December 29, 2009


san francisco, california

surely i would be a genius of music
    if i wrote it
the most wonderful poems would
spring forth like fresh water from tuck’s
spring. who wouldn’t weep
at my costumed dancers
performing the most sublime choreography
inspiring one to suicide  so

but none of it happens
i sit hammered into stillness by the
world’s beauty. or caught somehow en
snared an ineffable paralysis
colours penetrate me in
the most violent ways  i hear
sounds on the street  i mull a face in passing
as if it were a hard candy in my mouth
at least  i think that’s why
i think i do  it all

that’s the problem with being a vessel
for every thing that comes my way
i’m an empty gun a car without
a driver a pot without a plant
i need someone to push me
over the edge that’s
the most valuable thing
to me i need it or
i’m nothing

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