Tuesday, November 20, 2007

Boogaloo Dudes

Carry the news.

Trying not to stress T-day but man do I need to get out of here. A glass of vino. Fresh air. Cow manure. Something. Just can't breathe right now. Doesn't help my computer doesn't have speakers. Suckthis.

Knee deep in invoices and profit sharing quarterly reports and sales and outreach. I need music damnit!! I can't add without beats. I can't see trends without notes. I'm thinking I need a personal day or two.

I still can't breathe.

Wrote something about my dream last night and, apparently, sex. We'll see.

Aubade, my bad

(I’ll stand as a beacon. A pyre spending light
across a million miles of time, waiting
for that one day for receiving a message,
a signal back—
All of Christ comes to those who wait—
Yes, you are still waiting,
static, resting, pulsing, I sing I see,
and have been this whole time.
I think I understand.)

The good book tells me to find love
in a man, hold out my lamp, seethe
and burn with trimmed wick. Sold.
Come die with me the good death then,
as a phoenix comes and comes again,
violently in the night as trumpets call it over.
I’ll wait if that’s what it takes.
I’ll wait like the last whisper of breath at death
I’ll wait when the leaves of autumn fall
I’ll wait buried deep in the ash.

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