Undiscovered Onomatopoeia

qua are their dreams?

I put on everything in my closet. to wear it all at once. to wear it all at one. I go out, hating the hipsters, envious of them, watching them be who I can never be, who I never was, who I always want to understand. I watch the houses as I pass them, wanting them, sexually, wanting the design on my skin, wanting the care-taking that comes with upper-echelon home-ownership. what does it mean to want a house? the shingles rub my skin. I’m still not warm. I put on her clothes. I wear her. I wear her smell. still chill. the elusive warmth drives me to farther ends. who are these people, qua are their dreams, that I cannot own, cannot contain? i’ll peel it, lengthwise, that I’ll feel better. I have multiple pots and tiles. I have many unlit candles. I have a tv on in the other room, the room gets dark. the unopened bottle of wine taunts the opened turned bottle with its youth. turned. the lost book hole in the bookshelf. i pick it up and put it back on again. were that you were here. i’d be warmth.   

loverly,

Joshua Endsley Klein

qua are their dreams?

junkLit #4

2011?

built nor birthed

Men build things,
intentionally,
to knock them down
Women birth things,
intentionally,
to grow them up.
the death of sight
includes deep within it the longful iterating echoes of shiny wet warmths all sloppy
and safe
the cool air on our cheek, the biting breath of life, the subtle loss of security and shame
we let it fall away, it leaves us,
bracing,
slouched,
and older than thou.
If only - - we could see it coming.
the thought on the horizon,
and never built,
nor birthed.

Joshua Endsley Klein

built nor birthed - working

3/3/12

YHVH

Dearest YHVH
whose name I cannot say,
gather the unanswered articulations
fret not the questions - our motivations

yet take this the
taste of blood off
of my tongue
and leave those
my stuttered prayers
undone.  

Amen.

Joshua Endsley Klein

1.16.12

the dirty
(junkLit #3)


Condo and King
battle it out in the epic good vs.
boring giant spider fights in tandem taverns
unlit

Mr. Condo opens with a right hook,
to the surrealist ideals of realism and juxtaposition
knocking Mr. King asideways and slammed upon
the barely holding walls

of nostalgia - Schwinn Bicycles, red riders
redvines, Chucks, and cool breezy nights
Northern.

Stephen is not phased, vexed, displeased,
he knows when the frenetic burns away, and the
painter tires out,
left will be the warm crackle of fire
and words, words, words,

win out. Good, Bad, or boring.
Words win out. So says the thousand
million photogs witness

to the insurrection. So say brushstrokes, dust, and clamor.
So say all the silent eyes smiling, so say the languid language
unhinged and jarred, so say the serious slips, so say imperious quips  
so we say in The Fall.

So say,
we All.  

Joshua Endsley Klein

the Dirty – junkLit #3

7/19/11