Honestly, I'm a Liar, & Other Balances & Imbalances

November 27, 2016


Filed under: Uncategorized — Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , , — namelessneed @ 10:39 am



“Life is short, and Art long; the crisis fleeting; experience perilous, and decision difficult.”  -Hippocrates

.“In the fog you are sheltered against the outside world, face to face with your inner self. Nebulat ergo cogito.” (fog therefore I think) -Umberto Eco

April 13, 2015


My ache in my neck

Disables him some

His taking this strange stretch

To check out this chart, um,

On one wall, like  Art,

To notice how tonight’s moon might

Look w/its own share of sunlight.

For  my/

Ache in my neck/ Sorry/

I’m hostage to/


October 20, 2014

What were they thinking

I’m not to leave town

I’m a faceted test pattern  blinking

Personas of interest  renown

Only to the  powers that be


Ok  I get cagey  occasionally

Ok  yet I remain w/the reminder

Of stoic  stands  that been

Lost, inconsequential,

Cost  monumental  to just a man

seattle 2014 065

image: “Hell’s Ditch” by me

April 17, 2014


There ought better be a beacon
on a pacific coast cliff could be
where hope’s light works with a sea horn
where a night light works with a warning
forces & forges the blackest fog & forests

There can be a candle
in a window with enough heat
to fire the hearth
to light one lone solitary stone room
(from 2010)
.”Writing is nothing more than a guided dream” -Jorge Luis Borges

February 3, 2014


I’m so sore I’m sure to call out

And I suppose   surprize them

That’ll  alert them to my hurt

An open wound now

I’ll flinch & grimace

& limp away as surprized as Lazereth

Aware of all this again

.for Phillip, Rest in peace

December 6, 2012

Solid Things





There’s this secret I’ve kept so discreet

From lovers, & brothers, & mothers.

I’ve mis managed to become  so mum

It was only clearer to me

After  self therapy

The  other day,  or another.


From  this  encompassing  dream,

I   finally  wanted

All the  solid things  I was sold  to get,

When it’s important  to want one.


I   Get

Silk  batik ties, Italian silk shirts,

Mostly-silk  jackets,

Dry cleaned,  & all in the closet.


I  Wait For And Get

Too new Peter & P.J., Gabriel and Harvey,

Unheard of, they’re still in their jacket.

Too new Laurie Anderson, Richard Thompson,

Unheard of, they’re still in their jacket.


I  Waited  For  &  Get a

Big  Bio book   of Elliott Smith,

and the case is still closed


I   Get

New  Yorker’s

Drawings  &  Captions

All of them  (All these years)

Data   on   disc

unplayed  &  unsmiled  to. (sadly)

I   Got

New  Yorker’s

Drawings  & Captions

The Board Game…



Why  I  With-hold

All  that  pleasure,

I haven’t a clue.

It’s half-like  holding  love

At arm’s length,

& watching it  do





November 28, 2012


Filed under: fragments, Uncategorized — Tags: , , , , , , , , , — namelessneed @ 8:48 am

I fear I forget that  the frail,

nearly unable, but

when from a whisper of will,…

when they muster an incalculable

measure of Reach

to straighten, and lean up

for what’s due

That’s a lot to wait for


The  freshest  thing in the clearing

by the pond’s sunk boat,

near a nest, There’s this ringing

drop, I thought,   just now  dotting

one leaf, left,  just new

by the dew

That’s what I wait for















big thanx for use of the luscious image to


November 21, 2012

Ending An End Chapter






If there would be woods where

Where  in a light clearing  inside

One could hear a pen drop  symphony

I’d see to it  I’d go back to it

I’d go back to a lower

Low key.


Sure, I can, and her, end an end chapter here

Here where sugarcane flourishes

Where swamp orchid garnishes

What you see

(Or maybe  maples run sweeter for her and me)


He’d hoped they’d elope to  low profile

In fact, go back to a lower

Low profile.


November 13, 2012

My Own Parade

Filed under: fragments, rhyme — Tags: , , , , , , , , , , — namelessneed @ 1:58 pm





Walking, mostly in clockwork close meter,

Warmer ghosts  from my former  features;

All the roles, All the resume’,

Falling in line,  just the crew to rescue me.

Faded as sad old soldiers,

Vain fantasies say old glories.

Again, always, They had  heaved it all in a chest.

Again, always, they had heaved in their chest

& took it to heart.


I’ll call it for you  my own VFW

hall. I have my own tall tales to tell,

We’ll share lies, & libations.

I’ll wear my  mightier  pen.

I’ll share  sham wisdom  wide open.

But first, false memories in verse.

& what’s worst,  I’ll con, & confide  open.





“I’m ready to go anywhere/ I’m ready for to fade/ Into my own parade”

—————-Dylan (the troubadour one), from “Mr. Tambourine Man”





“Every hero becomes  a bore, at last.”  -Ralph Waldo Emerson



November 10, 2012

Another Throwaway Film Review

Filed under: fragments, prose — Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , — namelessneed @ 10:36 am










what if

the differences

“menacing”  moonglare shadows;

stirred by high winds,

branches & loud leaves,

turn maniacal, turn  magical.

What if the differences  they made on

some moods some might have

early after just waking,

What if the difference they made was

benefitting  and lightened

awakening moods

like “I walked With A Zombie”  does.



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