The smog. Bangs. Hairdos. Smiling beggars. Rabid rabid. Tomato. The youth in the closet. Older face and incapacity. As clever as advertising.
Tag Archives: hair
Not a lot beyond the asphalt. Sense of heat. Some heat arising. Hot sun on my foot. Grimy hands, oil of muffin on my fingers. Ashes floating in the air. Smell—coffee roasted black. Harm. Gas moving through my pelvis. Hair strands bothering my face. Dry with work. Wet with love. Sparrow visits.
this one wants to write through everything
this one wants pigtails
this one wants to be the age I am
this one wants disabilities and aches and pains
this one believes in happiness
the floral happiness
the petalled extras
the extravagance
the vagaries
the vacuum vengeance
the cosmic curiosities
the wretched
there are unawakened
there are emotional storms
Ralph’s sadness and his brave front
how do you like your brave front now
and another difficulty walking pin stripe
squares with red tie classical you should be
retired tired tie and all
your silky light hair disarrayed and
off to work you go with stiffness and concern
Express, maybe anorexia is more interesting. More interesting than hair styles.
Hair with comb marks, teeth with toe marks, toes with teeth marks, polished toes.
brief thoughts of sex—need for writing about sex—some struggle in the bedroom and some insight—my mother unable to find comfort unable to take refuge—what is my refuge? yes the moment’s smell and that sensation walking on this trail this step-by-step, yes, your shoulder and pow—the odors of your hair sensation pressing mouth into your shoulder upper arm, sensation from other parts of body sensation pleasure from the use of muscles in my limbs with a calibrated abandon—leading okay—leading out of mind—it is a kind of practice—the flexibility to change your frame of reference—to let the body lead (no breath awareness) but—this is something I have learned
april 29, 2007
limited expression limited by cloudiness and long fatigue. Unjustified by Sunday’s simple misery. So long, let go,
long song, still flow. Say so, how know, myrrh go, far low. Fairly groveling on the mat, not willing to hold still. The atmosphere changes, the mind follows. The feelings follow, and the feeling tones, a flock of sheep with perfect teeth.
I see your teeth, I see your sheep, your shape, your perfect hair. How adulterous, how adulary, how omniferous. Iron shapes the seedlings, tender iron flowing in their veins, their tremulous simple veins. Hard to know, hard attack,
mé l’art.
Pain in my feet. Cramps from the heavy boot. Hair falling down, escaping the barrette in wild strands.
Guilt drinking coffee without Sam.