Dull Heart

I don't ask much.
If you die on the road be courteous enough to do it
by the weeds beside the asphalt.

Be accountable for your actions and your missteps
that happened to turn a turtle
into a decorative shell plate
to rest a vase
on your coffee table.

Be willing to answer for your war crimes.
And be answerable to the united nations
inside the heads
that are still trying to account
for the missing.

Don't eat everyone else's food
when you know good and well
you could have eaten
before you decided to cross the trenches on a holiday.

Put things back where you picked them up
when you are in someone else's domain.

Leave it better than you left it
when you can remember to

and

Always be ready to pull up your socks
your stakes
your weapon
and bring a towel to every interface.
You never know when
it will be handy.

I don't ask much.
What I do ask is this:
Never, ever, on your life,
panic.

Oort

Is it a planet?  Is it a planet?  Gravity nominal.  Read out:
no metal core.

In the outer reaches
I sometimes run into another
set of headlamps
still on.
Body shape around it.
Kick it.  Switch channels.  Kick it.
Switch channels.
Bend down and send light into what looks like
the front of its helmet.

Where eyes should be.  As far as I know.  Switch channels.

Report back to my wrecker runabout.

Nothing but ice and rock.  Not a planet.  Let's keep looking,
Jackal.  The name of my runabout and child to my wrecker
waiting in the dark where the ice balls are smaller and
no risk to her armor.
For keepsake when I take Jackal back in and the wrecker
back to my station
outside of the ecliptic and inside the Oort cloud.

Like minded individuals have tried before me.

Each one of us,
some lost,
a little further from the sun
in darkness to see.

Breaking Apart The Origin of My Siblings

The first was without purpose and beloved.
The first asked for a second and the second
was different.
The second begged a third to gallivant and play
and the first had an entirely different set of rules,
fuel, and sway.
The first could not take care of the second
though the second could take care of the first,
however,
the second all alone could not be burdened
with that curse and so the third time was the charm
and the spell came true.
Two boys and one girl, two combat, train, and flume.
What would the first do, but to have see after
twin devils.
Fighting with sticks and rocks and guns
to be trained to be twin angels
while the first learned to dance and instrument,
to care for two angry robust hearts,
and so was born one last
angel capable and sound and sweet as a tart.
Two animals with horns that locked and played,
stout shoulders and brought up to make buildings sway
and one angel at the beginning who only wanted company
had two soldiers to journey and be quick with blades
with her other side born apart
and the knowledge that
we are all a part
of her original dream and to the wind intentions.
Adult and grown up
each of us a different invention.
Nothing came to be to their blue print looking down.

A symphony
when our strings hum
a song and  a sound

be it a single note held
or tremelo.
Two for depth and three for the shoals.
Four for cacophony, and the rest for death.
Be aware when we all wish
with one breath. 

Airshow Rehearsal

Pain can override will.
Remembering each instance
my eyes tolled broken system
that worked
hours removed,
overridden by
cellular preservation's outcry.
NO!  yes.  NO!
The destination shouting silence
as songs pipe and throat and volley in.
The five digits close into a fist,
touch telling
a clementine would not stand a snowflake's chance
in hell.
Open.
Maligned wires.  The mechanism still works.
That is the limitation, isn't it?
When the bones outlive the wires?
Misfire.
Cough, flame out.  Cough, auto.  Allow it
to feed itself while it falls.
Start.  Start.
Start, damnit!
Connection.  Green board and itinerary.  Green bird
and auxiliaries.  Hydraulics online.  Blow the cabin.
Pressurizing.
Engines on.
Thirty two seconds to climb.  Braking.
Power is on, go when ready,
ground fifty four seconds.
Forty four.

Remembering each instance and
floating two pennies into the tollbooth basket.
Each instance and another "loop the loop".
Will can override pain until it
doesn't.

Sticker War

It's backwards.
It's not backwards,
it's upside down.
It's not upside down, it's backwards.
It's not backwards, it's upside down.
It's not upside down, it's backwards.
It's not backwards, it's upside down.
It's not upside down, it's backwards.
It's not backwards, it's upside down!
It's not upside down, it's backwards!
It's not backwards, it's upside down!!!

There.  Now it's neither upside down nor backward.
It's in pieces.  Arrange it how ever you will.

Falling Out Of Love

It is easy to forget
that a Millenium Falcon
is just as hard to brake
as it is to get that @#$%er started.

Myth and Magic

Living out here like it's gitmo,
It's a prison I'm in
I can't see forw'.
Snow drop lines
and a cube and a coat
and boots and gloves
and sunrise come down
they ask me where I am and I'm salty as fuck like
"fo sho."

I carry the Atlantic in everything I do and what,
yes you, I already put down the pistol at the duel
and cruelty is just another method to learn to
when stall
turn and burn like you stole something.
Get ripped and hold the plastic bag close like
you stole something.
Just another way in.

Another way outta gitmo.
Someone say something or don't.
Let's get more.
Sleeping in a jail and there's bail posted by me.
Toes in the sand picking up shells
watching the sunrise and not enough bass
to take me to the place I want to ride
inside this cell.  

It's fun.

Snow angels.

Two bars.

Number one.

Football Night

Listening to Autumn football
with Winter around the corner,
the season on its last legs,
the playoffs (as always)
an unknown while the other radio stations
begin to whistle and hum and sway
Christmas black and white keys
flipped through commercial breaks,
too cold to make a fire and
the black cloth of sky
too thickly woven with star light
to sip from a flask indoors,

a smile fills my eyes
at the silliness of sports.
Relieved to find, my self spiraling
in to the crescent moon and awed
to be alive in the face of
identities dark door lost,
the butt fumble to break my voice loose
against the sparse clouds and
frosted concrete of the patio
in rolling tumble waves of giggles
to know I am still me and

able to love and revel
in life's absurdity.

Question Marks 6

Dear Dr. B.,

What do you call a shadow when it moves
in the daytime?
Sitting still.

I have reconsidered many things.
I still cannot understand
why you referred me
to that asshat two doors down
a hop skip and a jump
on the road.  He was a jackal.
I am a hyena.  The charts were all wrong.

Like asking a mechanic to fix a meal.

I do miss the waiting room
and your pennyloafers
that filled my eyes when
you stumped me and my own
could not lie.

I hope you are well.

Should our paths cross
in person
I have not forgiven you
for turning tail on me
the last time we spoke.

God bless you
should I have
a lolipop in my pant pocket
and palm candy
in my jacket.

Sincerely, Mr. D.

Question Marks 5

Dear Dr. B.,

I have no jokes.

I wanted to tell you that I appreciate
the gift you gave me of composing myself
through metaphor.

I want to kill again.

I want to kill again.

I want to kill again.

No matter the question, I am the answer am I not?

I do have a joke.

A boy and a snowflake walked into a bar
to see a priest and a penguin
and a polar bear.
The boy said "hello."
The snowflake fell off its bar stool
while trying to sit down.
What did the priest say?

Nothing! It was pulling out the bar stool
for the boy.

I try to remember the places I cannot go.
And keep them close to my main functions.
I wanted to tell you
that I appreciate deeply
the gift you unlocked inside of me.
The gift you forced inside of me.
The gift that continues to give.
Of gab.  Of metaphor.  Of seeing my head
as the machine that shatters under too much pressure.
Of clockwork, of metal, of timed teeth
that need complete harmony
to tell time
that will work
down to 5000 miles from the surface.
Of plates that must move and skate
across molten rock and can.

Once the glass cracks
and the teeth seize.  And the planetary gears begin to fuse:
fear.  With reason.

I want to kill again.

Climb instead.  Dump ballast.

Do not let the wristwatch melt.

You gave me a way
to understand and I have held tightly to it.
I will not allow the coil springs to knot,
the gears to chew themselves apart,
the glass face to break,
or the metal to rot.

I will be a watchmaker,
sure handed and occulus.

I will track you down
and see you soon.

Sincerely, Mr. D.

Spin The Dial

Every time you go to sleep you must change the master key.  For safety?  Okay.  More accurately: to leave a rubics cube should you knod off and not wake up.  I believe in witchcraft and ghosts.   Game on.




/// 

The Rundown (Die)

You may be faster than I,

You may stronger than I,

You may be taller than I,

You may be smarter,

You may be tougher,

You may be colder,

You may be hotter,

You may be short,

You may be scaly,

You may be gone,

you may be wary,

you may be better than I.

I am amalgam enough and I 

will roll the dice.

Wanted To Trade

One 1985, five-foot-ten and three quarters,
one hundred and ninety pound,
fifteen percent fat, brown eyed,
thick eyebrowed, fully functional,
rugged and resilient, disease and virus free,
sport utility, combat ready, body
for trade.

