Caterwaul
like you mean it,
gamut warning
be damned.
Someone said something
I don't care
to remember
this close to December.
August was loaded
language and history.
The barrel still burns
trigger glutted.
Hugs all around
or not. I picked you
daisies out of season.
Don't ask me how I got them.
I am trying to love
without specifics.
Grant me that.
Nonnegotiable.
Needle eaters.
World Beaters.
And cans of
spring fired worms.
Have you ever
had the pleasure
of uncorking
something like that?
You give hugs like a straw man
and I am okay
with your alien-ness
and not okay with touching you.
Asking too much,
and I, not enough
of myself. The wind
still rolls.
When did you stop
loving the leaves at your feet.
Waves of them
and the dying heat?
original works of parts
Science Fiction
The grass is wet and black. This much I know. To be fact. The love is extra. And always will be. Breath against the back of my ear where it smells funny. If I lick the tip of my finger and rub. Until it comes away dark. The same way my fingers get. Pinched roaches. Burned. Tooth scrubbed. Washed and wet again against the bushes of that bitch's house. Who never waves hello. Assuming you're up to no good. Again. I want to take her out. To Wyvern's and buy her some shots. I promised myself I would stop fucking. I promised everyone else I would stop fucking. Old people.
So I rub my fingers until the burned skin comes off. And try to ignore it. The soaking. Cutting across lawns. The grass is wet and black. Without the sun in my mouth. Someone was telling me. With a name like Geritnaquess you better be really good at dealing. Or sports. I used to parse laughter. And cheap laughter. Before I learned they work the same magic. On my nerves. Everything feels different when it rains. Not hard enough to make me wear sunglasses at night. Takes a lot. Everyone feels a little bit of celebrity. When there is occlusion. I am no different.
Before I will shake your hand. Out of courtesy. We all turn to our own. Devices making distance a little less than what it otherwise loves to be. Hell informants and the devils. And their guns. The living go reckless through my head. Like it's Easter all over again and eggs are made of plastic. With little candies inside every day. I am surprised we haven't been down before. This road. Reminds me a lot of the time I spent in Austin. Fit in at your own peril. At your convenience. Four dollars and a favor at a time. Trying not to burn. Go gray on me. Eyes fix.
And I will slit your wrists in your sleep. Is what I tell myself. To tell the stars. Pull the chord. Freefall is a perfect state. When the pressure is right. A man could stand up on air like that. How boyish can you be? Curb rise has no glamour. The moon is a diva. Tie your shoes. If you are going to walk. With me. I am more complete than I am. With you. I never know. With certainty. I was supposed to meet up with L. K. but I am. Between buildings instead and sucking. Rainwater into the seat of my jeans. Fingers playing. Instrument and mental in the concrete creases.
Wet and black and in every blade a little ball of sun. I've slept again. Outside. I've missed again. Remember the phone call? The arrangement? She waited engine running and you. Are half dressed. Wonder why she didn't come looking. For you it means less. Than it should be a wake up call. To what? Breathing in. The air feels like my hand is cranking an oar through. Slush is coming too soon for the weather. Yesterday I sat out here with a cup in a cozy. What I did before then. I do not know or. Compartmentalization is getting. To me it is.
As meaningful as saying "hug it out". To bodies so celestial I could never hope to make. Contact your supplier. Or don't. Live in a fish bowl if your memory will never be short enough to forget the castle. Is the same castle you slept in and you want something to break. Yesterday the sun came up and the sun went down. Your molecules the same. Though the dance music has not been. All that danceable. The grass is wet. The grass is black. I keep blinking and tearing up for something starlight. All I get. Contrails lit up in headlights. Mounted on the nose of another airplane going. To where I'm not.
The terror is bending in. To my insides I hum little love songs. A few minutes at a time. A night can pass. Swallowed. But not before the money hits the table. Next to the pillows. Where drool pools unchecked. You can wake up again. Into another dream. Where steam punk reigns and swords are concealed. Weapons of mass destruction lie in every field of flowers and conspiracy flies. Like diamonds from dead hands. Wires mass and convulse and take on life. Like you've never known it. She'll call tomorrow. The table will wait. Tonight we dream in science and high adventure.
So I rub my fingers until the burned skin comes off. And try to ignore it. The soaking. Cutting across lawns. The grass is wet and black. Without the sun in my mouth. Someone was telling me. With a name like Geritnaquess you better be really good at dealing. Or sports. I used to parse laughter. And cheap laughter. Before I learned they work the same magic. On my nerves. Everything feels different when it rains. Not hard enough to make me wear sunglasses at night. Takes a lot. Everyone feels a little bit of celebrity. When there is occlusion. I am no different.
