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3/12/13 Maus Nomdeguerre

March 13, 2013

Lethe comes quick

respite and torture

as it was designed


Small white continents

raised in flesh

when I miss


Time crawling past

mushing gaba receptors

snowballs of time


It’s a mess.

Why hide it?



I cast myself now

as the doctor from

Cities of the Red Night


Just a costume

a loss for words

a brim to pull down


Death comes quick

when it finally does

Where’s the rush?


Words upon waking. Maus Nomdeguerre 2/9/13

March 13, 2013

Pete Seeger is the

only original

Weaver you’ll see

down here in the

Heart of Saturday Night.

5:38 am

2/8/13 by Maus Nomdeguerre

March 13, 2013

1:00-2:25 am

a knot


a square know

clean, back in on itself


it joins

and doesn’t slip

unlike it’s switch

like I should be

and yr not.


2:28 am

Smoke billows

from the rasp

that could have been

a song so sweet

no tears would be enough

with poignant notes

and longer pregnant silence

now only smoke

and not the slightest

betrayal of discontent

New Year’s Resolutions 12/31/12-1/22/13 Maus Nomdeguerre

February 8, 2013

Fishing for the bindi
of your dozen storied impact
on this stolen anniversary
icebound by miles
from the fevered jubilation
seeking respite in the Twilight Zone

The words don’t come to rescue
like they used to
they come to mock or don’t come at all
they hang you from a stanza

knotted bale twine to larynx
twisted piano wire to pen fingers
the ink dry
the trail run out
endless highway to nowhere
that’s sure to get you there

I haven’t figured out how
to mobius strip time
to get to that balcony
with my heart reversed
to get to that doorway
with you braced against
the world encircled in my arms
tears flowing and alcohol
roiling in our forebrains

I can’t pull you through
some worm hole physics
to now, the last year blank
forgotten, an extra year
to add to the end

To bring you to life
would be to make you backward
there was enough stalling
after all the warnings
enough waiting, all the lies
prophecies dreams books
scribbles pills needles
false promises stupid
meaningless loves and
situational self deceptions

I don’t have a glass to raise and
don’t have the energy
to track down a syringe
or a twelve story building
from my frozen hermit hole.

I miss you my friend
you were the last one who could have told me anything
I’m all full up of knowing now
and lusting for your endless dreaming
if only it were real, if anything were
What I really want to know is, Todd,
is if I can come… if a step
off a balcony is just a leap of faith
that you sit at the extra-
dimensional table with just enough
definition to grasp an ever overflowing mug
enough that I might embrace you again
and share hot tears on frozen cheeks–

There’s nothing here but more nothing
soulless languageless throngs
the beaten and those that ride over roughshod
satellites and those that will never reach them

I’m slowly switching from morphine
to whiskey pretending at vitality
when I’m already cold in the ground
wherever you are, pumping this
detuned bagpipe of flesh thru the earth

I think its best to wish
for a high-speed collision
in a half-dream and
just the two headlights
in the end.

check the sounds

November 10, 2012

may 2012 sound pome Maus Nomdeguerre

July 22, 2012

Mired in the

muddle of

middle thoughts

discussion of

dusty discursions

doing diddly-squat

I murmur in disgust

me becomes might

becomes murder

we welcomes work

welcomes wisdom

dismember disremembeirng.

5/5/12 PM Maus Nomdeguerre

July 22, 2012

Throwing on

wrinkled leather


train rumbles past

mountain wind whips


“don’t forget the

parking brake



lightning flashbulbs in

rearview tells of thunderstorm

that never hit me