Wanted: one brain with aptitude in mathematics
and a natural acumen for the sciences and brilliance
in programming.  Second language optional
though preferred.  Must be clean of all physical ailments.
Preferably concussion free though some wear and tear
is understandable and acceptable.
Must also be free of mental disorders.

In this exchange you will receive one body
with a brain included.  The brain is degenerative
with some afflictions (hereditary, genetic, and
trauma induced) though with an aggressive maintenance plan
will deliver many decades of high performance,
reasonable memory retention, and
aggressive learning scales.
Please see the manual included for further details.
The brain comes with an acumen for art and language,
problem solving in two and three dimensions,
materials manipulation suites,
aggressive self defense and self preservation protocols,
and an exceptionally flexible spectrum of
preference settings for supreme adaptability
to most environments imaginable.

The body has some permanent scarring
and ink and is otherwise all original.
It has never been totaled though it has
undergone extensive maintenance
to increase power and durability and
comes with a well above average
pain tolerance.
It has seen three major accidents
over its time on the road and through
diligent maintenance rarely shows
signs of wear
beyond the cosmetic.
Note: it is brown skinned and by
entering into this agreement
the buyer acknowledges the difficulties this presents.
Included are the suites of combat,
sport, tool, and machine movements
hard coded to the musculature and skeletal systems.
Fuels range widely with no dietary restrictions and
are accompanied by
a very high tolerance for recreational chemicals.
Vision and other attendant senses are exceptional
in their response rates and high definition
that cannot be reduced except through
manual manipulation.

The body accompanying the brain traded for
must pass a benchmark physical and
be free of ailments, disease, contaminants and viruses.
Below average is acceptable.
Capacity for improvement is a must and
is non-negotiable.  Skin color is not important,
though some variation of white is preferred.
All parts must be original.
Some frame damage is acceptable.
No salvage, wrecked, restoration titles accepted.
This body must also be at least six-foot-one or taller.

In this exchange, the memories and elements of your self
linked to your body and your consciousness trees
will be cross linked to your new body and arrayed
through the framework of your new brain casing
and, where necessary, updated, hybridized, or fully replaced
where redundancy or inferior links are detected.
This will present some shock and challenge,
but acclimation is assured.
Note: due to some complications that may arise
in synchronizing the rhythms of mental afflictions
native to the brain casings hardware,
a 60 day return policy is offered with a one year
free roadside assistance and consultation service
to prevent mortal collapse, fatality, homicidal, and
or suicidal outcomes should these artifacts overwhelm
or consume the buyer.

If you are looking for power, performance, and a
well maintained machine the likes of which you
have not and will never know that will carry you
to the doorstep of 2065 and beyond in style
with a casing that can realize your wildest imaginations
and help you create your visions from the ground up
contact me at the above email address and
we can get the ball rolling.
Talk to you soon.  Thanks.

Everything In Its Place

"What is that?"
That is the book of death.
Thumb through it some time.
I dog-earred the good pages.
"Did you write a book of life to go with it?
One cannot be without the other."
I did.
"Where is it?"
I do not know.

Love At First Sight

As they pair and match,
kettles mate to black,
I hash mark those left behind and
enumerate their purpose.
Outside of the cage can be traveled
in the astral plane.
One way glass.
It is fun to pretend and energizing to believe
there is a match for me.

Operation Dusky Moon

This summary is not available. Please click here to view the post.

Phone Tag

I wanted not to tell of where I'd been and what I'd heard,
to tell of reptile scales so big they blotted out the sun,
of clouds and river breakers lapping at my toes,
of regret and washed up frames, rust blackened,
shelves of jars gone farther down stream while
the metal skeleton sat where my fishing rod was supposed to go
and crushed beer cans and months of fire pit stones stood.
I wanted to tell you that I missed you and our best days,
laughing shoulder to shoulder and eye contact too long, broken
by the magical words "do you have a lighter"
knowing yours was at home too.
The wind kicking up and the clouds threatening
miles in the distance and fingers splayed to crease sunlight
while we dragged the metal to the golf cart submerged
in the lagoon beside the metal drum the river gifted,
turned a'right to accept the garbage human traffic
left behind at our fishing spot beneath the bridge.
I called to ask you if you saw it too.  The world
through a window, small, in the furnace door
where men and women could look safely.
I called to ask if you saw it too
through the inch square thick glass and
to hear what you thought while you were blazing.
The seconds slip by and you sleep while I die and
I'll live while you breathe into your day dream.
Rise from the dead with the sun in your mouth
and I'll come to you, lips wet, to,
teeth open wide,
take it.

The Lamp Post's Shadow

You should come outside.
I think I should stay here for a while.
I can always come in.
Please don't.
You've been mentioning me by name.
Don't be ridiculous, you don't have one.
You've been mentioning me by name.
That's not possible.
You should come outside.
I should get some sleep.
You've slept all day.  Come outside.
No.



Hello?

You should go outside.

Do You Want To Talk About It

Pace.  Echo.  Pace.  Alright, let's go:

Shiner.  Shiner.  Some things don't heal up.  Some things don't wheel up.  We walk on air and then get up.  To Hawaii and Pittsburgh.  To New York and then sand dust.  To the dunes, then the Pacific, to the lakes and then soft shoals.  To the swamps and the trees,  to the trails and cement.  To never never lands and the houses that meant.  Everything's lost.  Everything's good and then gone.  Everything's looking like 21 and two aces and ten grenades with a spare clip and then gone.   Everything's ice and then boss.  Everything's numbers and then bomb.  Everything's looking like a thing and then not and while it takes a minute to be about it along it comes up real short at the cost and accountant is looking like we about the bounce and a toss and instead what we got is the  witch and the flame and across the game is a cross up in white light blue name and the trough is full with somebodies blood and there's a body on the ground and no one can spot that outlines name.  Damnit.  Shiner.

Tracers 3

after Such Great Heights




I cried myself to sleep
until my sockets freed
themselves from the meat cage they stowawayed.

You, out there on the road
telling yourself it's all a lie
will hear the shrillest highs and lowest lows
when this song haunts you at the doorstep of your home.

That, frankly, will not fly.
Use a wrist to dry your eye.
The one that still has skin that has not been able to regrow.

Somewhere in the grass
where you lay your spine to rest
where you check the pockets of your vest
to breath out and find your phone
while the fire pit you built cracks

and the stars above are the same
the moon exactly where you left.

The world, it did not die,
your howl did not spy
a new peak or tree line.
You know there is still no where for you to dine.

So watch
the fires from afar.
Dance while all of the tracers fly.
Wait for the ash to settle
and nudge the bodies that you find
before taking a bite
to survive.

Bulkhead

We caught the fire.
35% causalities.
62% efficiency.
98%  survival.
99% capacity.
Objective go.

Hypersleep

after When I Was Done Dying 

If you could feel the crush and compress it to a now, in to something to use later, something that could smile-scowl.  Maybe it could be enjoyed waking up from long sleep, from a tired that went light years instead of some weeks.  Then you'd be on the trail of snakeoil's noise if you held up the bottle and rattled it near the ears.  The quietest of songs is what you would hear.

And if the emptiness of space could express its vast grace in two word songs that would make the leaves shake as though time took a joy ride through the afternoon sky in the two months that chase after the bully lightning stroked Julys we would all be able to sing in leaf showers every time the moon skated across the other side of the night's sky.  The thing is,

why do I have to know so much about where am I going, the breeze said as much, with one touch of grass blade with my shirt off I stayed on the ground to be closer to the nuclear core of all atoms shoved in and each wanting more than the wells could give and they burned themselves out to wait quietly for the sun to amount to something less than a beautiful none to instead

keep on churning in an interpretive dance for no one.  While laying in the yard and counting up the ways you have impacted me through my every numbered days, breathing out every hour and just only once, in a field of lightning bolts I don't care so much, tearing up and lips spread to show my timeless teeth, I felt the ground beneath me begin to heave.

I turn to my stomach to tell me the plan and as the ground gave way I made no designs to land, if the core and its bones and its million degree heat could eject me to the stars I will grip its seat and sink into the blades between the fingers of my hands until the sky turned dark and the air thinned to nothing, shot out like the spatter of rain before a gale in a storm.

The room is very quiet.  I started to stand and instead decided to sit and listen to one more song from my band.  The piece of glass I picked from the carpet last week is still on my desk, I am still in my seat.  What I wanted was a rainbow thick enough to not deny and what I force my eyes to makes me wish I could die.  Every single day ticks and tears at my "why"s.

So we get up and hate the routes about which we have been made.  We accept that we are and we keep through these ways.  The moon surely dawns and the sun is okay.  The clouds race along and the leaves do wind sway.  The ground remains warm and continues to drive.  It speaks but can't answer to why I'm still alive.  I reach the next door and I spit toward the floor, it lands on my foot and I shrug and I sigh.  One day physics will crack apart and on that day we might die.

