Biography of BLT REI
I like things. What are pretty colors? Colors that are pretty. I also like to do things.
BLT REI Poems
It’s late, too late to be raining The dog does not walk the old man. The teenage buzz drowned in yesterday’s paper.
The Sound Of The Gong Goes 'Gone'
In the surburbanned cavorting of my dirty knee youth... the smells anchored me in orange slices clean cut grass
Take your house... the sunken in foundation, the creaks and the aches, the syruppy moat of moalasses where the do gooders and their platitudinal well wishes slowly drown. it's your world, your house, where the familar leaky faucet drips 'stay inside, stay put', the incessant drafty gloom-bedridden in moss, the forever spiraled stairs of certain death.
Thorns And Hearts
I'd prefer your thorny comfort to soft, wet petals of a misty rain I prefer it now as I did then drifting slowly to sleep
Your Tail Lights
your hairlights at an arm's indifference
I Dreamt In Whispers
I dreamt in whispers… the calm azure canvas
You were a thin, yellowed man; Raped history, scorched earth In your own time.
wee-man! ! ! I lost my weed man.
Sound And Furry
signifying something? shave and be clean?
What It Took...
Not the endless lists of daggers Not the saturation of gloom Not the sands of bitter time down an unquenched gullet Not the replays of replays of you walking away from me so so gracefully
Mad Summer Nights
The mad summer evening stretches its thin weakened blue across the sky The mad men stir in their soon doom.
My Cursory Prose
your brevity my long-winded plume of circomlocation your whimsical parasailing
The Low Man
“My hole life’s in limbo” -he muted as he was cautiously lowered. The tears at his wake
It’s late, too late to be raining
The dog does not walk the old man.
The teenage buzz drowned in yesterday’s paper.
Spring love stays in to watch February’s movies.
You were not at the park with your tan and carefree play.
I did not approach with junebugs in my hand.