You were the loaded gun
I held to my head
that got me
off and on
to new roads so many mornings.
Hold two fingers together
with thumb cock and
go 'click'
to my heart, but
nothing inside me flinches anymore.
original works of parts
Sisters
Take pictures wherever you are.
Write post cards and sign them with
the little rises and falls of your lowercase script
that bobble and dive and climb
where thin black rules suggest
it may not be a good idea
to take liberties without a warrant.
Write X and O and smile some of the time
or all of the time
or at least when you are with company
and otherwise as appropriate
to adjacent man and nature made wonders.
I won't be upset in front of you
or upturned
flung vased and lamp dashed and pillow gut
for long, wherever I am.
There is this quote from a film
you should see,
or have seen
wherever you are,
that I can remember but will not sign for.
Do not forget to take pictures.
I will not look. I never do, these days,
because I have no need to trace pen print
color maps along the given
to see wherever you are and
feel that sun on your face and
feel that air swell your chest and
feel that world fill your sails and
bleed full into the places
I have yet to learn are empty.
Write post cards and sign them with
the little rises and falls of your lowercase script
that bobble and dive and climb
where thin black rules suggest
it may not be a good idea
to take liberties without a warrant.
Write X and O and smile some of the time
or all of the time
or at least when you are with company
and otherwise as appropriate
to adjacent man and nature made wonders.
I won't be upset in front of you
or upturned
flung vased and lamp dashed and pillow gut
for long, wherever I am.
There is this quote from a film
you should see,
or have seen
wherever you are,
that I can remember but will not sign for.
Do not forget to take pictures.
I will not look. I never do, these days,
because I have no need to trace pen print
color maps along the given
to see wherever you are and
feel that sun on your face and
feel that air swell your chest and
feel that world fill your sails and
bleed full into the places
I have yet to learn are empty.
At the Close of the Day
Wander songs
are breaching lips in sighs and trills and
ba ba ba ba fuffs and piffs.
I would like
to not make eye contact
with any of the ghosts.
I am fishing
from the prow of my ship
long wrecked and the sea long gone and the sand
long standing and plentiful.
The rust in the air is tasting
a lot like a week of sex too self conscious
for tenderness. Or a lip too hard gnawed idle.
Tire smells a lot.
Fights slow ham fisted and bad footworked and
wins against odds and stinks up the locker room
with salt and thick breath.
Where are you going?
There is work to be done before close and
you slow dance like chewed gum and
a fragrance cake in a clogged urinal.
I am still fishing.
I'll let my line tow the current. It has a bell
so I can know when to open my eyes,
asleep on the hot peeled iron.
An anxious curtain affair,
the sleeping is,
before the lights come up and banish us
to tend to our plates and the catch of day.
Don't look at me.
I've nothing to share and especially to give
to a specter.
are breaching lips in sighs and trills and
ba ba ba ba fuffs and piffs.
I would like
to not make eye contact
with any of the ghosts.
I am fishing
from the prow of my ship
long wrecked and the sea long gone and the sand
long standing and plentiful.
The rust in the air is tasting
a lot like a week of sex too self conscious
for tenderness. Or a lip too hard gnawed idle.
Tire smells a lot.
Fights slow ham fisted and bad footworked and
wins against odds and stinks up the locker room
with salt and thick breath.
Where are you going?
There is work to be done before close and
you slow dance like chewed gum and
a fragrance cake in a clogged urinal.
I am still fishing.
I'll let my line tow the current. It has a bell
so I can know when to open my eyes,
asleep on the hot peeled iron.
An anxious curtain affair,
the sleeping is,
before the lights come up and banish us
to tend to our plates and the catch of day.
Don't look at me.
I've nothing to share and especially to give
to a specter.
Reality Sets
There was a time
when I could dance at 9 in the morning and
sing about how
someone else
could sing the lyrics of a song
that demanded
a man never go home again
if he could avoid it
without understanding
what the world would be like
to never have to oblige
another man's demands
that I come to a home
that burst itself with enough hate
to render it's womb desolate.
And now there is a time
when I can dance at 9 in the morning and
sing about how
I will never have to
go home again
despite another man animal's demands and
I am beginning to understand
what that world can be like
to never have to oblige
violence for religion's sake and
pretend there is still
something fertile
left twitching
in the shit stained
empty nest.
when I could dance at 9 in the morning and
sing about how
someone else
could sing the lyrics of a song
that demanded
a man never go home again
if he could avoid it
without understanding
what the world would be like
to never have to oblige
another man's demands
that I come to a home
that burst itself with enough hate
to render it's womb desolate.
And now there is a time
when I can dance at 9 in the morning and
sing about how
I will never have to
go home again
despite another man animal's demands and
I am beginning to understand
what that world can be like
to never have to oblige
violence for religion's sake and
pretend there is still
something fertile
left twitching
in the shit stained
empty nest.
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