Sometimes I wish I didn't know so much.  Too much of everything and never ever really enough.  From the stars to the sand, it's all a matter of math.  What I don't know I do know cannot nearly be the half.  The unseen world continues to breath as I slink off swiftly to snail crawling dream sleep.
Every secret I wish can be found.

Their edges, I don't see them. I, eyelids

fall steady,

I hear only their sound.

October Garden

Fifty three degrees,
rain misting to the North
to fill the turning cups of tree leaves.
Breeze crisp from the South,
jean cords folding the spread wet skin
at my knees sunk into garden dirt.
The beet sprouts, purple toothpicks
in the black blanket before my palms,
are late.  Lean close to hear
the little afternoon train earthworms
on their tracks and ants
bumping shoulders, platform rush hour.
Oh beets, you are late.  You are late.
Do hurry.  Stand to feet in the thickening rain.
Shelter quickly.  Do hurry.
"The frost is on its way,"
whistle winds.

Small Cry

I don't know how many times
I have to consider
taking up religion of any sort
to make you love me
as much as I still love you
written out in droplets of tears
on fake wood floor
all along my powder blue toilet seat
while I dig my fingertips
into the base of my jaw
hard enough to make it bleed
understanding and quite possibly
while we examine the content
parenting that would
vouch.

Rip.

Sqdr

Why haven't you called me?  I called you five times and.  Sol is a wonderful thing that will suck us all.  Unto death, and then we part.  Ways of describing the itch of second degree burns.  Like an avalanche if you can think about avalanches and road hill land slides as.  Snow takes too much time to think about.  Moving north, Cuz'.  I do not have to ever explain to you what I want, when I fucking want it and if you ask me again I will be sure to land you in the fucking.  Hospitals sound great these days.  I'm blind and days unwind and giggle.  Before pulling a tee shirt over your chin.  Ups and apples!   Are the answer if you listen to the sing song holy snush of peanut and jelly.  Can be the best solution to dry humping.  The side of your car is never acceptable during some times of the afternoon.

The Other Parts 2

Hack them off.

With a brilliant stainless steel.

Hold it to hot iron and make a new

limb.  A new.  For heaven's sake  end

of a sort of thing that will allow

a new way to wake up.

Hack it off,

Hack it off!!!

Turn into a new beautiful beast someone can

love.

That's what we all want is not it???

Hack it off.

Wake up each new day

with a new pain.

Discover and retch and discover that thing

still attached to your body.

Hack it off.  Hack it off.  laugh.

Spread your lips wide enough to show teeth.

Wide enough to brush.

Hack it off.

Hack it off.

Hack it off!

The Other Parts

Battle with the pieces of skin
that do no match.

Hack them off again.
Hack them off!
Hack them off!
Hack them off.   Make peace.

Not yet.
The pinks and purples
not black not tanned

Hack them off!!!!

Thursday Night Television

Cross legged, mounds of paisley, browned tan, gray, and
evergreen blanket wadded between our knees
to hole twin bowls of plain butter ice cream and cookies,
the television channel flips upward and down,
our sticky fingers printing alphabets to the remote's keys,
fighting to laugh with as little lung as possible to keep
our treats behind our teeth.  The guide channel was nice.
Our war was inevitable.  43.  22.  54556.  Ronald's tail wags
beneath the coffee table, happy to lick up flung crumb & cream
on the rug between midnight snack's giggles and our t.v.

Captain Hawk

Cool the fins and blow.

Burn a hole in a pair of jeans.

Squick and chinnawe!

Three fingers and a fourth!

I used to have a problem with you and it got solvent the way we used to see in the sixties black and whites with antiheroes.

Flash bang and buttons for flare.

Polish edge and tooth work.

Can kokipp hurache!

Glint if the sun catches it just right drawn from the hip.
A little wink and sigh and glitter
defined.  To say hello.

Can I Kiss You Once Each Year? 3

Ear wet and soggy and warm from resting
against yours.  Fast heart beats and slow
breast to breast.  Napping and the stink of
the back of your ear fills my nose and
my cellphone screen.

We could have matching earrings
if you wanted.  In the buster times,
glass breaks and eggshells chime.
Wake up to the sound of buses pounding
streets and gasping to stop.  Eyelashes touch
and do you remember the time you said
I was an odd ball while I
tried to explain the width of your hips
and their math?

Shutter window and flame on
ceiling lights.  I electrocuted myself
to make you laugh.  Wipe snot from lip
before kiss and finish.
I will walk
to the ends of the earth to see
and see you again.

Be sorry.  Be new.  Brush teeth and stroke
sinew.  Build to a way to
see.
Dreams fall apart like cookies with too much milk.
Letters unsent.  Finger paint.  Dried brush.
Cups wash.  Nails torn free by lip.
Gnawed and temper and lighter and flayed.

Once each year.
I love you.  Asleep and flying through the air.
I love you.  If I can.  If you do not mind.
If and only if.  Toothpick chewed to nub.
I love you.
Can and only if.  a           h jk  e.   Witho      .

I love you. Can I kiss you once each year?
I dream about you.  I fear.  Will you
kiss me once each year?

Can I Kiss You Once Each Year? 2

Wake from the dream
where I lick your toes
each until your alarm
goes off to go to work, eyelids droop.

I can't have forgotten.
Mouth dry, awake at 12:31 A.M.
on fire.
The kitchen in order and your car locked.

Not Friday.  Saturday.  Sniff
your hair trailing over the sofa arm.
Tell the difference.
Song of the stereo still playing

in the dream background,
the real crash in window shard sliver.
The slaughter houses we march
after well rounded breakfast.

Wake with a second pinch
to rinsing a shaver and huff polish
a mirror with bare elbow so that
you can see, held right,

the flipped image
of what I shaved into your hips.
You are seeing a breeze on the brush.
Let me lick my thumb!

We are going to be rich.
Can I say hello?  Once.  Every year.
Darling, golden, purr.
Purr and hum.  The track's song.  Fault lines.

Smoker 55

They call me
by many names.
If you have a light
you can call me anything
as long as I smile.

As far as
Christopher?
Absolutely not.
Offer Cricktwofur and I will demand your tongue on a velvet pillow
that measures 16 inches by 16 inches and no less
and a velvet that must match one of the primary colors
number coded to the amount of fingers I have splayed
behind my back without do-overs
as well as
both of your ring fingers, one of your achilles tendons
(you have the option between the two)
one of your thumbs, all of the clothing you are wearing,
and 25% of the hair on your scalp.  You can keep your scalp.
Then yes.

Do you have a light?
Well then, also yes
(that's not my name).

Human Again

Hold the face upward tense with blood rushing
loud enough to hear hairs inside both ears sway.
The black beneath fingernails smells of rot,
insect blood, unshowered salt skin and cool snot.
Grass tickles, uncut and too tall, knees wh ile
moss qui t  lean their n eedl s in to miniatu
 ps.  If they c uld be humming   rds, they wou
be; ea   follic e a c p th t    a flower.  Body m  e.

It might rain today.  Maybe tomorrow.  Ha
y   s  nted t   air today?  I don't want           rk.
One hand raised, a filament in sun's rise glitter.
Dew and how are they hatching now?  Late bloomers?
All along the sleeve of my jacket.  Movement.
Sprockets small enough to fit into a pocket watch
if one were to shatter it and spread its bones,
its guts, its gooey bits in a line long enough
to swallow dawn wavelengths and burp them
into hatchling spider sized droplets of
solar vomit.  What are you?

Can I Kiss You Once Each Year?

Wake from the dream
where I lick your toes
each until your alarm
goes off to go to work.

I can have not forgotten.
Dry mouth awake anew.
Something on fire.
The kitchen.  The kitchen!

Not Tuesday.
Saturday evening
familiar
song of the fire alarm.

Rice burns and quench
in the sink.
Metal split and screech bubble
boil bang and bssshhhhhh.

Sweat drip from eyelash,
from brow and scalp tight.
Breathe heavy, fingertip tremor,
eye's wide.

We are going to be rich.
All of this money.
Boil.  Handsome, darling, golden, purr.
Purr and hum.  The track's
song.  Fault lines.

Orphan

Glasses clink
Lights go down
Conversation dims
Numbers on receipts
Phones rattle
Chairs scuff
Shoes shuffle
Jackets zip
Scarves wind
Hands pocket

Another evening ends
with an invitation to fuck a woman and a man in love.

Come home with me.

Paint a mug and a plate with their names on it.

No closer to finding
new parents.

