You can't deny beauty when it stares you in the face,
a well proportioned body in a well proportioned head space.
Some of it is understanding who you are,
some of it is understanding exactly how far
what you want is able to go, where you are, what. you. know.
About yourself. How to test, and which ways
to cultivate being around friends and fucking aliens and
knowing where to start shit and where to end.
Where the eye test comes and where "I" means nothing
because the people that you're talking to
don't give a damn about whats in
side of you as long as you keep on being whatever does you
and you exercising what makes you smile
doesn't lob shells from so many miles away where it's safe
to put it on a shelf and eat it too, cake.
Nothing's cake in this world of power and informatiwhippets,
we all share this mother fucking world that we're living in and
personally I don't give a damn as long as you're willing to
sometimes do the dance and take a sideways joke,
take a poor placed poke, take a jab, take a fist to your face
when your words don't place or set the table for friends I ride
and connect with, because it'll still go both ways and
if you're not prepared to taste the other edge of the blade I suggest,
maybe not in interests general, but perhaps maybe in your best,
take a pill, sit the fuck down, and understand
that why I'm laughing and talking to you has nothing to do
with your breasts. You're a beautiful person and I like
to surround myself with them, so when I look up from my drudge
I'm not looking at a barrel fire, so inspired by how you carry yourself;
tell you what let's call it even
conversation is a test
can I see you, will you see me, and smile bad magnets nonetheless?
Tell you what, tell you what,
there is a way to think this through,
I think if I had a pussy, you, a dick
we could possibly body switch
and be mad happy, and in love again from opposite sides of glass
as a girl, I know I couldn't, as a boy, you almost pass,
but tell you what, tell you what,
you're more like me and me like you than ever us two ourselves
so let's put each other on our walls, swapped heads,
and trophy shelved.
original works of parts
Snow 2
Stepping outside
stars obscured
I believe,
inside a space suit fit for Europa's tundra,
that what comes
down on me
is not silt
in deep ocean night,
but the stars themselves
returning to my veins,
descended in
their own time
because they knew
if they waited for me
they would die
before my eyes
and could wait not a moment longer.
stars obscured
I believe,
inside a space suit fit for Europa's tundra,
that what comes
down on me
is not silt
in deep ocean night,
but the stars themselves
returning to my veins,
descended in
their own time
because they knew
if they waited for me
they would die
before my eyes
and could wait not a moment longer.
Snow
Reversal. The off ramp taken three dozen times.
The 37th with snow on the ground
in a squall and in a hurry
when the rear end
stepped out.
Lift throttle, let the weight
shift forward and return traction
to the wheels still guiding the path.
Instead of flipping the sedan over the jersey wall
get home safe.
Things are not the same. The tires guiding
are not the tires powering. Do not forget
when things begin to slip with rear wheel drive
alone, power will not be your enemy.
The 37th with snow on the ground
in a squall and in a hurry
when the rear end
stepped out.
Lift throttle, let the weight
shift forward and return traction
to the wheels still guiding the path.
Instead of flipping the sedan over the jersey wall
get home safe.
Things are not the same. The tires guiding
are not the tires powering. Do not forget
when things begin to slip with rear wheel drive
alone, power will not be your enemy.
The Ground Assault
Jump from the green painted porch into a pile of leaves.
Run back across the front and take the stairs two at once
to do it again.
Summer was amazing. Bright blue free standing pools
and ivy climbing up in the tunnel between the garage and
ten foot wall marking the property line between Taylor street
and the other side of the block. The dare to brave it,
so many G.I. Joes gone in the call of never ended days duty.
Skid stops on BMXs kicking driveway gravel yards out
to the street.
Expeditions to the bodega and thieving lessons,
whole sleeves of cookies at a time and if ya
put the 8 bit, flip top, handheld, black on bronze screen
toys in your mouth they won't trip the door sensors
or tip off cashiers, or just stick the bags of Legos inside
a burgundy knit hat.
Follow round chase arounds and games of tag
that end if and only if the people from two blocks over
run away from the square of Staten Island that is fair game,
chased to curb edge. Maybe a few yards further,
but no more.
Holding hands over tea.
A thumb across your knuckles and again.
Teeth spread laughing over
what might grow in the window box
once the weather really starts to get cold this year and
wondering what the nap headed gray eyed
ragamuffins will get up to when they arrive
years from now.
Snapped awake years from then.
Run back across the front and take the stairs two at once
to do it again.
Summer was amazing. Bright blue free standing pools
and ivy climbing up in the tunnel between the garage and
ten foot wall marking the property line between Taylor street
and the other side of the block. The dare to brave it,
so many G.I. Joes gone in the call of never ended days duty.
Skid stops on BMXs kicking driveway gravel yards out
to the street.
Expeditions to the bodega and thieving lessons,
whole sleeves of cookies at a time and if ya
put the 8 bit, flip top, handheld, black on bronze screen
toys in your mouth they won't trip the door sensors
or tip off cashiers, or just stick the bags of Legos inside
a burgundy knit hat.
Follow round chase arounds and games of tag
that end if and only if the people from two blocks over
run away from the square of Staten Island that is fair game,
chased to curb edge. Maybe a few yards further,
but no more.
Holding hands over tea.
A thumb across your knuckles and again.
Teeth spread laughing over
what might grow in the window box
once the weather really starts to get cold this year and
wondering what the nap headed gray eyed
ragamuffins will get up to when they arrive
years from now.
Snapped awake years from then.
Fly By Wire
I used to rely on cables
to move surfaces
before science showed me there was a speed beyond propellers
where cables braided simply would not do and
power boosted hydraulics could
feed back too much noise and snatch control
from my fingertips like a bad winged bird
screaming through the copper bars of its cage.
