handsomedogs:


Obie / / Alexa Lindh

handsomedogs:


Obie / / Alexa Lindh

handsomedogs:


Obie / / Alexa Lindh

I Sing the World Paraplegic

Up til now
the world paraplegic
Paleozoic, using half mind half a lifeless swath an now holy hell awaking
the lady whodathunk the white men making their calls making their whitest manliest moves for centuries an only now the picture comes
in view half a mind holy ‘mole the thoughts and dreams of the lady folk force dreams dreams dreams like an erring aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa


Up til now whose
dreams ha’ been bound
ha’ been paralyzed an now dreaming aloud making (me) white men shiver making (me) white men shame an if ever our world did err or errything it is now an with both sides of the brain up til now honey dreams heard were mens and mine and now nightmare now a great big blaring aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa through history echoes back

An what a terror? An what future will the amplified folk bring? The lady futura the hard knock futura my ladies I release you. You are not mine an I release you. You release yourself an I still say I release ya. What would ya do without me? welcome to this pandemic age, man made.

Man made like lemonade but not atol like the black quarry stone not at all like the whimper of straggling hair on her cancered head. Not the things I can speak of or bear or see or pollute, only the future remains. Only the days unseen. While my time has been bright and Mello, I have not saved I have not saved. This is my guilt.

This is silt in a sandstorm. This is the thinning arms the thinning face the useless leg. It worked last Thursday, ye sandwiches, ye infusion syringe on yr counter. This week not so much.

We, my dog an I, sing songs like that where you think “why?”
and no answer resounds because time because pup because why not because the present is moving faster than the speed of death. Because we are caught. Because we have lived hunted lives, we are hunted. What about me my heart my soul, what about my enemies and the folks that’d rather drag my face down the front of the empire state bldg? Let me tell ya: dreams don’t mean it I didn’t mean it forgive me I have been haphazard and today is a closing palm.

D’you ever think we reached these ends before do ya wanna see the end or is the collective dream now made up of things outside you beyond you more human than you less human I remember hearing my mom talk about how time goes faster time slips away the older you get and it isn’t talk it’s real and it isn’t getting older that does it it’s just getting older that tunes you in the radio is always playing and time is only going faster and faster and faster and I only echo

And tho the things I cannot speak o die and tho o I too go to o futura I will not join or understand your brave minded works I will not be your world. Past these letters I have already traded places. Have already bartered for my soul. Have already traded and given. For what? For whom? These are further things I cannot tell

(i have loved and you have loved well)

Gallop to the Gallows

An allergen? No, the man is the clown who saw God the Father and taunted him with the Horsehead Nebula. He is the dusty lung stuff coming off a street sweeper. You know this guy? Not content with being a basket case just in case he says just in case. Never met a man who blinks your eyelids for you. Never met a man who follows you through the grocery store, tearing your heel with the front end of his cart. He is a carnival creature, all laughter and forced baritone. Here okay, take my achilles tendon, take my wobbled fatty footpads. Be done with ewe. A A A comic ogre a billy-goat orchard, this guy has his fingers in every pocketbook but your wife’s. How many ways do I gotta spell this out for you? He’s a Zima corporate logo stitched to a windbreaker. The guy is the Hollywood Video of reflections. Throw up your wallpaper, throw up your hands, let’s edge him out, push the world bigger and bigger and swoll til he gets pushed off the gal’s balcony. That’s the end of the road, y’know? No more road. Or I would’a done all that but his Nile slick arms escape me his carton-of-eggos-a-day keeps me at bay his vannah white blight it gets outta hand. He’s a leper from me because he can hardly be seen, y’see? He ain’t much, just the dust on a sneeze.