Midnight Feedings...

Did you reach up

Infront of chessboard ducks

And Negro swans

Stealing stars and galaxies

To fit into your ring

To be astrology and energy?

From your ears dangling

Gently falling, meteorites

High waist asteroid belts

And moon rock shoes

The tides search for you

Flowing from canyons

Between ribs

To cups holding milk

-y ways and Saturn

Like a marshmallow
Floating on cold breath
Whispers from heavens
Winds of change
In the midst of fortune
Love
May have found you
Like USSR satellites
Paper to flames
Dice to games
And people
Exactly the same

The Plague...

I smell cheap perfume

teenage mothers
purging Mia's
your tiny heart fluttering
blood pressure rising
unprotected sex in bathroom stalls
the tears of 2,000 forgotten sisters 

daughters 

and broken hearted virgins

the boredom of housewives

front doors opening

back doors slammin

my neighbour lighting cigarettes

Genghis Khan's spirit

diamonds and cologne

sweat on rosewood

rosellas on soup cans

meditation of indie monks

and psychosomatic symptoms
a blacksmith using my head
as his anvil
children reading about Peter Pan
and staying forever young
murderers dreaming about new upholstery
husbands dreaming of their friends wife
children wanting to be their Barbie doll
grow up and make a sextape
like Paris Hilton
so lonely virgins can masterbate

Condimental Drift...

You're a little mover and shaker

Salt and pepper faker, ain't ya
You've got twofaces
From outerspaces 

Sweet Jane, Vibrant (in a) Forrest...

Dear Jane,


How are your sheets made of Paris? Do they wrap you in blue, kiss you in white, and leave your lips red? Will you be held snug, comfortable, dreaming of Grandmother's infront of houses in the woods, with treetops for skies, and wonder why your legs are sore? Maybe they were inspired to explore your subconscious, but there was too far to roam. I hope your dreams tonight are calm and cautious, and you wake like a baby, fresh and enthused, then you'd be Bala; child-like.


It was really your feet that introduced us. Two small young platforms for an upright structure of stretched skin, like a canvas, over a glass interior; precious. It's sad how much punishment feet take. I wonder the exact amount of time they've been supporting and walking, most likely many lifetimes. I'm glad we got to talking more, the most we ever have. We have things in common which is exciting. I like your mind, it's a pretty machine within a rusted out, grinding, filth ridden planetary movement of a much bigger machine. Maybe our minds are like tiny cogs working together, fighting the earth's internal violent temper. The atmosphere is the casing, and the universe is an analytic, far-out radical futuristic diagnostic computer keeping a watchful eye...waiting to malfunction. The universe scares me. So does the ocean, only recently. What scares you Jane? What worries your pretty head covered in golden threads? What are your doubts and dreams? What are your plans for an unplannable life? Forget about time, it doesn't exist, this is just a never ending moment- ya dig? You can dot points on this line, but this line cannot be measured. 
So...What are you going to do about it? 
Jane you're unchained, do what you like, go where you want, you're only living for yourself. 
What's your favourite colour? Can we apply Cherokee war-paint to our faces and dance around fires while listening to music I choose for the mood, approved by you of course? I'm going to think of an Indian name for you. 
I've been thinking about California and my hands in the sky. To get away from my two Mother's so I can get lost, maybe find a tribe. It's just what I need. I imagine a palm tree fronted, stunted lady with a perm and mustache, falling wooden quarter walls with wallpaper of boats and ocean reception of a cheap motel, where I'll spend my time with red wine, writing, drawing, playing guitar, eating, sleeping, and leaving from- my base of operations, a sometime cave of desperation's. I'll need a nocturnal city for a night-dweller like I. I'll wait in Anaheim for you to arrive, then we'll invite ourselves to borderlines, bridges over rivers, to New York state and back. Do you want to see the Rockies? Mount Rushmore and Crazy Horse? Deadwood? Lets be cowboys. Cradle Lake? Yellowstone? Monument Valley? Antelope Canyon? Mesa Verde? Rainbow Bridge? Lets rent a boat on Lake Powell. Do you want to see sunsets on the sun pyramid of  Teotihuacán in Mexico? Will you go further, to the coast, to Chichén-Itzá? Then you need to see Egypt. So many places to absorb, we'll be voluminous sponges left soaking in a bath of natural beauty and raindrops. In lakes cradled in the arms of mountains rocking us to sleep in mellow sunlight witnessed through wolves eyes. I think Alaska will turn on the Northern Lights for your arrival, I think that you'll see waters the colour of your bedroom, and that snow will recede when you walk by. Do you want to kayak out amongst icebergs and whales? Floating on the top of a world beneath us. Do you want to jump on beds with a bottle of wine and throw pillows while listening to Motörhead and The Stooges? I'll take photos of you in doorways of ghost towns, where we are connected to the dead and gone by stealing all their air. They'll be angry but they can't do a thing about it. I can picture you in a diner wearing Wayfarers and flowers in your hair, we'll get coffee refills by a lady named Martha, and stare at the hairy backs of truckers in cowboy hats with quiet muffled laughter. We'll attract eyes with our ripped and dirty pants, my dirty buckle boots, our mysterious sunglasses, your denim vest, my leather jacket, me bumming cigarettes. We'll read about mystics, natives, space, history, psychology, music and girly things. We'll keep each other from sadness, and you won't be lonely. 


My imagination is too vivid and eccentric, I might not even get to cruise highways with you, but if I do this is what I envision..possibly a slight exaggeration, maybe I should say 'dreamt up'?
I hope that your sleep was gentle like the footsteps of spirits on carpeted floors, like a hair brush made of feathers. I hope this is worth waiting 'til tomorrow for.


Sweet sleeps & dreams, of the architecture of all things.

Calvera  x x

Three-Thirty AM, Unemployed & Broke with Coffee Aroma...

with brain too crazy to care

I murder everytime I jack off...but I still feel innocent.

Between the heart and the emotionless void, lays the sound of scribbling pencils.

Why do I keep trying to quit cigarettes? There's plenty of time to not smoke..when I'm dead. 

I need candy tasting lips of the opposite sex like in high school whispering movie times in my ear. I'm awkward and reluctant, unlike I was those years. I hide like crumbs down the back of the couch. I know how to disguise myself in a crowd. I'm foreign in the neighbouring emotional urban sprawl of downtown Loverville, where everyone seems to chill.  

There are brightly feathered maidens in the forests of falling gums

Maidens of summer, squawking squawking, inebriated--falling 

Turn on the radio and dance to sampling and no vocabulary

On the chalky shores of boredom and mass market direction

Philistines contributing to the suicide of artists and alike

Destroying the essence of what they think they are creating

I should be Odin breeding armies eating those with no interests

Adaptation & Similar Processes...

You want God like your coffee..
                                            Strong but sweet.

The violent intercourse of intelligent minds and their mindful games, and of simple minds and their heedless ignorant hostilities, has the power to end the world. 

Are you the apocalypse, Sir? 

Happy New Fear...

A flask half empty is hell, for an alcoholic misogynist in a brothel.

A junkie throws his son down the stairway after his wife died.

A thief of 4 of a child's 9 lives, leaving them to survive on 5 before suicide

Gets a tax paid holiday

Converses with God, without a name tag

And gets early parole.

Come home from Africa

Your son is going to hang himself on Christmas Eve.

There was violence up town

Commissions in the Heights

Charcoal death and sharp objects

Seventy-five 3 6 - 1 8 - 1 2 -- 0 9

The whole world is going insane.