and the cold grabs you by the As because you've gotten it into your head that time is responsible for everything,
                                                              when it doesn't even exist
and care,

in the end, the cold has its own business; it can come and go when its muscles want,
i saw how the cold invaded india,
after you left, it snowed in every place we thought to go,

the locals went to the buddha to pray for the snow not to melt,
they send the cold back to us
                                               to warm his little hands,

This is how the world grows from the cold and loneliness,
it grows into a lousy monkey,

In the last 500 years, westerners with acid in their fingertips, and
their bellies fermenting liquor, have built boats, airplanes, to take their loneliness around the world,
after that, they molted like snakes


... and love gets stuck in your throat like a fish bone,
you have no choice, you learn to live with the bone in your throat, even
when you kiss, and even when you
f...ly

and what business do hindu peasants have with the cold in the bones of an american, or a canadian,
a frenchman,
when it no longer attracts him to throw himself into the Seine,
but runs to buddha, to
                                    export his loneliness,

... airports are always packed with abandoned solitudes,
who dream of flying,
flying
           even to the moon, to forget about them, like a coat, to forget it somewhere,
somewhere on a stone,
or on a bench in a park in paris,
in a cafe decorated with fresh flowers,
and two cheerful lovers, hand in hand, who sit down, drink coffee, and look each other in the eye,
and, inkognito
the loneliness of the american tourist infiltrates their gaze
either to comfort them, or to scare them,
to make their legs tremble, to bring them to a common denominator,
and here is loneliness and the nitrophor that awakens our hearts,
the only one capable of raising kites in the wind,

an invisible glue,
loneliness is the only one who dreams,
walks through all the corners, wipes the dust,
and even digs to put the frost back into our bones, and again to take it out
like a tooth that hurts


the cold left on a beach
in Cucabaka country, awaits the only sunrise,

only the cold in the bones is still her friend, the fierce loneliness,
**** loneliness,
joyful loneliness,
sad one,
the loneliness of the japanese decorated with sand gardens,
so it's not blue loneliness,
the loneliness of the french is thrown over bridges,
taken to the moulin rouge,
the russian walks her among white birches,
rolls her on white nights, gives her ***** to drink,
the romanian cries after her, what if she leaves him too,

the latin invites Lonellies to dance:
- Señorita, there's still time for one more tango



... when
you are truly alone, not even the cold is with you,
it leaves through your kidneys, it goes to Angelina Jolie's country,
only loneliness crawls on your elbows looking for a mosquito to bite its buttocks,
but even heat can suffocate you when you are born with loneliness in your blood,

all the blame is on your blood type.

who gave it to you?
they say God has blood type zero,
those with blood type A **** loneliness,
what about B, they write to feed it with poems,

there are many kinds of loneliness,
for those who meditate, they say they stay in solitude,
a sort of alcoholic loneliness, only on the other side of the brain,



lights, so many cars, houses, and buildings around you,
you suffocate, but you squirm like a worm in your "maestro" brand bed and complain that you're alone,
some people call that loneliness when they eat or sleep alone, but I say it's not,
it's not,
as long as you have something to eat and somewhere to sleep, you're not alone,
even sleeping on the street, and picking up trash, you're still not alone,

loneliness is when you get on mars (like mat damon) and you use your feces to create chernozem soil, and want want to grow potatoes,

*
loneliness is just a coat you put on when you're cold,
and we shouldn't overlook that the planet is warming,
and the rains are flooding us, the glaciers are melting,
so neither is the cold the same as it used to be, nor is loneliness the same as it used to be.

it's just a coat that only we know how to put on,
how to wear it,
and when, and where,
and yet,
once, without wanting to, without anyone asking us, loneliness was born to unite us with the cold

(and one day you woke up in a cave, alive, with a stone in your hand)

Two cars, separate, the people inside would never meet outside of this,
A young woman, her name will not be spoken here.
She was reckless, but she didn’t intend cruelty.
She was trying to get home
Now in the second car, the girl and her mother were headed to a funeral, out of province
They never made it, and their family are now planning another.
You will not know the two who fell, but
An entire little town in Canada will remember where they once walked.
A sister, a daughter, at 21, now an orphan.
She will not recover.
The uninjured woman, her kids will not soon forget
What she was willing to do.
I am not saying to lock the woman away forever,
Maybe she wasn’t capable of ******,
Maybe she’d never hurt a fly,
Maybe she loves her kids, but today, she did not.
Do we forgive, and forget something like this?
I know her name,
And the orphan will forever know her name
But I will swear, to whatever god, to whatever I can find,
She may be forgiven, she may run
But this is more than her.
With any say,
I will never be stained,
With another human’s life.

you left with no signal,
flying high, eagled eyed,
peering down at
all the towns
you passed over,
blue through burning
but never stopping, stilling
to listen but not hearing
those other throbbing tunes
playing in back of black rooms

oh, how you concealing
the ambiguous depths,
of ***** deals squealing,
the mess of contradictions
you can’t help revealing,
leaving rust, dimming dust
full in on the chokehold
of others hands upon my heart

still
your hearts are throbbing
in synchronization to
the river flowing of my
words needy & begging
for a timely releasing by,
in anticipation of ending
the sun’s confinement
on the other side of the
dark perimeter of the planet

where poets dare to tread
knowing the jeopardy to
themselves when their truths
are outed by the light shedding
come the morning’s birthing

11:44pm
2/28/25

can you guess what movie I watched last?

