Paul’s Soulskine


When Paul woke up this morning, he found himself in unfamiliar territory.

He considered freaking out, but chose to frolic instead.

Paul's Soulskine

It Could Be The End Of Time,

Of a long, hard day of sitting still. Who knew, inside a silver pocket, that anything could resonate inside itself? “I will not flail and wait, I will sit and watch, I won’t go backwards, I will move move move!” The distance between us is palpable, but you are coming home to me. The thoughts I hear and see and smell, the rip-roaring currents taking me down a simple street I’ve never been. The agony! The agony! Of doing what is unfamiliar, taking on these hills two at a time, listening for a voice that may never come calling again. “I’m here!” you always say, this morning, a day like every other, the sun rose, the parents awoke on the other side of the country. They went to church. I’m just guessing. It is Sunday. They used to go to church at least. I used to. Forgot. I used to forget. I use to forget. These minutia, little wands waving at me, these little bings of light dancing, these flickers, what are they could they be what what what? Is it my own eyes, the same scarred skin? I have a birthmark I didn’t notice until I was 19. Could that be true? Is it the mark of the beast like the 7th day adventists have printed on their billboards across town? On Lombard Street, near the Golden Gate Bridge, I swear I’ve seen them and I don’t mean the AntiChrists. Where are they hiding? These Seventh Dayers? Where do they say their prayers and are they as afraid and mad as their billboards? And of all places, I suppose San Francisco is least concerned with the AntiChrists. There are far too many options to get that far far down the list. That damn repetition. Tick Tock. Tick Tock. How is it that that clock can rhyme with the sound it makes? Like windshield wipers across an old tin plate? Like rainy day drops tin tin tin on the tin tin tin roof. That plate was just a coincidence. It’s tinniness. What we are really saying is the roof, that’s the trick, the whole kit and caboodle, it could just cave in. In to expectations. In to inviting. In to include someone we’ve found and known and seen before. Seen, in a Biblical sense, but not known.

You Wanted to See

What the inside of my brain looks like

Well it’s no surprise

It’s not hand made

But by bodies together

Bringing life into one

How can it be otherwise?


Full Feeling.

It’s messy in here and tangled I hear

There’s more pain and sorrow

Than any one of us could care to


And yet I’m hungry and I have a little money

And this recession will make us rich

in all the things we love and lust, this

rumble is awakening-

This tremble wait and see,

A sea of storms are brewing

Here, inside this gentle electric


My brain and the f train

They might just be the same

My brain and the f train

They might just be the same

I’ll take it to the last stop

It’s my only way home from here,

These sweeping streets I’ll rise above

But not too high

And not too long

The wind will blow another tomorrow

my way,

And I’ll sing it’s next day songs.

“Hey, Hey, Back Door!” I was trying to help.


