look what i found!

trapped in a moving vehicle (petite tashee remix)



like dead pine needles
and i ain't gonna lie

I only want
the one with waltz hair glowing
drinking Dos Equis
out of a papercup

he touches the root of summer
sleepy face on my nest
red points a fat ghost a white relief

the ship without light
the yellow lights in the peachy glass
the groceries never brought in

sucked off
spun in dirty water

our last
small party
singing that silly song
collecting trolley stops
in this small box

orange lipstick &
nylons




6 16 06



materialized from
bits and pieces of
Tasha Klein poems

blog profile poem

Backy



I'm 53 years old.
Been living at the same location
for 46 years.

The pictures that you see here, are mostly from the area behind the yard,
called 'The Trail', and beyound that 'The Woods'.

That woods has been severely
over-run with wysteria,
but for as much as I knock it,

it's made for some interesting pictures.

This area was once a huge illegal
dump. I've been chopping up the wysteria

and digging for buried treasure.


8 16 06



~~~

yesterday's poem

for some reason



i think it true, this saying i've read
or aphorism approximated, maybe just
guessed at

like it was some foreign affair, black tie you know?
this half-remembered sentence
its ghostly grips

something defining poetry
as the way that the silence
before the abyss gets filled

imagine that:
soon strain for any single sound
swear there's a breeze, hiss....
known to be so close
to that dull black soup
swallowing you there may or may not be
clear consomme on the other side

something simic said ...
ack

administered pragmatically
poem abortion makes sense for
some reason
there is still silence


~


6 10 06