Now I tell the motors what to do,
electronic songs
feel less brave.
To the aerodome to tear the dusty canvas off
elliptical wing tips and fifty caliber air cooled guns,
pull the pins off five hundred pound dumb bombs,
and push in the choke on horizontal opposed
28 cylinder, super charged dreams.
Tonight we ride inside the envelope,
fingertip close to the air speaking back
every vibration our heart knows.
Tonight we hug the cirrus clouds
and let our gun barrels glow.
The towns and ship yards beneath us light up
along the joy ride. Concussions come through
throaty bass while our propeller tears the air,
flak fire in our face.
I miss the shudder, the body racking shudder of a stall.
The thrill of lift on lost weight,
wanting to roll in and watch the pounders hit their marks,
ballooning orange white and speckle black debris
against the night.
Until the purpose built fighters come in and
the fuel gauge takes center stage and
the only thing in mind
is making it back to friendly territory alive
at war speed.
to move surfaces
before science showed me there was a speed beyond propellers
where cables braided simply would not do and
power boosted hydraulics could
feed back too much noise and snatch control
from my fingertips like a bad winged bird
screaming through the copper bars of its cage.
Now I tell the motors what to do,
electronic songs
feel less brave.
To the aerodome to tear the dusty canvas off
elliptical wing tips and fifty caliber air cooled guns,
pull the pins off five hundred pound dumb bombs,
and push in the choke on horizontal opposed
28 cylinder, super charged dreams.
Tonight we ride inside the envelope,
fingertip close to the air speaking back
every vibration our heart knows.
Tonight we hug the cirrus clouds
and let our gun barrels glow.
The towns and ship yards beneath us light up
along the joy ride. Concussions come through
throaty bass while our propeller tears the air,
flak fire in our face.
I miss the shudder, the body racking shudder of a stall.
The thrill of lift on lost weight,
wanting to roll in and watch the pounders hit their marks,
ballooning orange white and speckle black debris
against the night.
Until the purpose built fighters come in and
the fuel gauge takes center stage and
the only thing in mind
is making it back to friendly territory alive
at war speed.
Fisherman's Song
Today we fish on the side of the river,
casting lines from the rocks underneath low limb hung trees.
Don't slip, if you drop anything leave it go,
for the dam water has an appetite no one can please.
Today we fish on the side of the river,
where current churns hard and rocks await beneath.
The current is strong and the slope is severe,
but the quiet pool keeps steady and fat catfish in between.
Where everything settles chum and twig float,
they'll be skulking, stomachs mean,
and if you get lucky and stay tuned
while the sun beats, beer cans tossed back to bush and tree,
you may land one worth a photo on a good Saturday,
or, at least, get a good workout because
chairs are pointless
when the face of the flat rocked ridge
beside the dam ready to take you under
is sloping something close to 60 degrees.
casting lines from the rocks underneath low limb hung trees.
Don't slip, if you drop anything leave it go,
for the dam water has an appetite no one can please.
Today we fish on the side of the river,
where current churns hard and rocks await beneath.
The current is strong and the slope is severe,
but the quiet pool keeps steady and fat catfish in between.
Where everything settles chum and twig float,
they'll be skulking, stomachs mean,
and if you get lucky and stay tuned
while the sun beats, beer cans tossed back to bush and tree,
you may land one worth a photo on a good Saturday,
or, at least, get a good workout because
chairs are pointless
when the face of the flat rocked ridge
beside the dam ready to take you under
is sloping something close to 60 degrees.
Touch Noses
My boots were cooling
after tough reentry
from the upper atmosphere and
your cigarette was a centipede of ash
black tailed.
The scarf my ex gave me was around your neck and
I was on my way to the floor to sleep or swim
on elbows toward the door.
"I have to wake up tomorrow."
"I have to wake up now."
"I can't."
"You can."
"Where is my damn wallet? Come on, beautiful!"
"No!"
The snow was no deeper than any other December.
I remember the long stumble home. The coffee table
going on its side. The ashtray smacking me in the eye
still in your hand when the lights went out in yours.
Her words repeating through your still mouth.
Touching you is like petting a horses nose.
Spooked every step of the way and
remembering your gray rooted dreadlocks and
chain smoke rumble laugh and
how we left the pub that night,
glass bead snowmelt on our foreheads,
promise where our lips connected,
softness where the hoop of your ice cold
piercing touched my nose and
fire leaped through
to a heap I neglected
for too long and
consumed you and me. I'm sorry.
You were an accident. I was too.
In pieces, that night, always forgetting.
Drowning until my gentle heart
floats to the surface of an ocean
I did not know I plied
until the night we touched noses.
after tough reentry
from the upper atmosphere and
your cigarette was a centipede of ash
black tailed.
The scarf my ex gave me was around your neck and
I was on my way to the floor to sleep or swim
on elbows toward the door.
"I have to wake up tomorrow."
"I have to wake up now."
"I can't."
"You can."
"Where is my damn wallet? Come on, beautiful!"
"No!"
The snow was no deeper than any other December.
I remember the long stumble home. The coffee table
going on its side. The ashtray smacking me in the eye
still in your hand when the lights went out in yours.
Her words repeating through your still mouth.
Touching you is like petting a horses nose.
Spooked every step of the way and
remembering your gray rooted dreadlocks and
chain smoke rumble laugh and
how we left the pub that night,
glass bead snowmelt on our foreheads,
promise where our lips connected,
softness where the hoop of your ice cold
piercing touched my nose and
fire leaped through
to a heap I neglected
for too long and
consumed you and me. I'm sorry.
You were an accident. I was too.
In pieces, that night, always forgetting.
Drowning until my gentle heart
floats to the surface of an ocean
I did not know I plied
until the night we touched noses.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)