I often talk about mourning
and weeping
And beauty to make you weep,
and disaster to make you mourn,
and the mess of the world
that creeps up close next to you
while you sleep
or wake
or eat
or dink,
or whatever you do,
and every tear will be wiped away.
but I don’t weep:
I’m not moved enough to weep,
I’m not angry:
I’m too complacent for it.
Anctious says:
Wednesday, February 25, 2009
at the protest
Monday, February 23, 2009
why
I flew across the world;
your eyes were like stars,
then like rivers,
then like mountains
topped with ice an chilled with frost,
and I left, lost in
foreign lands and loud, echoing chants,
(but somehow someone or something
always brings me back again.
until then I'll wander
with your eyes following
me like guilty flying
sprites to brush the
dirt off my shoulders
and then fly to new heights of beauty.
but the dirt is mine
your eyes were like stars,
then like rivers,
then like mountains
topped with ice an chilled with frost,
and I left, lost in
foreign lands and loud, echoing chants,
(but somehow someone or something
always brings me back again.
until then I'll wander
with your eyes following
me like guilty flying
sprites to brush the
dirt off my shoulders
and then fly to new heights of beauty.
but the dirt is mine
Saturday, February 14, 2009
Thursday, February 12, 2009
Friday, February 6, 2009
Thursday, February 5, 2009
Monday, February 2, 2009
sweetman in 2005
live poetry reading at the Los Angeles Unified Detention System, myles accompanying on uke
Sunday, February 1, 2009
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