Gate

The rage that burns is without description for its prison sentence.
One of us must die.  Neither can.  So we live.  In sentence.
Solitary confinement.  The letter comes with meals.  With meals
and clocks and little lower case letters.  Oh fury
Oh fury
oh fury
oh fury
oh hysterics
oh fury
oh tears
oh convulse
oh fury
oh hysterics
oh fury
oh why can I knot.
With meals and bars and terrible lyrics and candy corn smiles.
Oh fury, where art thou?  Without description, shoulder to shudder
work happens and nails go.  Screws turn and hammers blow
little itty bitty bits of brains through honey afternoon tint light.
That slow
until it speeds to warp cuts when other people talk.  Remember
that time we kissed and you thought we might have something
bowie blade tip deep to the chest beard lock.  How fun, bunny.
Why can't you go out of doors and blend.
Do you think I am?  No, do you?
Oh fury,
oh hysterics
oh tears
oh, my darling.
I harbor
all.
I help
few.
I care for some.
You turn me around,
I know.
"Take care of yourself!"  "Be well!"  "Later on!"  "Ciao!"
"I'll talk to you!"  "Catch up later!"  "Be good!"  "B'bye!"
When you've caught up with me do you wink and sigh
to yourself, an aside, have a: "oh he's screwed up again."
Do you suspect, on the sly, to not upset me while I ride?
While I try to be close to you and
your fury
your hysterics
your tears
oh, my darling!
Do you harbor?
Do you help?
Or do you tease?
See
what will
can make?
Honey from a hive divided mind you choose to nurture.



Cute.


I care for some.
Hysterics, fury, tears, cock, harbor and all.
Home, locked doors, windows, grimace and all.
Oh fury.  Oh rage.  Oh, my darling.  Harbor me
and I will save you
outright.

Jawbone Lisp 2

Each morning wake
to find the teeth maligned.  The wisdom
teeth stopped growing at age twenty nine.
The pain subsided and a new road was in
with leather jacket, collar up, muscle car with fins.

Numbed out for weeks and a bandage round my 'ead.
"No, I have not yet got out of the damn bed!"
Reminded, should I have been paid for the
tracks that were road to side walk laid
I might be a rich fuck instead of slayed;

instead I mouthed off and gave up the tic tacs;
dentist paid.  Not that squirrely.  Not that hurly.
Blind shot and my evening ended early.

Each morning wake,
at least the pain is gone.

Reminded, eating cereal
of what went on.

The jawbone healed up okay.  The pain I went through
resetting it with my own hands was worth it.  I don't owe
hospitals anything.  Every spat and pat of butter blood
into the toilet flushed and back to bed, bandage back
in place was worth it.  Every sneeze and cough that
was brushed off instead of telling friends how much it
fucking hurt to open my eyes absolutely worth it.  I

re set my own damn jaw.  Re lived the night and the gnaw.
The hours, days, weeks, months, and finally got back to
a place where I could yawn without bursting to tears
immediately.
A pain I never saw
coming.  A pain that was months long
humming.
Aye
aye
aye

aye

aye, dog.

Can we split that sandwich?

Jawbone Lisp

My mouth-guard used to fit before my jaw fractured.

I remind myself of poor decisions and great decisions

without it.  My memory begins with a seventh time

brushing on the day.  My old strokes make no sense,

my toothbrush crossing from upper to lower instead

of crossing the tops and bottoms the way they should.

I am okay with that.  I am okay with this.  The new

world to live in.  Leave it all behind to spite

the new way biting into anything brand new to me.

Three millimeters off.  Impossible to correct.  Years

ahead before they wear down to an even set.  Okay

is the best that will be done.  The best that can be

until we can forget.  The new new.  The new you.

Ode To Friendship

My teeth do not align
the way they were born to be.
My jaw is made of glass
wrapped in gauze with
rivets through and through.
My knuckles are knit
tightly, cotton and tape and rice glue
stuck between fingers.
A few gaps are filled with gravel,
a few filled with spit and snot.
 Tape wraps around my wrists.
Rope wraps around my ankles.
Lead hangs about my shoulders
to slow me down to your speed.
Fire comes from my ears.
Steam comes my mouth.
Teeth blare loud enough
to give the blind sight,
to make the deaf cry.
We exchange footprints along the
guides.  Scent and sent and scent again.

Best of five.  Best of ten.  Best of sixty one.

Wiped sweat from above,
touch gloves,
you will die.

The Nose Never Lies

The tick buck sound.
Hot metal cools
with air to quench it.

Tree House

Can I sit in your car?  I do not want to drive.
I want to breathe its scent.
I want to put my hands on your ten and two.
I want to tour your eleven and standard.
I want to pretend I am you and honk.
I want to road rage and fire birds.
I want to talk your engine, pedals,
windshield, mirrors, and visors.

Over the shoulder, glanced backward.
End.  Tall grass.  Dying tree.  Thick moss,
heavy breeze.  Fan tail mushrooms sprout
in hula hoops like stairs.  For when we were small.
Planks have rotted away.  Rope ladder?
Shells of insects and leaves dried to potpourri
that could be pestled, knuckles to palm.
Torn shoelace and an old jacket and a
slumping wet box of .22s

Summer Daze

Find the place to place a comma
between Spring and Fall Winter.

A place where
the trees do not snow.  Where the ocean silt
does not float.  Where houses are not built
with ladder doors and rocks are batted into
pools instead of toe stubbed down the road.

Where scarves are things made of hair and
bare feet wet in the morning and evening.
Where the moon does not demand howl and
the animal, best, comes out of each and every one.

Find the place to place a comma,
a place to nap and sweat.  Find a place
to spit and cuss, a place to mow and sniff.
A place to sun, no place to hide,
locate and tubs too shallow to drown
to paddle in warmth and

"where the hell did I leave my sunglasses?"

This I Believe 5

I believe the right man is out there in the billions.

I believe I will never meet him.

I believe I will never be able to think about
graphic sex without sneezing
as though a light switch was flicked.

I believe in gold teeth.

I believe in starter motors and spark plugs.

I believe in 32 gauge wire and toast,
lightly buttered with jam and tea.

I believe in hanging sneakers up to dry because
I believe in leaping in to and out of rain puddles
beside curbs when they are deep enough
to float an aircraft carrier.

I believe in the bodies ability to mend.

I believe in the snap fire crack of a wooden bat's sound
against a leather clad baseball.

I believe in sun showers.

I believe surviving summer deserves a badge.

I believe winter.

I believe there are a finite number of breathes as soon
as you leave the assembly line.

I believe flies should not be able to navigate wet weather.

I believe being white would be kind of swell
and there is no way in hell I could pull it off
as comfortably as the skin I am in.

I believe my ex's are happy.

I believe my knuckles will never be the same.

I believe creating a painting manually
is unrivaled in its degree of difficulty.

I believe too much head trauma can mate with bad genes.

I believe there is not another set of eyelashes like mine on Earth.

I believe in licking everything.

I believe in washing ears first when showering.

I believe in focused jealousy.

I believe in cadence.

I believe in dice.

While Slicing Apples and Oranges To Saucers Before Brunch

"How am I supposed to get ahead in life
if I am constantly effecting repairs?"

Two steps forward one step back?
The blade tip tangs off of a saucer's edge,

Sunbright white apple flesh slips loose
as it withdraws to the cutting board tasks.

"Yes, something like that-"
Don't lick your fingers before we're done.
It's impolite.  Plain rude.
"If I have to keep fixing things as they break down
and covering costs, when do I get ahead?"
You don't.

You may, if things break your way.
A short sip of tea and a pink cloth napkin
dabs each side of the wide blade
until it splits the eyes like the
glimmering miniature forks
resting beside the disks and wedges of
dewy juice sweating fruits
inside each saucer.

"That's stupid."
Is it?  Maybe 'getting ahead' means
living comfortably.  Where are you trying to get to?
"A place where I don't have to fix things all of the time."
We should probably get some sugar cubes out,
the tea is a little too dry.
"A place where I can have nicer things.
Reliable things.  New things!"
A short slurp and a little cough.
A bumble bee printed cigarette case
serves as a cup rest.  "You're right,"

"it is a bit dry."  Chairs rattle and groan
against warming morning patio cement.
"I'm tired of being poor."
Being poor or feeling poor?

'Getting ahead' for you, for me,
may only amount to advancing life one more day,
one more week.  Things will always need fixing.
They will always break down, new and old.
Be glad that you are able to and imagine
where you would be
if you couldn't.  At least now all you need
is a little luck.

A lawnmower coughs and dies.  Cusses drift
up and up and mute
into the hiss and swish of tree leave's
sway and gossip.  Birds resume
their afternoon plans.

"Getting ahead in life..."
You don't.  I don't.  Not in the way you're thinking.
The best you'll do is a vacation here and there.
Maybe a car or two and a house.  You'll feel poor then too.

Apple slice snaps in a toothy smile,
chewed vigorously before a miniature fork clatters
to a saucer face.

