the tendencies (blahg #41)

inherently we all
try explain ourselves,
contortions and rationales.
twisting and bent
just to reverse.
this is not
what i meant,
says the women
yapping about michaelangelo.

funny but true.

we're sent into
this hurlyburly with
pathetic gear. our
tongues flap and
sputter between our
teeth and yet
it feels like
we're not heard.
for all of
the screaming and
yelling, one's voice
is a pitch
below a whisper,
when you really
think about it.

sometimes that's how
i feel about
the june star.
recognition and art
are not the
same thing, desire
for compliments fished
are not real
compliments after all.
are they? so.
here we sit.
e.p. ready to
go? must call
tim about that.
andrew grimm solo
effort ready for
deployment. must rehearse.
must must must.

grimm

tales told twicet from some memories long since past (blahg #40)

"get caught up" she says.
there's no catching up with her talking

teeth and tongues clicking and clinking.


seriously, if she ever took
a moment to just breathe she'd
find god and maybe then she'd shut up.

the yap, the trap,
it is open for giving me
the business. like i
had thought before, "Why not
give in, stop calling the fouls and
and the unnecessary roughness and fall
limp. possum dead. she would sniff and
scratch a little and convinced you're not
worth it she could scuttle on."

but it doesn't work that way. nope... she was
named after saint tenacious. terror and treachery
were gifts grafted on to her by her mother.
out of control, a career in firing up careening emotions.

mother means thorough
mother means deliberate
mother means permeate
mother means absolute

she did her job on that daughter.
the other daughter too, she meant to warp them and
water damage takes time. the single drop every few minutes
that pools eventually and seeps deep into the grain.
expand and contract... wet then dry then wet again.
yup. that's the stuff. right there, that's not a
twinkle
in her eyes... but a twinge... a reaction the well conditioned
emotion muscles that weigh down the lips, forms the crease above
the brow, taking the reasonable straight line to glorious new
angles. each lift marks or beeps a new stage of disappointment.

at some point i need to pause, or block out the talking,
to ask,

"has anyone ever done anything right?"

grimm

welcome (blahg #39)

i've been keying
in the wrong
passwords? all this time?
the memories i've kept
tied up in a glad handy cinch
sack, that thing you probably
call your mind, yeah that thing,
it's funny what you find at
the bottom. at the bottom of the
patch of leaves you raked months
ago and there they sit. browns and
dull yellows. and at the bottom,
moist funk. waiting... for the you
to dive into and release the
air and damp. as the early
morning approaches and creeps.
the yes to the no
the right to the "sort of"
warmth is all that i long for
no matter what no matter what
every picture i see from when
is now digital and hasn't lost it's
glow.
not
one
bit

grimm