It Makes me think

It Makes me think

 I can live with this

This dark cold morsel

Particle of particals

I can go out

there

And mingle

And mosh

And glide.....to the next

    negative space

I will Light a candle

 in a niche

 of a cavern

 in a cave

Of a system

That blows the mind

a flickering

Flame

flame the same shape

as a drop

of water or a tear

Jessebercowetz.com

like emeralds---- Myanmar 1/14

 We were like emeralds floating
in the flesh
of her ripe face.
Even so
          was personality.
Allowing  us
        to undress
her drift.
Good-day!
Out had caught up with us.
A vacuum gurgle
like Jello
through a straw.
We waved lemon's lime
to the jam in her
stretched-strong arms.

 We were the droplets
letting    on aluminum.
Slinking down her
Mountain  Dew.

We eddied C O 2
with a horny repetition.
We were like the whipped
spewing out her cream
broad nose.
She drew us
  legs
We were the chaise
 of her lounging
plush tongue.







Sent from my corn flakes

As if Art 10/13 VN

As if art is good
at what it is.
As if bad was all
the rage.
And evil is doing
what it does next.
As if over
some itch.
And these purple flowers,
shadowy scratch-
pasted to this scabbed up wall.
With all the rainy karaoke
our world could ever want.
As if your colors
are to root for.
And the mud is so deep.
So wet.
It keeps the elbows dancing.

Moisture 10/13 VN

Moisture holds
the dust down.
To leave
one day       hello.
Hellooo    hellooooo
The indigo stains all ages.
And crows feet cradle
young mother's eye.
Time is worth nothing
at least very little     here.
History is never   at cost.
You can't pay it away.
And who you meet
And who you learn
Can make it hurt   hard.
Justice is stupid  like
so many words.
It's basically and barely
no longer.

Whispers. Vietnam. 9/13

Whispers assured me.
In a sluggish accent
You could be quite cold.
The type to loose a limb-
Grumble an itchy texture.
I have the Urge to scrub down the cost of struggle.
Worthwhile is still part of the agenda
And Getting lost is west of town.


Jessebercowetz.com

Mystery. Vietnam. 9/13

Mystery is the staple of our design.
Calling.
High-end and comfortable.
Stunning beyond bolder.
Step forth.
Yes its our calling.
New love
wrapped around your finger.
Geometric is our undoing.
The heat and the rumble
and the crud in the lung.

One week. One time. One
ounce. Once... Shhh...

Hold me.
An absolute disaster.
Everyone...get it?
A ticking time bomb shine!
Take a look
All round any corner.
All round any world.

Today Was 'Twas. Vietnam

Today was 'twas 12:26 am
and it was every concept and every image
I've ever known.
Passed on by will and testimony.
Like an order from a slippery more sticky
menu -
The kind you haven't seen in two months.
The kind that reads in its second language
- banana slit.
Bleeding on thru the cheap.
Back-lit by some sunny-day.

Yesterday:
Spinning like a carpenters blade.
To be free of parents, patience, children.
Like cardboard taped to much
with rolls all over.
Pounding, flipped, slapped, sounding, satisfied.
And then there's love.
It's stuffed inside chunks of white poly.
Dirty cells chucked like fruit-
soaked in stuff that makes you fall down.
Scattered amongst stains of kiss.
And pissed-off smudge beater.
Court supervision and funeral expenses.
In most states
embalming is not a law.
Floating bones to the bottom of big sea.
Where sunny-day and stars
can't-not reach humerus or tooth.

Town. Vietnam.

Before I left town
town was all so dumb.
Town the town is a slow learned magazine .
A sky-line of paper
cups and rolling hills.
Street lamps stagger
like drunkin sloppy.
Town needed a good friend like me to hold it up.
Better town have you as deputy.
You to tap the cords.
You to bleed the lines.
You to keep town town.

Deckled Walls

Sometimes I get pissed.

Then I'm reminded.

There once was a time 

monsters had no clear edges.

And bound in a instant.

People had heard of a boy 

with chopped hands.

His awards for penmanship.

Dexterous toes 

building deckled walls.

Stacked journals that study to the ceiling.

Anything O Anything. Vietnam.

Anything o anything
That keeps you smart at night.
Like friends, like dogs or books.
Like technologies own stuff.

