sometime in 2006


nine a.m. in Austria
Crashes on runways.
it’s too dark/no one can see until it explodes.
(Edelweiss in the sidewalk cracks)

nine a.m. in Germany
submersions in seas.
it’s too dark/they can’t see until the flare goes up too late
(Edelweiss floating near the rag doll coasting the waves)

nine a.m. in Africa, nine in Palestine
explosions on back roads.
it’s too dark/they can’t see till the first burning man runs
(Edelweiss sprouting from ashes by a family photo: phoenix flower)

nine a.m. in America, US of A
money/bitches/cars/big houses on little hills–

it’s bright as day and edelweiss is dead


declaration of independence

I think things you don’t know how to
think I sing songs you don’t know how to sing;
(can’t understand the words you know)

and while I’m thinkin’ these thoughts/singin’ these songs I can hear you
your eyes from all sides I see you
Feel you
(and don’t it make you squirm?)

when I pass you are laughing like a Comedy Central rerun you
rerun to your so-called Friends to find your faith again
(well my Best Friend is dead, so thank Him for Them I guess since you believe),
but back to me (’cause that’s most important you know).

twelve ways to Sunday you beat me down to an infernal INFERNO, the living stepladder
but I know your secret, baby Bebop,
I hear your self-loathing Song sing in my ears
in my veins and I know why you hate me so much:
you can’t put me in a box, see.

can’t call me faggot (i’m fashionably bi)
not cracker or nigger (I’m French oo la hahaha)

not witch nor bitch I’m sweet as pie
You hate me, babe and I know why
You can’t put me in a box and it pisses you off!

Scoff at my shoes while you’re eating my dust
cause baby,
in this lifetime it’s Be or Bust–

so find your own fucking drummer.

illic est sedo in seclus (there is calm in calamity)

tourist attractions in sunnyville cities
guides and smiles and simpering sages/wiseass wise men;

nobody sees and everyone knows that
people with dyed hair died here,
models in makeup writhed in their own blood sweat piss(– no wait–
models don’t sweat) Punk sweat
spit from their last breath dot-dot-dotting the ground like Fading Ellipses
from unfinished thoug…
unfini though

repeated repeated repeated thoughts on rewind speed like speed in your veins

hanging with anorexic queen bees in posh pads speeding on speed
drop like flies: one.two.three;

the cops say “No comment” as they slide  punk bodies into
polyester bags no model would wear because they’re


it was a time of roses drained violet,
bodies drained violent–

it was a time of stained linen napkins on runny white faces
and semen on the backs of hands
pressed to seething mouths;

a time of whipped cream dreams,
whipped creaming dreamers–
strawberries, chocolate,
vanilla cinnamon and caramel skin
(there were so many flavors.)

It was a time of Gemini sexualities
fraught with desperate crimson sprinkles:
of stolen kisses
of stolen sex,
of stolen love
forbidden lust that hurt your heart–

it was a time when cocks met cocks
devoured cocks
empowered cocks–when all that was left of
I want you
I need you
I love you
(such dangerous words)

was cum on lips and the taste of a passion
so fierce, a love so deep,
a life so well-hidden that
it fucking killed you inside

it was the time of us.