poems by - daniel labarre low among the dazzled crowd, i steeped and weeped the tattered town. this place, i mean this sinking house, is stacked with miles of open mouths. to stop here is absurd. i see something feathered and tied. i peel the weathered walls aside. feel the rendered hide of pride wearing thin. so take these done and bended times, and chase the soul you left behind . . . no one's watching. white hot holiday, jagged speechless sunrise, and words across the sand. a run down waitress and the devil in my glass. teeth like bullets and stretch car seminars striking up the most unusual things. dirty spoken and wide open scratching out the math in a chinese moment. we love matchstick dramas and well engineered phenomena. it's like some new way to live in straight old hello america, blue lighted and on our disastrous way never listening at all to this lucid voice. and this is the way we build out south with hands of fire, an indian grave, left out languages, and a skin full of future. to sleep without windows is a rerun of past lives - soft red sunrise am i inspired? am i a liar? choices hold a world left long and old. to swallow this fate i create and disappear, making heaven clear your soft imagination drapes over            long                       immaculate eyelids and vessels stirring, half tamed and dying in the arms swaying             for the sudden shock. and i, not as full of time as you, but sinning over the nonsense in the tall old room where sometimes meets and sells a girl he made, even when i wore the stunted crown            of these humid towns. and seeing grateful gospel in the tempered form of solid light, leaping out over the water of our bones, we wait with remade vision and our souls spilling              over                    and                           over a silent hand whose shape i keep inside myself feels the sharp wet grass, breathing, human, seeing, blades for eyes. staring madly at a wall of counterfeit speech, stumbling at the feet of god and dreaming paris, i'm more comfortable alone. i sit stunned by the sweet orphan trumpets, the gentle feast of mornings, the beaten cabarets. amazed by an act of faith, dancing inside an idiot's mood, and consumed by the long true flame. lips chill the fragile wind, seek fringes of flowers, break the bending year. i awake in secret pools, wear the bones of a gray and pretty life, spit in the palm of this uneasy moment. needles, a black hat, useless erections, stone puppets, and the birds will send me a letter, create a new sin, bury the old song. no man is as the water or ice in early spring that bears him home. divine song forms its conception instead, as the wind in autumn's mouth. enterzen was bent like a pause grifter's used top. he had the lullsnaps to burn, but couldn't ride the vapor cuffs without the virtua fed neuro clips. sometimes he would blast new hardview from the third lens, but most days, just the steady, remode and delode his second coils till the cows came home. the langlefts came early this year and dumped lots of vibe-ultra for the sythesbian snuffers and power punked newsboys from the sick tubes. it was a crazy year, full of fucked-up demi mode frame stakers dazed on lag. but loadrunners like me worshiped profitable chaos like it was gad, and she was licking data from every hungry panel a skid could soil. so without my dataworm to attempt a breach into the bowels of the mai jack, i was fucked. mai jack. that's where the real squids got their blocks off. take a fake mask and find with hands of paint the numb and dumb we bear and fail for some hungry length. among the raging grey, the stains, the aching window panes, i see her almost shade, dawning in the veiled day like a liar at a masquerade. we touch the waking dim so fair and set ourselves to age and stare so hard we are mere ghosts upon the page. sometimes there's moment when the town is all apart and drama happy. i felt the engine calling, sold a best friend, stood behind the glass while animals went crawling. calm is not easy. people don't think, they dream years of tasteless scenes. i turn to her. we are both fallen and smooth, just minutes on the streets. we share a voice in the alleyways like tired ghosts melting at dawn, shapes dissolving in brilliant mexican chrome. sssspinning like a shiver wrong gone song bombs hhhhands into the river ate fate tastes slivers folds like paper slap! wrapps ffffflat ssssstats pull the trigger oil loyal toil foil steadyshines and fliggers fuck you a poem it's all baggage you can carry it's a reason that nods off in the morning it's a gun shot to the temple, at three a.m. it's your future calling and you can't go home it's a movie we were watching someday it's church heroin and saturday morning cartoons it's clear broken television glass it's the city stretching on for miles it's a hard road to mexico it's a slow religious fuck about the ears it's on and in and over your bones it's flat and smooth and kisses you below the belt it's every little tangled moment it's a circus shot a jump bank hard to the corner it's god and free beer it's proof aliens exist and the moon is blue it's late it's inside your out under and won''t make sense it's blah blah and yee haw and so flawed it can't be fixed it only rhymes twice so words will fit it's a slow bus ride to japan it's not afraid to say nigger motherfucker or spick kike wop fag dike suck lick open and pull out and shut it's ten thousand reasons and a soiled sheet histories of their own, stone structures push the gentle phantoms clear. faces of rust and i am the stage, curtains falling in my eyes. lead me to the hardened circus, the parody of perfect parade. take me, i'm a foiled mortal kept alive by clever age, clinging to some rare animal, counting every new breath. gone from the page, all i want is dangerous. and i have. she moves in circles like my lost and old. and we need. all is quiet past the idea of sound so tight in everything. and am i someone else's dream? just out of range of the white noise and the push? somehow i touch the static and break the screen, awakened by the hands of me. busting through the soft catdoor of the year, i moved to hills in france to study the falling shoes from a birds eye view. when i awake morning