Before I will shake your hand. Out of courtesy. We all turn to our own. Devices making distance a little less than what it otherwise loves to be. Hell informants and the devils. And their guns. The living go reckless through my head. Like it's Easter all over again and eggs are made of plastic. With little candies inside every day. I am surprised we haven't been down before. This road. Reminds me a lot of the time I spent in Austin. Fit in at your own peril. At your convenience. Four dollars and a favor at a time. Trying not to burn. Go gray on me. Eyes fix.
And I will slit your wrists in your sleep. Is what I tell myself. To tell the stars. Pull the chord. Freefall is a perfect state. When the pressure is right. A man could stand up on air like that. How boyish can you be? Curb rise has no glamour. The moon is a diva. Tie your shoes. If you are going to walk. With me. I am more complete than I am. With you. I never know. With certainty. I was supposed to meet up with L. K. but I am. Between buildings instead and sucking. Rainwater into the seat of my jeans. Fingers playing. Instrument and mental in the concrete creases.
Wet and black and in every blade a little ball of sun. I've slept again. Outside. I've missed again. Remember the phone call? The arrangement? She waited engine running and you. Are half dressed. Wonder why she didn't come looking. For you it means less. Than it should be a wake up call. To what? Breathing in. The air feels like my hand is cranking an oar through. Slush is coming too soon for the weather. Yesterday I sat out here with a cup in a cozy. What I did before then. I do not know or. Compartmentalization is getting. To me it is.
As meaningful as saying "hug it out". To bodies so celestial I could never hope to make. Contact your supplier. Or don't. Live in a fish bowl if your memory will never be short enough to forget the castle. Is the same castle you slept in and you want something to break. Yesterday the sun came up and the sun went down. Your molecules the same. Though the dance music has not been. All that danceable. The grass is wet. The grass is black. I keep blinking and tearing up for something starlight. All I get. Contrails lit up in headlights. Mounted on the nose of another airplane going. To where I'm not.
The terror is bending in. To my insides I hum little love songs. A few minutes at a time. A night can pass. Swallowed. But not before the money hits the table. Next to the pillows. Where drool pools unchecked. You can wake up again. Into another dream. Where steam punk reigns and swords are concealed. Weapons of mass destruction lie in every field of flowers and conspiracy flies. Like diamonds from dead hands. Wires mass and convulse and take on life. Like you've never known it. She'll call tomorrow. The table will wait. Tonight we dream in science and high adventure.
Summer Cuts 2
Beautiful starlight,
summer's really going to hurt you
I knew it going in.
I knew it going in.
What stops,
honey bear?
What stops.
It has been funny,
the walking around.
The walking around the brown lot
where the house stood.
The kicking.
The kicking little bits of black and imagining
how they died.
Everyone takes credit.
Badges and ribbons and buttons.
Quiet like on the North Side.
I do not laugh so loud these days.
"If you could take over the world..."
I try not to think about it.
He's singing to me again.
I watch my hands again.
We are kissed and made up.
And out again.
summer's really going to hurt you
I knew it going in.
I knew it going in.
What stops,
honey bear?
What stops.
It has been funny,
the walking around.
The walking around the brown lot
where the house stood.
The kicking.
The kicking little bits of black and imagining
how they died.
Everyone takes credit.
Badges and ribbons and buttons.
Quiet like on the North Side.
I do not laugh so loud these days.
"If you could take over the world..."
I try not to think about it.
He's singing to me again.
I watch my hands again.
We are kissed and made up.
And out again.
Oil On Canvas 7 P.M.
41: still goes like gold leaf
along the sides. Over stated.
36: is stator coil orange.
Brilliant in its copper cage and
wanting to be a little more
than it is
dotting wave tops and left over.
09: sings a little song by itself,
not quite white and not quite ocean gray.
Where thirty six has left off.
08: lady in arms, a violet I cannot identify with,
necessary as I whistle, brush in hand,
if I held hopes of making this photo coffee table sapphic.
95: loves the pale and while at it
loves the white and the darkness it would otherwise
leave out of play.
83: cannot be where other numbers better serve,
but what is a hard Almond
where there is Beechwood and Sea Glass Ale?
44: ties it all together and is
fench. Fench, fench, fench.
78: does not know and once you are okay with that
the lines make more sense.
02: still has some figuring out, but if you can make
the time to be on the bridge at sunset and committing memory
when the clouds are flirting with other
time zones you can wish
there was something between two and one,
decimal and simple, and fitting.
along the sides. Over stated.