Have patience.  Your day will come for you
and it will either be the day you get what you want
or the day you realize you already had it.

Null

A willingness to give up means
you know
the world.

I will lose a                                       You have never slept
finger before I                                   better than the first day
kill again.                                          you fixed an ultimatum.

How swell would it be                      What had happened was.
to lose a tooth to me.                         Allow me to clarify.
Can I borrow an earring?                  Can I eat your face?

As long as you're dead, the fuck's the difference.

Park in an empty lot and who are you
lining your wheels to asphalt paint for?

Heart beats sound amazing.               There is a fire,
The only thing more being                 small inside the wreck.
the click of the load of "heart."          Two hands to cup air & blow.

Spin the chamber giggle giggle          Savages, savages, ALL!
giggle fuss.  How long were you        Set coordinates.
breast fed?                                           Set fear aside.  Adjust clothing.

The stars are beautiful.  The moon keeps driving by our house real slow.

With both barrels, fade summer.
In the mean time, cherry tomaters greet when work ceases.

Brown grass becomes a mirror and naps prickly.
Windows close and shades during the day.

We gossip and chant and the sun
blushes.   Mars and I still
quipping about his heavy handed ways.

Today?  Sure.
A limb?  No.

A digit?  Yes.
To feel alive.  Less than that.  I am more than the sum of my parts.
How can I prove it to you?

The sun stares in;                                 The moon glimmer is undeniable.
glare and sharp and                              Stand up.  Please, sit down.
wet spectrum.                                       I brought cookies and they will
                                                              not soften themselves in cups.
                                                              Allow me to pour the tea
                                                                        wayfarer.

Smoker 54

It is possible to shed tears on command
as flares to attract missiles.

Do you have a light?

I remember my back pocket.
I am asking you, makeup waterfalls
at corners of mouth.

Stomp the remains into concrete.
Pull another and flame kiss nose.

Around the corner
they are waiting and the pearls begin to form.

Laugh, head far enough out to smack a street sign
while we drive;

clear up  my eyes, cotton breeze.
Embers in our 45 mile per hour wake.

Fall, Come Soon

There is a mountain of snow
behind the glen of automobile bones.
Grass need tamped down
with dancing feet
beneath the beating sun.

Hot, hot without shoes and
it was on fire when I laid down and
pressed my cheek to iron.  The ghost things
brushed my arms when the wind blew.
Dandelion thoughts.  Ticklish

always.  Giggle and try not to sweat
in the shadow of the beast.
It will all be glass soon.
The other shoe will drop and
shatter the reflections behind my eyelid.

The glare in the eye
I keep open while I sleep.

The sound of return of the painted dinosaur
is a lot like the sound of a shell

dropped at one's feet
on a toenail,

managing to skit away
to hit find its clack against an ocean polished rock.

Cymbal crash and sand
stand watch while tears roll
down my face to caress
the corners of my lips
beneath the hair.

The sun beats
and the waves speak
and people disappear one by one along the march.
The ship makes friends with the sky.
The clouds shake hands.
Jellyfish die.

The shell remains.
Near toes.  To pick it up, to hear.
Already hot enough to burn fingertips to history and
laugh.  Scorn.  Who can I hurt?  Come play with me,
from the deep the beach vibrates with a whale song.

Murder The Universe

Driving gloves no longer stick to the steering wheel
the way they did in summers past and
snot slicks it up and the radio buttons glisten
with thumb prints and the dash streaks
underneath street lamps passed by where
boogers and boogie men got smeared.

Practice come live; before panic breaks down
walls of reality and we all mash steel drum lips
to sound more human and who is who
when the rain falls on all of us and
the sound trickles in to our ears as
a cacophony of concussions with each one
reaching one before a drum stick has landed.

Fuck you, this is my planet, wait.

It is not, this is your fucking planet.

Janus? Gemini?  Gnaw.  Circling a dog star.
All born the same with passions the same
wills the same converted into expressions
of peace and rest that get misinterpreted
into statements of war and rust and gusto.
Head, shoulders, knees, and toes to sanity

let's go ahead and clip the profanity.
Fuck you.  What did I just say?
Remember the planet on which we could all play?
I don't.  I'm not a prophet and I'm always ready
to get up off it.  Build the ships
and I'll start a new colony.

This one is dying and I'm glad to be a rat.
I wasn't invested.  Galaxies is where I'm at.
Hibernate and I'll time travel with you,
when you wake I'll be happy to wake too.
Star scapes mean a lot more now.
When you're ready, I'll hold your hand
and move town.

Shomurai

Leather laced.
Metal plate.

Sun down to sun up.

Glance and live.
Wink and die.

Battlecries form and
sink between lenses,

leash and dice held firm
while the links have to go.

No time to mourn
while the blessings let,

eventually they'll learn
six deep under stone.

Leather laced metal plate
and honed,
blade synchronized to
flesh and bone.

Smoker 53

In the musicals
we toe and heel
rip razors through cement
tandem and dual and duel
through corners.

Clouds in our wake.

Cylinders burn
and discs glow bright
and you will hear us
before we are seen
and smell us
long after we are gone.

Dear Nose Blower

When you haven't quite got it,
tendril hung between the
El train and the pipped local
stop sign stippled tongue rake.

Surface streets or highway?
By air or by asphalt.
An indictment on mouth's condition?
Don't be silly.

Speed cross distance is time.
Time multiplied by pelvic floor
equals lung capacity and as long
as there is no blood we're good.

Lightheadedness
a side affect.
Where's my chewed toothpick?
Haywire.  Sneezed the spare change and stick
right out of my damn purse.

Six Inches

The day
the snap and split of bone
touches your ear
between the 16 set of teeth in jaw
spread the sea red
nailed tongue and roof
upward between the eyes
to close a maw and seal tight
the cave of wonder locked
once and for all.

Six inches from contact
split uprights
and
a kiss.

Fantasy.
What are you afraid of?
A hilt?
The kiss?
Or my eyes two centimeters away
from your own,
your gun still
in its hiding place?

Three inches
would have made it.
Four is over kill.

Six
is
a
statement.

Stake and art and think
next time
before you decide
to temp.

Darts

All teeth and brows and
dimples.

Rare joy and meat.

Scratch and chalk.  Bracket.

Freed emotion
if you can lick a square.

Bull =sigh= plastic.

Shame glory. V is for end day.  Bull

I shit you not.

Spit In the Pastels and Swizzle

99:  the eight of spades, scorched through the center.

44:  gold leaves lit on sigh breath red tinged gnat.

55:  the eight of clubs and bass throbs gun metal blue

22:  a sharp green that will knife through
       your gastrointestinal tract like a finger
       thrust into butter to its knuckle when it crosses
       your nose.

11:  snake eyes are never without negative space
       surround and feel a tongue go dry like
       tissue paper kissed haphazard,
       stuck to skin.

999:  adventure boiled
         to tar.  Smeared.  Pigeon.  Blood.
         Glisten bone shard peek through.
         Thank God for jeans.

Hustle Bone

You,
You clearly,
You clearly,
You clearly do not know me yet.

Irate pirate.  You can be the alpha dog.
Can't give two shits to move it.
The boulder in our conversations.
Just - crew - it.

With one hundred hands
any mountain can be plucked.
Be more like Lex Luthor
and give no -

What I came here to say is that
some people will bring a bat,




arms, and cannon,

wings, and a radar,

ghost armies and phantoms

rag with glass shard,




Alpha dog.  Plotting your demise.
Ten feet from the fire,
licked teeth, in the underbrush
with the glitter eyes.

Hold My Hand

This will be a day of days!  A sunrise to sunset
for the ages.  Four capital letters to remember.
When my fingers were too small to fill a palm
and my lips too thin to caress fingernails.
Turn corner and trick while cases litter sidewalk
and you held my hand
sweat to dry skin and I felt more volatile and
kinder than I've ever been.

The road signs said their peace;
the reflections said their light
river eyed, long lashed, curtsies.

Knuckles tightened
as grip gave way
ten minutes beside each lawn strode by.
Each ray, each chirp, each clink
our watches bumping face
glass to metal
to remind
magic may be as simple as meeting the right person
at the right time.

I have to meet a man about a horse.
Today will be a day of days.
Sunrise to sunset.
Please hold my hand.

Family Tree

Daddy was a merchant.
Sister was an author.
Brother was a combatant.
Mommy didn't bother.

The tracers flew above foxholes
close enough to jar
if fingers closed fast enough
to feel shell casings flutter.

The Sandman's Mascara

The walls met
above the neon electronic dart board.
You were there.
A tendril of smoke leaking.

On second thought.

Your number on my receipt
when I closed my check
with a smiley face and
a flourish.

On second thought.

