words of a people aligned in their perfect order
I am St. Juan Grande Pecador in this new life;
unpredictably weeping and loving,
writing poetry and song.
so wantonly tired and worn but not sleeping.
sad that I cannot sleep next to you,
sad that I cannot sleep at all.
I think how I have loved you.
in morning and night,
I think how I love you.
I am St. Juan Grande Pecador
sitting in the sun, contemplating
the vagaries of kitchen table conversation
– Hoc Scripsi
Last night I was awake with the shakes and my skin was crawling off my body revealing a man growing inside.
it’s a beautiful day.
sun light stinging my eyes and I’ve got to repair the umbrella.
I’m an advocate for Lazarus and because of this I have to stop and question the wisdom of Jesus on his actions. At what point did Laz ask to be raised up, like he was. Who would choose this life?
It’s mental health awareness week – you can tell can’t you.
Didn’t Mary ever teach Jesus to ask before just going ahead and fucking with peoples lives or death?
there is a small animal staring at me from about 10 feet away. It looks like a red fox and it is right outside my requirement room near a book shelf that contains our board games. I think it’s fucking with me.
I am aware of mental health. I am also aware of mental unhealth. Mostly I am aware that once I went insane it was blissful (sometimes painful) with periods of awful, glaring stability in-between phases.
that may be an EAP misquote – it’s early and I haven’t been able to sleep but smoke and play some guitar.
K wished me a happy mental awareness week and we both had a good laugh.
One of the most loving things I have ever read
take it to the pamphlets and soon Guerilla pamphlets #15 are both VERY good bets
Take it to the streets poetry – many good links here for many good volumes
Get a subscription here if you can
Newer press but they accept some excellent work
keep checking this store for when it opens – if you want something you’ll have to beat me to it!
okay – that’s enough for today –
but lastly – it’s older than most being posted here lately but I like it.
dying roses are not broken promises
literal or not
we bled on pages
and pages and
pages of uncertain poetry.
women bleed with efficiency.
dying roses are not
broken promises as
are crumbling petals
no longer red.
– Hoc Scripsi
okay – I’m adding one today – don’t be a bully – this isn’t poetry, it’s about bullying and a very very deeply affecting story beginning on sept 24th post – read though from there to the most current – you won’t regret it and I wept openly.
the platitudes of willful resemblance 