36: is stator coil orange.
Brilliant in its copper cage and
wanting to be a little more
than it is
dotting wave tops and left over.
09: sings a little song by itself,
not quite white and not quite ocean gray.
Where thirty six has left off.
08: lady in arms, a violet I cannot identify with,
necessary as I whistle, brush in hand,
if I held hopes of making this photo coffee table sapphic.
95: loves the pale and while at it
loves the white and the darkness it would otherwise
leave out of play.
83: cannot be where other numbers better serve,
but what is a hard Almond
where there is Beechwood and Sea Glass Ale?
44: ties it all together and is
fench. Fench, fench, fench.
78: does not know and once you are okay with that
the lines make more sense.
02: still has some figuring out, but if you can make
the time to be on the bridge at sunset and committing memory
when the clouds are flirting with other
time zones you can wish
there was something between two and one,
decimal and simple, and fitting.
Summer Cuts
Somewhere there's a klaxon.
There's a thing going off
with all of its heart
for you and your travesty,
shuffling along one foot stepped.
Somewhere there's some medium
looking up from his glass ball
foretelling the downfall of some sky
giant, tumbling through the clouds
like a tree through lesser trees.
Somewhere someone is raising an eyebrow,
and flinching a little bit
where their mustache meets their lip,
and it is making no sense to them,
but you are
dying
and if I could keep
the blood out of your mouth
I would write you a song at the same time.
It will be snowing soon. Wait for me.
It will be snowing soon. I will meet you there.
Somewhere there's a klaxon.
There's a thing going off
with all of its heart
for you and your travesty,
shuffling along and step logiced.
Your are not loved, but wait a little while,
would you? I thought we were
on the same page and besides
everyone is a little crashed these days.
There's a thing going off
with all of its heart
for you and your travesty,
shuffling along one foot stepped.
Somewhere there's some medium
looking up from his glass ball
foretelling the downfall of some sky
giant, tumbling through the clouds
like a tree through lesser trees.
Somewhere someone is raising an eyebrow,
and flinching a little bit
where their mustache meets their lip,
and it is making no sense to them,
but you are
dying
and if I could keep
the blood out of your mouth
I would write you a song at the same time.
It will be snowing soon. Wait for me.
It will be snowing soon. I will meet you there.
Somewhere there's a klaxon.
There's a thing going off
with all of its heart
for you and your travesty,
shuffling along and step logiced.
Your are not loved, but wait a little while,
would you? I thought we were
on the same page and besides
everyone is a little crashed these days.
Slotty
"It's all predetermined
in the grand scheme,
you know?"
I don't, but I do
know that I am badass at slot cars
if you happen to have a track.
I've been thinking
the teddy bear
I grew up with,
head falling off,
should go to my
adopted mother.
The only one who can fix it.
I want my bear back.
I want my nights back.
I want my sleep back.
I want and I do not know
who to ask?
in the grand scheme,
you know?"
I don't, but I do
know that I am badass at slot cars
if you happen to have a track.
I've been thinking
the teddy bear
I grew up with,
head falling off,
should go to my
adopted mother.
The only one who can fix it.
I want my bear back.
I want my nights back.
I want my sleep back.
I want and I do not know
who to ask?
When Was the Last Time We Skipped, Broke
Trying to account for last times
we danced. The times when
it all went slip, shod in only
the things we could bring on our backs.
I think I liked you more when you were poor
and you had more to say and less to offer
the casual. Remember when brushing shoulders
with them was an ordeal
we could talk about
all day? Neither do I. I do remember,
lying across your stomach,
hands pointed toward the wall,
asking you what it could possibly be about
on that grand scheme
and you breathed out, long. Like a daddy. And I
touched my forehead to see if I was still bleeding and you
said "yeah", hearing my sign language and I
said "yeah", hearing my voice inside
your well.
When was the last time? I cannot remember.
Who does?
we danced. The times when
it all went slip, shod in only
the things we could bring on our backs.
I think I liked you more when you were poor
and you had more to say and less to offer
the casual. Remember when brushing shoulders
with them was an ordeal
we could talk about
all day? Neither do I. I do remember,
lying across your stomach,
hands pointed toward the wall,
asking you what it could possibly be about
on that grand scheme
and you breathed out, long. Like a daddy. And I
touched my forehead to see if I was still bleeding and you
said "yeah", hearing my sign language and I
said "yeah", hearing my voice inside
your well.
When was the last time? I cannot remember.
Who does?
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