But driver kicked em all back out

The whole dang mess of hooligans,

Yelling and laughing into

sweet, sprinkling San Francisco


Spring is waiting

Winter’s waning



The Right Place

Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls, children of all ages, you ma’am in the back, Bowie the dog, my lovely wife, we have a very exciting show tonight, welcome to the netheryonder, repeat after me: it is as it sounds. a vortex inside an abyss. “I’m game.”  she replies, and takes my hands, as we gently float above our heads into inner space, yes, oh ye, a happy place to be and want and need and know, this is the place we all must go, directed by a tiny light, aflicker in the dark/cold morning. “A choice to be made!” she screams as we fly, “Always, yes, every minute,” I think but do not say. “Not what you expected” I expected to say, nothing but silent silent stillness, sleepless in a sleeping town, nothing but silence keeps coming out my mouth. The spine loosens as we twist and turn, keeping all eyes on sights unseen, targets backwards, forwards, each way I turns my flashlight. Turned on, turned over, turned ovens side by side and shoved in as many loaves  as I could. “The man is hungry,” I finally manage to say. She asks nothing, but produces what becomes my breakfast. It has been too long, not enough, moving on. Shake me, shake shake me, move me, move move me. Repeat after me, it is as it sounds. a vortex inside an abyss. reveling over and over and abundant joy lifts your certain skin until it’s all the way off, lingering just long enough to watch itself be set free, and floating, floating on beyond until these tiny layers hover apart, always up and towards the tiny light, looming larger. “It feels fun,” she recounts as she falls apart. We intertwine into bodies greater and more spacious, we feel the looming air between our bones, keeping us safe and lonesome amongst friends and family. There is this longing, this stopped up re-counting, more arithmetic and the puzzle shapes up. Moans and moans into itself, like the shadow of arithmetic burning. “False hopes,” she speaks again, but not with muscles, not with her beautiful obiculoris oris, entertwined with mine, sipping invisible clear glasses of burnt burgundy wine. “You heard,” the words she had not spoken, the question’s mark was unneeded, the answer understood. The simple exchange could be our first, won’t be our last: exchange and the exchange rate: exhaustion or work, keeping at a certain distance, keeping voices and minces and dices straight and narrow and the exact right size, nothing shaped like a loop exploding, how to explain the inflation, the space taking up, the shrinking, pulsing feeling that only one at a time can see, “Does it have to be me,” I communicate, knowing the answer full well and in spite of whoever’s self, “Who can be ready? Who can be tamed? Who will be let through and who will be blamed?” There is a secret circle, just inside a secret house, when you get to the place above the stars, you can sit and rest, but the body doesn’t mingle, the flesh and bones may die, bury them or burn them up, it’s a choice somebody makes, let’s hope they cleared their plates, the last meal could be coming, pass the butter, pass the steak, if I could heat it up in here, perhaps I would become the way I’ve wanted. If I could see the things I taste and hear the sights I see, the world inside could turn me out, inside a wandering me. Meander down a hallway, she speaks, she grins, the obiculoris oris teases so subtly, like a word I misread in my youth, and it sticks with, these memories, of whoever and flowering above, sit and sit and sit and sit and sit and – “Sit and what,” again no question, the answer is as it sounds. The math is found, it is it’s own, the view is nice but is it lonely to be the only one? what if everyone else is also the only one. The answer without the question, the selfsame morning moment, fading into dusk, watching the mind watch itself watch the sun. How many degrees? And then we float back together with our bodies quickly and gaze into each other’s new eyes. The circumstances are changed, but the day is the same. It is tomorrow always, always yesterday, always always all ways is today. “Did you have something left to say?” She politely asks as she packs her bags for a city we’ve both seen. With our two very real eyes. Felt. With our two very real skins. Back back on body, front staying put for now. Before we fall apart again, I’d like another kiss, could you oblige? “She reads my thoughts,” I say instead and hope. Worrying beyond some form that I’ve actually said what I heard come out of my mouth. The panic subsides, my heart beats quickly as my breathing returns to sacred lungs. Thank you, I think and speak, but at this moment, skip skip skip. Flit and flack among whatever could stick around. There is music oozing from these bones and I can see it. I walk right past. It is green and it smells as it moves down a silly crooked ally in a space I’ve been before. I follow my lead, feet moving automatic, “Home,” and as simple as that, I feel them move, they keep going, and ask me in a sweet voice to do the same. “Try and keep up,” they giggle at me. “I’ve been through a lot today, fallen apart and put back together, inside a place I’ve never been.” The laughter grew, from all around, surrounded, and I felt I heard, “YOU! I’ve never heard such a thing! It was we who fell apart, and you who stayed put, the selfsame place you’ve ever been, the world revolving around you! YOU! a laugh! a lark! of course you’ve found something clever, thinking you can claim these, hers or mine, why, some of the tendons have stringed themselves together, you’ve become something of the one and same, trading all along.” If I ever understood, the time for thought was now. The time for moving on had passed, plastered on a thick green wall, the music oozing, freezing the passers by. “You’ve felt it,” says my heart, “The stillness, but you were afraid and froze it up, mistaking the quiet for emptiness, it couldn’t be more the opposite, everything you know has gone upside down, when this happens, you turn to me, but otherwise, where am I? In some space above your head? Absolutely not, but the engine motor keeps running, say thank you if you please>>>;”