Steam ghost

  The ghosts of leftover heat cling to the nets on her silk lined legs
  She tries humility, but everything she’s wearing comes from Rags
  And all the men in their cardboarded suits
  Empty hands to her they impute
  But she, on her Yellow Brick way
  Won’t peek a blind she just looks away
  Oh, how tall she stands amongst them all
  Down her red carpet, how they wait for her to fall
  Oh, Baby
  ‘Round her finger she has me
  And she doesn’t even know it
  Why won’t she submit

  Down the howling streets where the light don’t sleep, restless, I try not to fight it
  And a thousand faces they pass me by in the quick blink of an eye
  You can see the night women dangle rabbits feet asking you to pay for their lies
  But no, I’d rather pass them by
  Not loveless love I‘d idle my time
  And it all just makes me realize, so dear
  That my baby’s not here
  Her card, the Queen of hearts
  Howls throughout the night in spades
  Her poker face, carved so deep
  Oh, she slowly abates

  Perched on my stoop, she gets so close, sings beautifully
  But when reaching my hand out, she flys away mysteriously
  And when bringing his name up
  She leaves without an apology
  She’s afraid to begin
  And she’s still thinking of him
  Hiding in a place we’ve all been
  Oh, how can I win?
  Still I hypothesize
  About moving it on
  Just like Louis, oh the Sun King
  But there’s a hole in my wings
  
  Inside of Hell’s Kitchen, she gins for me a glass of ***
  I offered her some, she looked at me and told me “no,” I said “how come?”
  “I don’t drink, and nor should you,” she preaches to me as if she really knows
  Oh, the “wisdom” of a young crow
  She leaves for me a silver heart shaped lock
  With no picture, it’s her reminder, there’s no fee for the finder
  Like the cars that pass the alley
  She’s always there, and always gone
  But these visions of that girl
  They make them all seem so wrong

  Miss Understood has died, they found her all alone by the riverside
  A note crumpled in her hand had read, it said no one could hope to understand
  The sound of the silent night, it just left me feeling kind of crucified and I’m not too sure why
  And, oh, how the way the pavement rolls
  Leaves a dozen cracks in my fragile bones
  And I prayed to God to please have them sewn
  Without her I’m not sure where I’ll go
  Just a brown dirt cowboy on a stone cold road
  Watching them dig graves in the town of Sodam and Gemorra
  And these visions of my baby who’s now long gone
  And these visions of my girl
  It’s always been for her

Time is like a shuttle
Leaving in spring, coming back in autumn
Blame flowers whiter and blossom
Whose mind is buried by time

If this dream is like a bird
Can’t fly across the ocean
scared after the dawn
memory is also blank

Even if love is the weakest existence
I still dispel all the haze
Who is waiting for whom
Who couldn’t bear to blame
Time hurriedly go away and come back

I don’t blame
because of you, the dust is falling
I’m not afraid
Be with you, across the mountains anf the sea

Listen to the wind and rain outside the window
toast disappearance of sorrow without restraint
hard to say secret without reservation
who can understand
Whenever time flies
wait for a lifetime
Fearless of past and future

Skipping class, ****** off his ***,
Never showed and never passed
Teacher was teachin' it
But Dylan never needed it,
Writ to his own beat
And now he's free wheelin' it
On down the road
A heavy moss laden load
Sixty-one routes
And that stone keeps a-rollin',
The times keep a-changin'
The river keeps flowin'
Rainy day women
And legalized growin'
Bob cantcha spare,
A nickle or rhyme?
A solid gold medal,
Nobel poet sublime?
Sing us a song
Jingle jangle along
The Luckiest Wilbury
In the Wilbury throng
Singin' so right
It must be wrong
Keep doin' your thang
You'll never get gonged

Birmingham I am your first born Ex husband
Birmingham I am 3rd avenue north
Birmingham I am the hands of Vulcan
Birmingham I am an abandoned race course
Birmingham I am your Bob Dylan
Basquiat and Bukowski
Birmingham I am nothing
Birmingham I am blue
Birmingham I’m yours if you let me
Birmingham I am you

The gypsy hymns and railway trails
which you followed into the valley of your trials
Lady Luck brought you enough street child wisdom and thief given kindness
to turn the tracks around and the train whistle to wake me.
Desert saint of your weathered ways
with your thin wrists and moon gleaming lips
Hope to you was like a blinding sunrise, painful to acknowledge, yet sorely lacking without
Never could be without your Larkspur boquets and marigold wreaths
August heat heavy with the scent of cypress trees
Apollo of the dusty sea, flooded the cliffs with light like withering flames
born from boxcar visions and a desperate hunger for that windblown hallelujah we chased down the starlit trestles like missionaries. Summoned from our streetcar medallions, vagabond nymphs, rumbling through moth-eaten states and barren dusks, lazy moon gazing upon our dolorous times and wild days and all our rough and rowdy ways.
No need to heed the judgements of the stars.
With the arid land so wild and lonesome- we weave our own muse into the railway line- followed back to when you were my home, and the streets were the laurel crown of your vagrant fortune.