today, i cracked the shell of an egg on the sidewalk
and watched it crisp under the sun, the way my arm
and the back of my neck has crisped, i aimagine myself
crisping similar to pork, when it has been dipped once,
dipped again, and, like this egg, bubbles.

the thermometer is broken; it has decided to move to florence.

restless

Massachusetts, New Hampshire, Vermont.
Vermont, New York, Vermont.
Vermont, New Hampshire, Massachusetts, New Hampshire, Vermont.
Vermont, California, everywhere in between,Vermont.
Vermont, New Hampshire, Maine, New Hampshire, Vermont.
Vermont, Croton Point Park, Vermont.
Vermont, over the pond, Vermont.
Vermont, Montreal, Vermont.
Vermont, somewhere new, Vermont. 
Vermont, Martha's Vineyard, Vermont.
Vermont, New Hampshire, stop.

Wonder when you're coming home. Wonder if you'll be able to find me.

hair saturated with the smell of bonfires old trees hot coals (eyes too)
thinking about letters and postage stamps on the drive home (always do)
dreaming about reading this new book I have aloud to you
I don't think you'd see the beauty in it
I read it to myself in bed and tiny strands of smokey hair fall into the corners of my mouth I taste you
I tell myself that's what it is
your ghost

out of the tool box, into the garbage

i am that little spot on the wall,
the salamander slime trailing behind all things
the jungle cat lost in the wrong woods
the moon on a sour night
the little details
something peculiar
the strands of hair
the cheese platter served with the wine
the cats eyelids
a dogs nose
a friend
a lost comrade
alone
voice
I am the single cactus through the barren wastes.
I am THAT guy
Im the squeaky door hinge that tries to remains silent.
Im the bar of soap
the gatorade
the trumpet song

I am the elephant, though not the one who needs to be concerned over.
Im the one that forgets
I am the coward
as yellow as anxiety makes me
Ive trapped myself in my own little room
and I dont know what I did with the key.

I am the whiner
the egotistical selfcentered no one,
who knows what theyre talking about
in the way that no one really knows
The prophet, the one whos figured it all out,

if I figured it all out,
why then is it all still so topsy turvy?

I almost bought a book today, about being the white knight, the "army of one" warrior through life.
It was too bibley for my tastes, but reminded me its ridiculous to ponder such drivel when everyone feels theyre in the same boat.
And thats the compulsion, the impulse.
We're just trying to be like everybody else. Especially when we try to stand out.
and be unique.

I eat the dreams of children who are lost

This little boy, no taller than about a couple of feet he walks up to me and holds out his little pale lobster hands and he calls out to me with a sound I could not even begin to describe.

The organ grinder is still and the sky is glowing lavender. My harpschiord no longer makes the right sounds, cat screams pouring out of the hyperventilating rat. Looly loo this purple shark floats above us waiting for the next patient to dance into the emergency room. He bites my knit cap off and I am without conscience

I don’t think I want to eat the dreams of children anymore.

(another transcribed from my illustrious art history notebook)

first I eat CAKE

then i fuck cats. lots of pussy. in dark alley ways andnight skys under hot parkinglot building ehcoeing cement. easy niquil induced sleep brings me closer to god. cake has frosting so sweet my gums bleed. eating up the whole of the world. tendrils seek out the jelly filled middle of the world. All is calm. all is chaos on the moving train. the surge of the desert is deep but the ocean is swift. wail song lingers in my mouth brine drips over my lips the seas of the sky are parting. cinamon expanses heave and roll life-like and slithering like so much kneaded bread. The earth is only the shell of a snail we oze and slime and breath through our sides yellow cheese cake, corn bread and slime. easy waking dreams collected like so many out dattted magazines. we are the best. the worst. here is our last great monument to sodomy our last indulgence. I always chew the host. Its one last waking moment before the earth howls and your brain shuts down. One last shining pictograph before sleep.

ambrogio loerenzetti
-presentation at the temple: consult and share journey man
-allegory of good governement
bichorna tablets
-book covers. closing report for end of elected term.

(Transcribed unaltered form my art history notebook again)

Street smart copy cats eat ten pounds daily checate cheese crescendos spiraling back across galaxys a the apex of the halogen colider in the fine art of conversation traped in the aperature of the single note piano each cream filled orange blooms in the light of the night of actual antiques mysteries humming and churning like so much stomach chyme. rolling and gasping like two lovers spawning deep throaty tendrils grip like summer's last breath bask in the never ending waterfall of lush green heart of the mormon makes love to a cadalac. the engine heat beyond the pass of the first endevors lays the realm of saturn. orange shinny motled clay against the black. Dost did cross an albatros stricken with disentary and mold. Made true by the knashing of teeth and evil sperm filled mumified popes. each long cross section of brain showed sign of decay and every time she spoke the air shook with something like broken glass and lies. Dark broody caves of guilty habit stare with beedy orange eyes. Small teeth that eat fingers who like a snake engorged flesh under scales and tight. each angel sings in teh shower.

(there is a small sketch of humping bunnies at the end.)