Leaving the bathroom door open
to sigh on its pneumatics
you turned the faucet on
winking and slipping a blue toothpick between your lips.

On second thought.

Juke box stacked
to the ribs.  Tipped cap and nine quarters spilled
from your pocket.  Glance down,
You left your jacket on the chair back.

On second thought.

Have you seen him?  That's his butt
in that plastic tray there.  That thing in the black tee!
Have you seen him? With the brown eyes!
"No one left or came in the last hour, brother."

On second thought.

Bird baths in public restrooms never go over well.
Was there this guy with eyes like lanterns?  Just here?
Yes, here!  The hell else would I be talking about?
No?  Freckles on the nose and a gray jean jacket?

On second thought.

I could've swore.  Are you sure?
Yes!  Okay, I am going crazy.  Sorry to bother you.
Sit and tent fingertips.  Squint at the televisions above.
Chair pulls away and elbows brush.

On second thought.

Eyes dash
to the floor.
Black on black sneakers.  Again.
Count sheep, count down, count up.  "Come here often?"

The Sandman's Purse

Gummy bear
flavored eye liner
so that when you cry
you will blow your nose
into your bottom sheet,
waking, to find your tongue
in a tropical wonderland.

Two Transportation Authority passes
from 2009.  I am pretty sure
they are no good now,
you never know.

One broken cigarette.  Is that the pebble
beach all along the lining?
Well I am pretty sure
it is no good now.
A letter opener.

That one is not supposed to be in there.
Key ring with keys.  A straw
with no sleeve.  A notepad.
A pumice stone that looks like lipstick.

And a bedpan.  There is some
pelletized glass and an
uncapped sharpie next to
a fourthed piece of brick
with a dime sized sticker on it too.
That's about it, though.
And a receipt.

And a nickel.

That's about it.

Smoker 52

I killed a plant today.
I taped it back together.
As long as fluids can pass
along the cellulose tubes
with sun for days
it will be fine.  It is not
dead if I do not see it.
Right?  Remember
not closing Torus's eyes
before sliding his body
into the garbage bag.  Before
cutting off all of his whiskers.
You have to see
in the next one and
whiskers are only useful when
three dimensions are-
-together again,
the process was all wrong.
Overcome
with grief
linear paths
are wrapping
rose bush branches
in packing tape
to hear the snap of resistance on thorn

and start over

to do something

anything to agent.

the plant is dead.  Is dead days through.

You are not allowed to leave
until I say so.

The Sandman's Phonebook

Come to rake books,
if you do get two nights
or two days worth of sleep
each week
you are
golden.

However the statistics are compiled.

Fear not.  Fatigue is a
t-shirt and a slogan.
A lost chorus line of teeth
is progress.

Could be a t-shirt too.

No matter how the hours
are stolen away from the ember licked door,
they are currency and with them
on our eyelids
walk & growl,
motor shakes
to keep time.

I Wanted to Have Children

Work to tend the bones and tissue paper of this body
while its mind decays its every core
until the day it slumps like a pumpkin in July,
sun beaten, fly ridden, gas plumaged, colorful
in the way wood nearly charcoal
will glisten in the right cut of daylight.
"Who's afraid of a great big clock?"
Another death, another thing this body
will refuse or break to do.  Dare turn the key,
then knob, and force the door again?
Dare fumble one arm into that dark, cheek pressed
to the door's jamb, eyes pressed closed,
teeth pinching tongue's tip to
remember where the damned switch is
before something cold and wire haired and wet
brushes your wrist and you rip your arm away.
"No, please.  Please, come in,"
says the dark doorway.  You'd better run.
Leave it closed, but linger,
palm to the metal knob.
"Die now.  Die later.  It is all the same to us."

The First Summer Mosquito

Yesterday morning a nightmare climbed into my head,
too hot for blankets, a rouged tongue seeking relief
unwound in spilled sunrise drapes underneath my skin,
on my back, sleep writhe hips, balls drawn tight,
urine rushes through thin air to dash,
beads of glass up my nose,
glitter slashes, sparks fly!  Shaft aches,
swells, and spills.  My god, desire shovel fed,
but still panting, now upright awake,
dribble tip and chin, fog cream and scent,
damn it, I have pissed the bed.

Laundry comes around and goes,
dried, and showered, buffed, unclothed
before the first car keys turn in streets.
Gaze down at toes wiggled on my feet
and tug at the little hairs from hips
to belly box and on back down
to giggle and prod the doors of the
coiled copper dynamo: now off.

Up along the leaves of ribs
where muscles lace knit fingers.
In and out and in until
the slick hairs of pits...

   ...what's this?  An itch?  A bite?
      In the tiny hairs about my nipple?!

     An itch!  Why did I scratch?
     I can't help it now!  I can't help it now.

A mosquito in the land.
Somewhere in my room.
It is must die
before I can dare to close my eyes,
for it is too hot for blankets,
too hot for clothes,
and even so, what if it bites my nose?

This could take hours.
This could take weeks!
Accumulate bites like a flesh tally sheet?
Hum at ear, the pitch high,
allow hands to reflex fly!

Open palm, breath calm, a dark smudge
and a shimmer of crushed wing.
Reach around the mattress edge to rub
the grime away.
A thin skin of sweat vanishes
beneath the ceiling fan, fingertips clench and
release the bottom sheet.  Spread legs in the
heat and the breeze from above,
a long morning quiets,
sorting pieces of dueled dreams, come the tide of sleep.

All is well in the land
the first mosquito deceased.

Garden Party

The bats come at evenings tip.

Mars finds its place at supper's table

beside the moon.  Sirius will

be fashionably late.  

Henry is in the clipped grass filled trench

at yard's end where the fence 

meets cinder blocks and fresh earth

crawls with enough insects 

to call down Robins

throughout an afternoon.

The forward guard.

A Finch?  A starling?  A crow

would not waste its time

in a howling, whirlwind, beak snapping

fly by!  Tucked low in an unfinished

garden trench at the fence

of a flat world:  test!  Fur ridge rise

and lay flat and flatter to ground.

Still toward invisibility.  Blend.

Pant and blend.  Blend.  Blend.

The Big Dipper and one satellite.

Xibulba?  No, Venus.  The Little Dipper

and Orion.  Taurus?  No, that's an airplane,

that's actually Saturn.  This time of year?

Why is it flickering?

Carpenter bee

shoves dust into the air

to make its way 

toward the fire's tail.

Through the twilight 

lances a pair of eye sized reflectors,

a white beard beneath,

a hazel serpent,

white tipped,

dancing above the blades of grass behind.

The point man is vigilant.  The forward guard

reports no activity on the Southern front.

Canary at a get together.

The stars align,

the moon hums,

drinks flow,

the cat does his duty.

Smoker 51

The days when everyone was crazed for
sour diesel?  An unmistakable stench
capable of rendering a goat blind
from thirty miles afield?

A taste for subtlety
comes with age.  A punch can be
delivered in many ways.  The first time
understanding dawned and eyes peer in
to the depths of a cave and see
shades instead of black velvet draped
at its mouth.

The latest craze, the waves wash
and tumble dry.  Snap and then fold.
Those days are far behind.  What's in
a name.  A shotgun for a fly.  An axe
for a bird.  A two mile tall mech
for a skirmish.

Degrees only come with age.
Hues, and tastes, and contrast.
Every fire is unique.
Every lick of flame its own blaze
across the lake of space time and

find a galaxy to call home.

See

I have been
browsing long photos.
Suicide black and whites.
Spickkednrr.  Ig if had a sound.
Anger blossoms.
A loom.  How?
Every second
every minute
anpit upi/
about you
whether you enjoy it or
your glance
ties me in knots.
Houdini for a wink.
Inexplicable. Snatched breath.

Confettronic

Blank plus techno box equals
strips of assorted machinery
like flat pasta noodles,
confetti, maybe.  The project:
to reduce an LCD monitor to
strips of material that will fit
inside of a typical jelly jar's mouth.

Angle grinder with cutter's
grip tears in and smile spreads.
Breathed "huzzah"s dribble
from tightly pursed lips 'neath
flared nostrils.  The case melts,
parts, unzipped behind a stroke.
Another.  Flip that pancake and
trawl the little plastic lagoon.

Lips spread further and
teeth bare against the disc's bite.
Bug it all, I know this smell.
I know this smell.  Poisoned
myself again.  Of course!
A friction cut, atomizing
heavy metals and polymers.
Vaporizing not slicing.
Oh, I've poisoned myself again!

For a single foot long, inch wide,
shred of use able paint.  Check
nose for blood.  Pinch tissue; blow!

Sledge hammers are the cones of a pine.
Gorgeous and grit and essential.
Face mask swings make cakes.
Scissors of various duties
pare to biscuits.  Not quite
confetti, but not unconscious
filled with neurotoxins either.
The exchange rate of fun

in each brushes touch of destruction
is close enough
to devise an equality.  The project's
parameters change.  Calendar dates
turn over, ledger boards in a central station
chatter.  We are on time, arrival
estimated at in one piece.

