sorry bunny

sorry bunny

Friday, May 16, 2014


it is that i feel somewhat lost and

i care not

sailing smooth


pushing through


jump into the unknown

leave your dreams behind...

she does not own you

you are in a mist

she does not need you



and swagger

she is alone without you

let her be alone

she is your mother

you do not owe her blood

if when you are here

you turn to glue
and fowl smelling ways
you turn into yourself
and diverge like bud

but then
who cares

you are everywhere

she does not own you
she cannot disown you

if love has the wings
(for yourself)
then why not take the risk to be the sun's friend
no where is sunny all the time
and sometimes the best places are sunny almost none of the time

if you are lonely

go walk in the rain

turn around turn your head
look down
and cry
the rain and you will make love to the ground

and beauty will follow you for the rest of your days

Tuesday, May 6, 2014

deep time

this might be about that.

deep time
is underneath
when she takes her underwear off alone
with space

in between spaces, expanding space
between her and the nearest other
"deep time, how far or fast?"
wildly spin, is the iris of our eyeballs, a thousand eyelashes,
and the spider who spun the silk they're surely made of
of orchestrating cuneiform(s) of patterns
one by one placing then down
each pattern placed, eventually conjoined
makes cycles of pitterpatterning
all domination transient
what stays is passing
in this placement
one can star at their hands
and find a line... (the finer the line the finer the find)
now color deludes fades to gray / back again / lights come on
deep colored time patterning
distorted recorded reflections of recorded recordings
of that one time
she laid down beside a dead fawn
she and jack found in the woods, away from the people
and opened her mouth against the dust, in agony, to perform the suffering
of its death-before realizing the deer was covered in maggots
spinning flesh slowly determined in small pieces
before dropping her shorts
and removing her underwear
burrowing into that dim tunnel
cavernous archaeology of
or touch
with tips of fingers, uncovering material history
light like fingers, the friction
telling distance orientation and spin
opening her eyes to each new
and seeing real people pass by like an onslaught of never-ending waves of viruses
before, pointing to the place
"where it hurts mommy."
and almost falling down (but gracefully)
backwards in time (space) time
almost spending too long in the dirt
being ready
cloaking one's self
reaching for top shelf shit
climbing up / jumping down / grabbing corners kitchen cabinet skills
like a lynx

in deep time, deep rainbow'ed time
splits / fractures / splits off
that prismic jello
fractal hero/heroine

before, getting back up again
wiping the fine sand off her butt and looking below at the imprint of her silhouette
alone, with spaciousness of space compounded, between her and her
when she took off her underwear, for no reason but to bare it
not really alone, could see herself in her self(body / river /map / guide)
and all the playful mandalas
of her childhood
running outside to pee on the dirt
deep in deep time
This is No Creation Story.

This is about a point of OMitance. This is the conjunction of animals. This is the endless flux of ending but not quite really ending, and beginning but not quite really leaving the beginning and the non-cycles or vacillation.

The ones we witness in the dark when we are tired and wake up not to a new day, but the SAME day, in all it's pieces now. We wake up, we pick up the pieces, we put ourselves back together. We are eyes, legs, mouths,  knobby knees, shins, bone, flesh, pointy fingers. We are hair, nails, eyelashes, whiskers, gnarly tongues. We are teeth so sharp and bloody. We are the tips of the newly formed buds in Spring and the dirt floor reaches its tiny tendrils of moss up our toes. We are ground, sky, lifting, shaking, dying on the ground, prostrate in the sun .. kinda children.