Sock monkey• Show poetry

I know I haven't posted anything for what, 2 years... my muse just shut the hell up. I have been reading a lot of my old work. A lot of it is certainly in need of, well, revision. It's been nice to read those nice old comments, too. This is an awesome web site. Very supportive.

If you've missed me, I am sorry about that. I wish you well. Maybe someday I will return with new stuff. Till then thanks for visiting.

s.m.

You're looking at Tom Waits, buddy.

I have a weird sense of humor, I'm shy, I laugh in inappropriate situations. Very interested in mental health issues. I live in Austin, TX, USA. I squash hamsters and make earrings with the bones. I love the music of Tom Waits and Nina Simone. I love "Mystery Science Theater 3000" and Monty Python. I've been an insomniac since as long as I can remember.


Watch Her Disappear by Tom Waits and Kathleen Brennan

Last night I dreamed that I was dreaming of you and from a window across the lawn I watched you undress
wearing a sunset of purple tightly woven around your hair
that rose in strangled ebony curls moving in a yellow Bedroom light
The air is wet with sound
The faraway yelping of a wounded dog and the ground is drinking a slow faucet leak
Your house is so soft and fading as it soaks the black summer heat
a light goes on and a door opens and a yellow cat runs out on the stream of hall light and into the yard
a wooden cherry scent is faintly breathing the air
I hear your champagne laugh
you wear two lavender orchids one in your hair and one on your hip
a string of yellow carnival lights comes on with the dusk circling the lake in a slowly dipping halo and I hear a Banjo tango
and you dance into the shadow of a Black Poplar tree
I watch you as you disappear I watch you as you disappear
I watch you as you disappear...



"How to tell if you are the sensitive poet type: Are you 'different'? Do you feel 'special'? Are you 'complicated'? Do you enjoy 'poverty'?"
--Matt Groening, old "Life in Hell" cartoon.

"I feel sorry for you, you zeros! You nobodys! What's going to live on after you die? Nothing! That's what! This house will become a shrine, and punks and skins and rastas will all gather round and hold their hands in sorrow for their fallen leader. And all the grown-ups will say, 'But why are the kids crying?' And the kids will say, 'Haven't you heard? Rick is dead! The People's Poet is dead!' And then one particularly sensitive and articulate teenager will say, 'But kids, do you understand nothing? How can Rick be dead when we still have his poems?'"
--Rick, while trying to commit suicide with laxative pills, on British comedy show from the '80s, "The Young Ones". (Rent or buy it on tapes or DVD!)