rain

deserves at least one blog post,
as it's tapping upon my
plastic windowsill.

I face away from its persistence,
yet it knows that I can still hear it
there, reminding me with each gentle
sputter that there is nothing more important
in life than to run against its wetness,
bare-chested with my head drawn back.

Beast

"He who makes a beast out of himself gets rid of the pain of being a man." I said it as if it were my own lines. I stole it as if it were cheap. Nothing's cheap. Especially a stereo headset. The thought of rummaging has me nervous. Where's the meaning? A search for the inner self: a collection of language and ideas disposed of by others who have influenced our lives. Why can't we come up with anything new to say? Mother's should teach their sons and daughters that line rather than the traditional "nice to say". It's nice to say a lot of things, and there are many nice things to say. Who will listen when we turn to dust? Who will polish their joints' metallic rust? There's a darker, heavier, deeper thrush. Only to comply with what's expected of us, and return to the discipline that has begotten our thoughts, a rake in the sand, its handle sunlit, a dog in the sun, lapping at the ocean ebb.