March 2010
1 post
2 tags
call beauty, call to death & dying.
(c) 2004-2010 i.m. ruzz
Sallow-skin stinking & felled as old dead-wood. lost for losing & cleaved of will to fight, now spent—you’d best to lay there till everything runs calm and blood colors nothing no more red and wanted. You ain’t enough to win. This fight comes more headed than the junction of wire keepin’ you bound. More knotted than the spine of a young lover twisting to...
October 2009
1 post
birth
and i won’t hold on to anything. no more cajoling, steering, encouraging or death grips. there were too many years of that. i will take what is given and the rest of it, what was wanted, needed, or feared will wash away, forgotten. and i won’t split my energy on scarcity, or uniqueness, or ugly need. i won’t drain myself into the sea of should’ve been, wished it was, or...
September 2009
1 post
september
a thousand wings beat dark of night away, halting the hands & mouths of empty city dwellers. backed to cold brown-stones I watch as orange’d bellies overhead heft toward, thrust away, come canopy of wild heaving flesh. a litany of calls break this black-night. They lure amber traffic-lights to hold their freight for only a moment more. buried deep & weak a signal is read & sung...
July 2009
1 post
ain’t got no one who much cares for my pains. ain’t right it’s so, but it is so.
May 2009
1 post
demons of love
demons of love, © 2003-2009 i.m ruzz
she’s set there in the slack and sallow amber glow of a single interior car lamp. surrounding her a sheet of black gloss; the night weeping dark rains. her hair pulled tight to her brow but for an errant skein of wispy brown suggestions. he fusses, shifting awkawrd into the envelope of orange yellow, and settles next to her.
i wasn’t sure it was...
April 2009
2 posts
the wolf, the fire and the cold cold night
lovesong #51 by ruzz (© 2009 ruzz)
“sometimes i find i get to thinkin of the past” - tonght will be fine, L. Cohen. festooned upon a scraggle of rock & litter of breakwood you push on. the sun about you is a mouth closin & killin. & with closin & killin all the sound & warmth of kind meaingsome words is a dying memory. the dimming light gives way to a play of...
to sick to pray, lord. (part 2).
Untitled by ruzz (© 2002-2009 i.m. ruzz’ favorite sin)
“Oh and if there’s any love in me, Don’t let it show.” - Noah and the Whale
a quiet voice calls incessantly, weeping out of the long arc of a meaningless life. begging without need, wanting without desire. a twisted knot of hair-thin thought tangled in the opening & closing of a tired & filthy mouth....
February 2009
2 posts
too sick to pray, lord.
it comes to you late one night. not eniterly a thought, or feeling so much as what you know in your skin, your hair. it settles over you quiet and coarse—this sickness without beauty. once had, and sure’d, and known it’s a light you swing around you. A hard arc of sadness and loss built on your mother’s belly & breasts. your father’s slick’d hair and stained...
the bringing
this dead man’s face lilt & graying breaks like waves of wet kisses & absence. soiled & so broken bound in skin so thin felled, not fallen for just one-last alabaster night. & we homeless kings absolute rulers of sewn lips, glued eyelids, tend columns of fallow meaning reliable as old-birth-hips. till grey skin lilt & light, bleached charcoal bone, scoured white, darkens...
November 2008
3 posts
as i lay dying
the fall is not the flesh hurtling through the open air as you always feart. it is not punctuated by cracked-bone vibrating through young blood. there is no half-moon of shocked watchers circling silent. no grey stone & metal above. it is not an end remembered, missed or much worried for.
there is no sway in rousing from halting sleeps. it does not rest, await, in the crushed footfalls of...
nearly thirty-five (poem)
fit-filled and restless sleep. dreams of red dress betrayal and beating that man insensible with old hard-wood and running, screaming lies into the song of summer’s last night. then waking with arms dead as frank sinatra while feeling marches cold down my limbs like death.
early 2006
a note (poem)
you may: kiss a lip a thigh a hip a breast the softest flesh of the throat finger tips or a clitoris you may not: kiss an eyelid a cheek the forehead or the bulbous tip of a tiny nose
January 10th, 2008
October 2008
1 post
5 tags
heavy machinery of meaning
this time you can’t just load up, tighten your shoes & walk. this one you can’t. go on & walk till your sore but you ain’t makin no ground against it. you ain’t gunna see the end of it. you can fight all you want. it’s almost sweet how hard you fight. forget it. sweet-hurts. forget it, this was decided before you licked your first fattened-thigh.
soonday...
September 2008
4 posts
tremble with terrible flames.
my knuckles are hard white. my hands pulse, a dying heart with dirty fingernails. clasp. open. clasp. open. it doesn’t help. it can’t.
there is no language thought to hold you. no words to lull you or call you or deliver you. i twitch. close my eyes. pull air so deep so long pink lungs grow orange and alight. fat tired eyes ease, release. hand, again, clasps. opens. white and red...
you walk upon this river
you walk soft upon this river full. a life rushing. a pulse beat wet and deep and full and real. you walk upon this river and hold fast to breakrock and scraggle. you hold fast to late night goodbyes with cabs a wait. you hold deadly to i can’t and it’s complicated. you can’t hold on any longer and are swept passed. away. past away. who won’t let go for love for night and...
To fall through the dark to darkness.
its come time to open your mouth and call out whatever you can. speak and speak till love comes to you. they’ve lined up their ear pieces and hang in waiting. row after row of empty vessels for your filling. and you’re upon this and your tongues gone flaccid. your minds dancing feckless with bits of dust and dead skin caught b’tween your eye and midday sun. you find yourself...
this is an awful sort of hello
my ol’ mind was full and frothy all night till now. it took longer to layout this page than it should’ve and i lost it somewhere between the filter and the bitter. you can’t hold on too tight, you know?
what ever happens when you do anyways?
this here notch on your bedpost is just a place to work out longer deeper thoughts now that my thoughts have some time to coelesce again....