General Rank

Tank to the bone
not fury, not temp
you know where the bones are buried
not spent.  They  come alive
and reach for the sun
sometimes stars
where they wash their clothes
and their worn up drawers.
Laundry cannot be made without soap.
The people that do not understand that are dopes.
There's only so many times a trash can be poked
before you realize the dog inside is dead.
Anyone can walk around with a fistful of lead,
no place to bury it
except someones head.
We all do dream, we all do seem
to be reasonable fellas
reasonable riffs from bred.
If you speak fast enough
no one will point blank become rational.
Spin tales
go deep and sing about things like whales.
You will get nailed to a wall
and your caterwaul will be diagnostosed.
Setting ten.
Yes burned black thick and thin.
Through and through.
Sight beyond sight,
we will show some sort of might and "yeah
sure you're right."  You have no concept of
doom.
Welcome to think,
in here with me in the klink,
or in a jail, nope, chainmail.  I where it too.
Sword tip to my
tongue out
in my face
in your face
toast blackens against inside of a machined
toaster and pops for margarine.  Clipped thought
ends.

April One

I scream and rage and want the world to burn
because you are not mine.
Seven days removed, I take the same deal and hope
for the world to end.
The pain is the same and I live the days and
misfortune over.
I live the stupid shitty, fuck fuck, shitty, how the FUCK,
why, how could I have been
That out of touch when you needed me absent.
Signals.  Neutered
for your own good, in retrospect did you want?
From the start, impossible.
Yes, I remember how we met.  I wanted to know
everything about you.
I still do.  Lines in the sand.  We were on different
paths the whole way.
Can you imagine our conversations now that we
know what we know?
I doubt we'd get along now for more than a few days.
Development.  I lied.
We would.  I would.  I still crack empty jokes
because there is a little bit
of your voice inside me, refusing to die. Weird
is what you call a pigeon
that has one foot, chilling out on an exhaust grate
in Manhattan like you
are the one who interrupted its day.
I suppose one of these
days I will settle down and saw someone to bits
out of boredom
after several dozen years of faking it to
make life easier.
I will keep in touch, in case you do the same.
The letter will have
no return address, but its contents will be a series of
tests to be sure you are
who the person who opens the envelope is.
On down the road.
One of these days I will stop sawing myself to pieces
to help me remember
the day I knew the family photo had me in it
kind of.

To Disagree

Start a war
against clover
foundation chance.
Tear away clothes.

                  Schzschzqwa

        For us.
   For us.

That still
for whom you've asked
is still not my name.

Kish

We
are
the
same.

If I can identify with a cactus

long conversations with a plant

the rainfalls on the wicked

the righteous too

cannot we all get along too

it would be magic
to leave us
hang.

Blisters.

Scroll Bar News Feed

I suppose it makes more sense
that your roots are in our lens,
your rings and sinews
mosses and 'shrooms
thin dark branches and bright blooms
some dewy, some
spider web iced
are above for all to see
from where came our seed.

A change very small.

If only you would
come new into the ground
roots burrowing and eating
through places light never found;
then our be and our is
will thrive, pushing
shoving, eat into the sky.
Into heavens.  Into stars.
Sway with the wind and rain,
our leaves fall, our seasons change.
Instead of scrolling down.

French Kiss

Sing me home
beneath the sun.
The kid comes swiftly,
cradled until he can go again.
Humming back and running
my thumb along the hairs of an eyebrow.
Lips pressed to lashes
left and then right.
Count the number and quantify
the hairs at the small of his neck
to remember
the next time he walks
through the front door.
Tongue slips
offense.
Crank!  Sing me home.
Earlobes graze and
embers tell his tale.
Forgotten you.  Forgotten me.
We are the same.
"Have you missed me?"
"No."
"I have missed you."
Bring about the death of a galaxy
with one word.
Please don't run away this time.

KNDY XGIA XOXO

Spring shuts its filthy mouth.  Two ton Winter blows away.  In the heat of the sun, wishing for some glasses.  It radiates and I am searching for my sound.  The continents and ocean and working with a moon.  That enormous citrus rose rises.  Try to slip the heap of shoulder from the grill before it all tastes like murder.  The circle rises and legends are made. The snow beard jackals yawn on.

The hillsides are melting.  Icicles meters long are falling.  Down river the fish the mammals the mixes the hexes the rexes the river monsters and the math that convexes the surface of the waves to make me crave the idea that maybe the next thing my line might find is a thing that goes bump in the night.  Time falls later in the face of gaining an hour.  Tossed into a tiny lake of disputable depth.

Charges go off and the sea flexes and winks back.  When I was young we used to have this thing where I would jump off of the porch and whomever lands furthest wins.  Are silly.  Did it ever occur to you that God was depressed?  Dance in the moonlight and embrace a noogie.  Makesit, we have to revise and tear down the entire operation.  Sixty sixty will be a good day to die.  With.  Lulz

in the waves.  Did not come here to see you.  Walked out to a coast to see them.  Robots may win eventually.  The waves will come with less frequency.  Is a myth difficult to dispel.  Summer altogether.  A perfect world is voided Summer.  Makes peace with no one.  Solution could be a nuclear snow.  Is possibly the greatest thing I've ever

seen a ghost?

The Man Who Walked with a Cane and a Smile

"What do you mean you cannot whistle?
What do you mean you cannot swim?
What do you mean you cannot stand?
What do you mean you cannot write left-handed?
What do you mean you cannot sleep?
What do you mean you cannot walk?
What do you mean you cannot paint?
What do you mean you cannot see?
What do you mean you cannot snap?"

Tire the explanations that all seep from one.

"Anyone can if they work at it long.
Everyone can if they are willing
to leave their comfort zone,
to give up blood and sweat,
to think outside of their box,
to believe in themselves,
to accept help from others,
to trust in those around them,
to fight for what they want,
to dare and follow through!"

Tire the explanations that all seep from one.
     Not all life is a choice made or not,
     an action taken or not,
     a day seized or not.
     Some are missing fingers,
     some are blind, some have damaged nerves,
     a single hand, a single eye, weakened bones,
     malformed cells, malformed minds,
     prosthetics in their design, outside
     and within.

"What do you mean you cannot?
Man up!  Get out there!
What are you afraid of!
Have faith in yourself!
Let me help you help yourself!
All you have to do is try!"

Tire of stating the explanation
     that has been a bane of life for decades,
     reminded each time asked then blamed
     for being unable.  Disabled.  Absurd.  Pathetic.
     Sickened by the carousel loop.
     Hope in a next life to be born without legs instead
     to maybe bear a little less scorn.

Wintershine

Sun salutation begins without shades.
Hair fallen in to pools of rust catalyst,
coolant, hydraulic drips, and dust.

Sweater oil saturated
from months of curbs and slush,
the weeds are sprouting now.

Dry asphalt and breeze dries dripping nose,
in the shade it is still cold.
The fused bolt lets go with a bark.

Fingers spasm.  Throb and lock
around the wrench's shaft.  Breath and spit,
rust dust, and rubber grounds flecks hit lips.

Groan.  Groans.  Together.  "The river
never froze and may never again,"
said Chibup to Westir (the two seagulls

that always perch atop the two lamp-posts
at the pier walk);
overheard, but not dictated.

Sneeze hard enough to bang forehead
loud enough to get the neighbors dog woofing.
The clock answers both the same,

a pendulous and deep chime.
Hands faster.  No mosquitoes, yet.
Everything is easier in reverse.

Is that Mars?  Venus?  Helicopter.
The sun settles in for dinner. Time to leave.
The torque wrench clicks,

muscles burn in a heat
Spring promises will come.
Glow in the dusk, the bolt, the movement,
the wrench chirp and click of Summer crickets.

Daydream

Laughter drowns headphones.
Pause in the crosswalk.
Eyes glued to contrails
lancing through
Winter sky;
clouds of black and Black and Milds
pull a rip chord.
Oncoming bus.  Four door people mover
in the opposing lane.  Move!
Sidewalk.
Horn!

Can You Hear It

The French Horns and Trombone
carrying over the wood tops
while you poke a twig near the river.

Between the tiny frog burps and the cricket
wings chirp.  The sun came up again.
Fool on you.  Tasting the droplet,

put fingertips in pocket.  Dream about
the flutes are going with a timpani
a dragonfly takes a picture of the

hues of green reflected in the stream
and all above
snare drowns out a harp.

Electric guitar fires up
a few hillocks away from here,
but loud enough to sing along.

Sing along if you'd like
to
like

like to.
Days and years and a few
long blinks.