pulls out his teeth and throws them on the table like some new eyeball-saint. i laugh because these dense grey thoughts are brains only a boy can muster. but little girls and their wishes will race through next summer and the teenage dust of excitement will make a tree shake in your momma's fatpretty kitchens of fate . . take a thrill from the pill box and chase the edge of what's certain. show yourself and unfold blindly. i can see the form but cannot feel the shape. in shades of winter's shame, a message that cheats the truth - thirsts for a lie. i am the same as the sin shack revivalists they say god calls to arms. they speak to me now down below their honor and feeling thin. i would say the same to them if my mouth weren't speaking on its own of crowded motions, deliberate acts, and stabled grace. we are all soul and no face vivid notions and clear black space serpent in a hand bag, so don't touch me. i'm the cold loser, got a mouth full of scream. silver rain like mercury tears falling in the head box fears. mr. mumble, mad on caffeine, babble bastard on a jag riff, sees the crazy dolls on the rubber walls, gone through the tubes, and his world is small, flips through the moods, finds a shake mode groove. walking across the leisure sprawls, where it all comes apart, the evening falls . . . i found some god in an electric box. it's not alive, but it breaths and talks. mr. sunshine, gone mainline, talking the scatter riff. see the wide open hands reaching out to tangled strands, looking for the white flower, dazed drunk and on the fits. so worthless have become the hours dollars, nickles, souls devoured. a gloved shadow of memory concedes these hours, spits itself into the sky. where am i? the morning breaks open like a mouth of spirit. new speech persists - slashes the wrists hands of painted blue like eyes of strangers dance upon the troubled ice to tempt gravity and deny a killing fall. don't we all? mercury's daughter breaks. temptation is the pistol - held tight felt white i hear they're giving blow jobs to the monkeys, up on chorus boulevard, where the vicious boys are calling to their sidewalk queens from loud and ugly cars i was dreaming on the wire as shadows touched my hands. rattlesnakes were sliding across the white and wicked sands. feeding off the mirrors, i was watching all that shines. i found an empty space that tears the years from time. i know how to get off in this century. it's played like a broken instrument. i sing the wide loud song, write in bathrooms, dinner lounges, pouring over pages, just a boy. sure voiced graces speak the language, their bodies perched like stained sleepers pale and defused. shown no glamour shame. raise up yourself again. dirt true more than you. calm broke at waters view. the simple dumb and polite shook like dying leaves tonight. breathing all the dizzy fall, no one hears the bad girls call brother stole mothers keep. wine drowns the father's sleep. i held every busted doll, as across the floor my sister crawled. blown all hammers rang. fell hard most warm days. tempta fool dealt slow born light, stumbled in the hall tonight. spare blood the morning change. sift like shade and shape like rain. clean past, i want it. never dream again, can't touch it. no memory, what was it? sister saint's no angel. she conspires beyond the moon shadowed walls, slips through the cracks of my whore torn curtains. fingers of her burn. she's like a two dollar movie queen floating through the glory doorway, weightless as a glass echo, waiting for that sudden whisper, sliding across the body's halo thin sheet of a second sweeps smooth along, snake-like, down the well of your memory. flower faces, yellow eyed, star stripper, angel high. drink up sweet dizzy wishes. fall stumble honey. celebrate your immaculate rape on the spinning screen. joy junkie. some voice keeps tearing at my reason. some freak thinks he's on to real feelings but it's just a mirror state of bliss. god addict in a skyway tube gone mad from the vapors as his hands break songs. some painted whore relaxed by the river is as pure as an angel sipping tears from a paper cup. sin water black one more swim before our heads collapse breathing like a calm disaster - just another dazed disciple. sample polished rhythm in the junktone's throat like a battle crack. A BACKWARDS SNAKE GRACES ITS SHARP AND LURID CURVES LIKE HOLY SACRED OIL. the teeth and soft memory of the fire's stiff mist wore upon our skin. PURE A CROWDED TOMB, TOO MUCH A GOOD THING, I RAISED THE VEIL AND GREW NEW. tic toc my head's a clock and scabbards bash the doorknobs. snow smooth as cow skin jumps a still world that spins in the supple wilds of another's fiction ring. long and curled like a spring, missing the answer more times than the street could know, and long lasted past all his clones filled with white noise and your crooked thumbs and the dumb speech of the most animals. in this frightening but insignificant whirl, fastflung and hopelessly adorned, soft stop to know more of a heavy touch no less and wings of every lost angel fell world bound so we bore the stout gale, fire, and lunar fluids that break but never speak to this - our all and most immortal doll everything tears me. i'm so unsteady. wind from the gun come crack, from the tube. half mad in the city, air tight in the room. plastic gods, in virtual dance, jump, light in my eyes, not a vid squids chance. so, take tape shakes mascara streaks running down their ten grand cheeks stretched celluloid love things. everything and ugly twists my chain. listen to the sound run tight, so smooth. automobiles try to explain blue alien booze. ancient boy from the roman sperm bank, stripped from his skin, kept alive in a flesh tank. so be the king, fall hard from the sky. dirty pink skin tortured to perfection. hard task master pain born erection. everything and red be way of the whipman striking fast with his hard cold smash hands luis fatman - he as the demon, planting the hate in the black man's semen. white be the color of hate! black be the color of hate! yellow be the color of hate! forms on the ridge, remedies forgone, i shed snakes, drop numbers in a hat, reach for the empty bottle a mile away a year below, stand like war in a dog's mouth of lies.