Anything o anything that keeps you in all in.
Marriages flood like wires in Asia.
Friendships love arrangement.
Family dear family.
I talked it over and I believe.
She believes.
The hound dog believes.
Stuff is what faith is made of.
We set it all up flesh to flesh to flesh.
Centered like all good pieces.
Right before clang tosses to the left.

So far to the left that it kills you.

In A Room. Vietnam.

I was staying in a room
with rectangles and water.

Behind and caught lagging
soaked up to salty.

You like a waterfall film
plastered overlooking the free-way.

Our concept of opportunity
was floating in a bed of saffron
rice spanked to shrill
over flowing with crumble.

What sizzled was all splatter torn
tears and tears...
With a point and a bulge.
Just like how so.
When gods built them so.

Vietnam 9/7

Before I left town
town was all so dumb.
Town the town is a slow learned magazine .
A sky-line of paper
cups and rolling hills.
Street lamps stagger
like drunkin sloppy.
Town needed a good friend like me
to hold it up.
Better town have you as deputy.
You to tap the cords.
You to bleed the lines.
You to keep town town.

Lord Knows. Vietnam. 8/24/13

And lord knows even heaven burns out.
And islands drown to good lies.

You don't need a permit to sip on sanctuary.

You can taste the clouds pre-cushion.
Plummeting betrayal's done job.

You can win and fight by worshiping the sun.
And you can make hot auto love-
Sunk slowly into the lake depth.

That Way. Vietnam. 8/24/13

It had always been that way
Our people soaked in pain
Creeping along that path
Never crossing that river
Never hugging the bush
It has mostly been that
both then and now and tomorrow
Our teeth will become powder
Our fist burst into flow
What we do and don't are desires rule
And now just a puddle
Now just a cup of tea
An infant can drown by either
I love you shitty me -you the fuck of us all
I will remember our dirty lousy hell
with plant life and sweet insects and the lies between our ears
I will recall the flicker riding from flame to flame flicker
Passing in and it
pure up and up and gravity trickle low
In the time of twisted bones and goitered flesh
Smiles so large
they make you cry in private places
Fashions metal steel iron
geometric down runways flanked
Livers, kidneys, intestines
How do you mend a severed head
And what kind of jewel is appropriate
and how many pills does it take
And will the shades blank blank the shadows whole

Uncle. Vietnam. 8/24/13

The uncle of heaven
brought down
upon us
mould spun by sages.
Our hearts revealed it
ten lakes later.
Ever since the beginning of time.
Aunt.
Wands centrifugally curing the pour
with never knowing.

Invaders. Vietnam. 8/24/13

Invaders danced on the chieftain's
young skull.
Horses sneezed lazer beams.
The fortress was after all
just some really cool baskets
staggered up.

Your Heart. Vietnam. 8/20/13

Theres stuff to do with your heart.
Theres time to write in the sweat of your dark summer.
To peal my hands from your bruised thighs.
To mouth the horn's hollow buzz
Unhinged the door is hung to flail
Founding some new place.

A time when my hot breath coats
your strong neck.
My tongue carves your clavicle.
My cheek-bone learns quick to fill your sternum.
And we can rejoice all torn up,
mixed to shreds, worked over with fluids and fearlessness .

Let it began. Vietnam 8/20/13

Let it began final

I Let it
began.
The wish I would-
to be time on time.
Days.
I true trade a day for a day.

Months whip-lapped out of hiding
from dusk's dusty white sheets.

Years are the tear-less eyes of astronauts.
Seasons play their game on your chevron cheeks .
The bridge of your nose.
Your lips so full I could build a boat on them.

My throat chokes the years.
Such a fist-fight in my mouth.
The I am not a boat builder years.
The land-locked years.

Trust you are known
my decades.
To not be what my decades.

Storm Struck. Vietnam 8/20/13

All the storm-struck
stories fray
Snaggerty of Eventing's fold
Upward Where the Tall points hear

My internals crinkle shhh

Where the Pent-up star-light
listens
to wounds that swallow

And Your third man being:
how come? and why not?
and if what then?

We have no frown for potential

Loving and swushing-weaps ever
wishing-wippled way

You Are the Sun. Vietnam 8/20/13

You are the sun of every scene
a pulse setting on concept
skip bulging with abstraction
locked up to a stray meringue
And that's four-lane for love.