Weight of Whispers

Weight of Whispers

My heart gets ugly.
Viens arteries squeeze
sinews bruised
Faulty flap
a wink of sucking
before the gurgle
of flimsy fallout.

It stops
now, then
Push my/love push/my love push my/love push my blood/comes back
dead just/a/little/comes back dead/goes

an echo when
there should be

— February 2003, New York City

From the vaults. My last year in college, post 9/11 world. Air, breath, beating, reacting.

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I'm a rock-n-roller poet who left the Big Apple for the Big Sky Desert where I've been letting it be and grooving with universal love, singing to the gods, dancing with the muses and bicycling with dreamtime messengers. I like altering my reality through imagination, movement, breath, and makin' stuff.

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