e-mail: breakfin@obscuriosity.us website: http://Obscuriosity.US age: 24 passions: interacting with other artists and lovers of art in all forms also published in: Aslop Review, Agneiska's Dowry, The Beloit Poetry Journal, Dream Forge, Devil's Millhopper, Fairfield Review, The Ink Spot, Courtship of Winds, Moongate International, Rustlings of the Wind, Pith, Poetry Pipeline, The Stone Carver, A Generation Defining Itself - In our own Words, )ISM( [I apologize to the sources that I did not list above -- its been a long time since I updated my bio.] other accomplishments: http://Obscuriosity.US influences: Edward Cummings, Radiohead

Poetry

a snail yells weeeeeee while riding on a turtle's back and if words be words any longer beneath the roadways for there is more Something here is wrong she said: (somewhat less than excusable invariably

and if words be words any longer

and if words be words any longer
then by Love i will be silent
dizzy-potent -- glances
held firmly
against your frame

)if Love be blind
-then lust see all
(my intentions are pure
but i will be no aristo)(

delayed is the moment
and patience is elysium
The morning is a state of mind.

alert -- gentle-minuscule
(forgive me)

(somewhat less than excusable invariably

(somewhat less than excusable invariably 
resigned to the spinenumbing countercultureness 

;precise inklings like minute to second or eon 
to noneternity) lusting for its own exasperation 
bending soft wet lips to annihilation’s rosy cheek 
asking "am i your paramour? your evernor? 
your long blonde lusty sev’rd shore?" 

memories 
lap against the synapse as grey 
oceans of possibility expand and retract 
while the tide remains un 
-chang -ing 

perhaps awaiting heavn’ly intervention 
)a push me shy celestial juxtaposition( 
pulling forth frothyforgottens intwined 
with ancient maybestills better suited 
for the bottom where appreciation is 

offered with more chalance than the 
ultradulled undertowed response from slices 
of chance encounters 

a snail yells weeeeeee while riding on a turtle's back

a snail yells weeeeeee while riding on a turtle's back
and a fish out of water stumbles into a universe

(and in between we have coffee and cigarettes and tax returns and scabby knees 
and funerals and magazines and wristwatches and Love and papercuts and babyshowers)

life dances on a sunray
pleasantly balanced on a beesting
weeeeeee
(forgive me)

Something here is wrong she said:

Something here is wrong she said:

this place is disarray; enchanting
-lost and seething
(maybe i just remember it wrong
and by Place
time retries)

nineteen.
..no twenty grains of salt
on the table
or did i count one twice
"god why am i counting?"
and why do i care enough
to start over-even as the waitress
is asking me questions
(or telling me lies)

the man in the opposite corner booth
could make a nice spy with a little fine tuning
(maybe if he got his teeth whitened
and switched his brand of cigarettes)
....or maybe that's just his disguise

beneath the roadways

beneath the roadways
was the certain taste of green
the lively scent of purple
and every hue that lie between

all i could see
was our hands meshed together
our forefingers dancing
her palm listening to mine

we walked on
silver grass and broken glass
and rainbows of 
the shouting mass

her caressing eyes
trained on putrid skies
were all we had
to taste the size

for there is more

for there is more 
intangibility in your substance
than is sleeping for you to dream

(hands are rough and may scratch
the all to break 
-ing hull
of your night's work)                                 -o

but remain endentured to
the factory of your waking

where never can the knobs be turned
on the unhinged doors that confine you

and no man may reach the sill
of walless windows