The Process

Month: July, 2015

When the Legs Won’t Go and Shit Like That

When the legs won’t go, I lie
down to the warm cantaloupe air, nose
piqued and peaked and peeked at
the I-struck-juice after taking out the seeds, and the fruit leaves
its syrup, wipe chin, up to and including eyebrow.  And then
the toes that hover up over down, hot gravel toes, tendons glued
like Thetis is my bedspread, holding tight, leaving feeble, and
I think of nothing–which is the troubles–and the skin ripples up
to melon air because it’s the obvious thing, as I am here, noticing

it and her and down gravity, first just molecular
dance, then condensation to syrup and the way we adhere to it, breeze
over the ankle, tired tendon, but then there’s the perfume again, slow head,
Thetis let go, and shit like that.

Keeper of the Thoughts


And You Had Talked on the Phone

-Insomuch that the not having creates the want-

and want for what

unlike what can I want &

you had been a partially solved or a

substrate or a revisited variable, always revisited like marked

right wrong and that guilt and circumlocution.  Or just relax.  Undarwinlike

comes to mind or stop fire dissolves into the low visibility, low for fog

such thick vapor like anxious breathing could cloud up against

icy future and would make present-living instrument only or mayday

which allows for snap judgement.  As in the not-going-to-have and its

spawn, going to want, as it appears–as the need burns up white//

breaks fever// doused in, on.

T-Rex : smudge-elbowed brain


No Ray

It’s not bad to have been periwinkle

all night, when all other is dead out of the body in the non-world or the

world, and some are missing and some are together, conscious of conscious or

unconscious, unspeakable actions to speak of or unactable spokens to act on…and

then the hunger, too, the hunger on me and how I’ve always

appreciated it for the clarity and desire like potential energy is

exciting in its many possibilities until it picks one.  And I have gone out

in a poof of dousing, as I have come to know it, or I have also had the pulling one

in which I am a fish almost always big enough until morning.  But the pinkness

is funny out the window now, reminds me of a time when I thought God was real and would have

spelled it with a dash, you know, the way a child is powder.  And I want to stay.  Less

egregious this idea of a day nap, now, maybe take it, maybe stay, maybe poof, maybe fish.  Close

eyes to the sound of “No!  No rray!  Sit up, you no ray, prease, no sreep now.”  Despite skeptical wake,

saffron air clear in nose opens eyes, stay, no ray, no sreep.