i have no clue what this is about. Sometimes the gosh-derned things just done write themselves.

Hope you're having a pleasant Friday evening, reader, doing what you're doing, from raising hell on the town or pulling a Goat and just sitting around the house (not by choice, mind, but ... everyone else is off doing other shit apparently. alas.)

Sleep well tonight, and dream sweetly, punk.

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empire blastfuck #8

2/18/05

downcast solid eve with
a pinch of blue; steel guitar and
a blending of shadows
folding with the frontier driftwood
seaspray waltzes
beneath
tired grayfog western edges
beside
startossed blackened beaches –
fuzzy forced horizons
that aren’t the solid sisters
but the flaccid brothers
to each place and face
that swims out
amongst the sweet scents
to descend on my skin –

mosquitoes in the desert
parched and cocked with greed

(she’s been gone
          for years)

ready to drink, rejected
by my dry and resonant condition –
a booming drumstump
filled with fairy tones and airy drones
(her smile
          the sound
of snow)
and that fallow light
projecting from my eyes