A cymbal does its best to crash.
A fire does its best to belch up ash,
while a flask is emptied.  A top its head.

The stars look a bit a clearer now
with the sounds of laughter
and running dogs without leashes.

The weather's been funny,
I don't know how
anyone manages to sleep these days

before Spring hits full swing.
I thought we had a thing, you know,
A snowman building contest.

Or at least an open skate.
The breezes taste long and
the air is wet.

Thunder and lightning came back to bed.
The river won't freeze and just like that
Winter is over.

Smoker 50

Sorting through old scans of saved photographs
to see if my teeth will end up exact copies
of my father's.  He had his wisdom teeth removed
I think?  On his own dental plan.  Did he have them done
before his 31st birthday?  Maybe not.  Never came up.
I may keep my hair.  Maybe not.
Murderers row.  My mustache is growing
up in to my nostrils.  Stop doing that!  Stick scissor tip
inside to clip.  Blunt.  Pick!  Rip!  Red drip follicle
dangle mirror twitch.  What are you doing up there?
Make me sneeze.  Papertowel, teary eyed.  Faucet, hot
then cold.
The photos are of a person I wish I could
know, until they are not.  Ember dies in a can's lid.
Breath in again.  Have not slept right since
that bubble popped.
Why not acknowledge imperfection?  Embrace him?
Fly a flag against the wind?  To what end?
I will never understand,
though corneas dry at room temperature,
eyelids strain,
and rain dots cheek
for peering into memory's river banks.

Smoker 49

Through the window
snow does its damnedest to stick
on hot streetlit concrete and
windshields still warm
from tweens rushing by on their
longboard
scooter
harness
listless
stroller
bikes
rainbow
tasteful sneakers.  Hand prints and
smoke rings blossom into hula hoops
against glass.  Hours ago and
a few days ahead, only a few.
By street light,
snow flurries
do not stick.
Snowball fights are
out of the question.
The stairs are an afterthought.
Tongue out.
By streetlight,
one sorbet snowflake at a time.
You have to wait
seven months
to breath
the chance
to do it
again and again,
snowflake by snowflake,
consume until
the cold runs hot
&
fingertips burn black.

Dinner With A Friend

the audience will find you

It should be red.  The steak.  It should be red.
If it's not bleeding, you're not eating.
Asparagus snaps between incisors
and a flake of block of butter bathed
parmesan lights up pink buds.
The Gusaroo G'shon old man cat
paws at the knees of jeans.
Shooting dice again
after smoking his last black and mild
begging for ten cents
to get a bite to eat is all.
Bus fare would be nice.
Everyone in western Pennsylvania
owns guns and bows.
The drug line does not exist.  It's a spectrum
not a line.  More of a mindset.
Poundcake is tremendous, no matter the season.
How fantastic would a fine joke about sugar,
glaze, fruit, and the piece is gone.
Rolling on brake drums when tire,
rim, and spindle fly apart
on another sugar high.
Deal with one another.  Chill, Winston.
What do they look like naked?
Is now a good time to smoke?
Save some for the kitties.
Tin and tupperware.
Make a good impression.  Met again.
Met again. Met again.
Make a milk shake out of Poundcake!
Drizzle glaze atop.
Pocket, pocket, everything!  Pocket, pocket!
Stomach sings into an empty jug
while a banjo twang
cuts clear through the air.
On a Sunday?  No.
Tread light.  Listen.  Carry when necessary,
allow, gift, enable, and enjoy agency to
blacken nasal cavities and remember
with ease.  Fury melts away,
licked teeth and clementine ash and a solid as hell
ball of snotted saliva.
Should have worn eye shadow today.
To balance sunken sockets.
Starvation was worth quinoa farts.
Walk past a piano
without dropping a fingertip,
dare.
The last time setting a table without supervision.
Close to the first time.
Where in the holy hell does the knife go?
A spoon.  A spoon!?  The world has gone mad!
They said there weren't going to be any spoons!
Okay, bully.
And where are the doilys?
The marinade is wonderful.  Lemon pepper,
right.  The vinegar is sassy.  Just pepper and some salt?
Met again.  Met again.
The last time the piece in the kiln was turned
was twelve minutes ago.
Come with?
Ember flare.  Garlic on the wind, wasted,
gurgling in an oven and pouring through window seams.
Asparagus asks for dehydration.
Embers flare again.  The kiln closes up shop
and shutters her doors.  Lick teeth
thinking about the last time tongue
pressed to scalloped blade edge to
cradle the work of another hand.
Good night, my darling.

Sit By The Sea

Nose in a book, my book resting beside me in the grass.

The wind kicking in gusts.  Each sentence read blown

my eyes on the whale clouds mingling with

galactic cruisers and shuttles in the busy sky.

Hear the jingle of car keys and grounded

for a moment; a woman with a silver and blue stroller

and pup in tow answers her cellular phone.

"Let's go out."  Watch your earring shift

in the breeze and hear the miniature wind chime sound.

Glance.  Twinkle.  Shiny.  "What's up?"

"Nothing.  It is a very nice day out is all."

"Oh.  Okay.  Let me know if it's too cold."

Turn the pages face up.  Find my place ten pages backward

and continue.  The wind whistles through a tree

ten yards away, circles back and nudges a curl of hair

from your eyebrow to rest against the crest of your ear.

My book rests beside me in the cut grass.

Nerd Out

I'm gon' name my first car, '96 Camry, a bitch.
Like Kup, always negative, dragging a switch
Second car, all iron sided, jumping curbs like you rich.
If you ever get the urge, talk you off that quick.
Two moves ahead.  On the motorway
iron hide don't budge, come take a lick.
Mobile armor, cous'. Bring everyone.
Big O knock you down so fast you wish your henching never was.
Lasers and tech, go 'head and bring your mech.
Countered with a ninja style while my machine
gets busy on its own.
Two heads are better than one
unless you want Gerbera Tetra, son.
Armor joins mech, one pilot one tech
fall.
Hit hit hit.
Vaprized.  Prophet 6, the orbital gun
shuffling it's way through the Oort
while we had it out.
The Ace of spades.  Two moves ahead
sometimes has to be measured in
chunky fractions of light years.
A recurring dream about flash boiling
my left arm.  The nerves being so sharply severed.
There is no pain.
Unicron had no second thoughts.  Why should I?
An omen dream?  If I had a bushy tail,
a full and absolutely perky
permanently fluffy bushy tail,
no matter how I tried to lick it flat,
I would love it and rest my cheek on it every day.
Every night, when pizza stops fueling us
and we have to think about the rush
of tomorrow's onslaught,
remember battles taken and the road to infinity
when ninjas fought.
If 30,000 descend, you have to live until
29,999 are slain.
Have to save the last 'til the boss is fit to trot.
Repeated save points.
Re-lit joints.
It's going to be a candle lit,
32 bit, night.
Keep your poise, hold down the noise,
I will be damned if you believe
Asteroids will beat me in 2-D!
A new high score!
A new high score!
A new Tokyo,
envisioned through a lens,
Sixth impact,
technicolor weapon and war paint:
TwentysixteenA.E.

I Get Dog, Folk

"Go for a walk.  Go for a walk?"
Refreshing internet browsers.
Double checking status
on progress bars.
"You want to go for a walk?"
Everything will fall like dominoes
before the hypersonic bubble
of a thermonuclear device.
"A new world order will be enacted!"
Go for a walk.  Go for a walk?
"Yes, dear Lord, yes!"

The scarecrow post man,
do not blink.  It moves!
A life its own.  Do not blink.

I don't like change.

Time is heartless.

The gods, too.

River Stroll With a Backpack Full of Groceries Before Home

Where are the ice floes?  The rainbow
beneath the river film is tinted.  Rocks
along the shore frosted with days ago snow.
Snap photographs into the deep pea.
Wonder if the fish are as confused as
stomach rumbles and days sleeping less.
Do they wonder where lures are?
Never.  Tiny brains turned eyes to
horizon clouds are burst to haze and
rain that never kisses.  Low pressure
coming.  Get home.  The concert is
starting.  The fish will be listening too.

Unseasonable Weather

When your work environment
is no longer dictated to you,
thirty hours are taken away
on the wings of little birds
stared and named and the main stage
large birds up there
not once beating about their thermal circles.
Sixty hours are taken away
tapped songs to rain and the rhyme scheme
highway made heard through single pane window.
Ninety two hours disappear
into the black inside your heart.
One hundred and nine vanish,
head cradled by hands behind your head
about the time twenty years ago
you starred at a ceiling fan
that only wobbled when you stared at it long enough.
Somehow, they've built and sold another one.
Am I at home?  This is my apartment.
My rug on my floor.
My forearms going numb, swaddled
inside the womb of an unseasonable
December afternoon.
Nowhere near born again.