Once you hear
you can't unsee.
For the thrill;
willing to peek
around a corner.
you can't unsee.
For the thrill;
willing to peek
around a corner.
original works of parts
Polyhedron
As a child
Grading papers
You are bad
You are good
There are rules.
Why aren't doors larger?
Why aren't appliances smaller?
Why is the standard so?
Average human.
Average hands.
Average height.
Average weight.
Average machines?
///disconnect.
You are good.
You are not bad.
Grading papers.
As a child.
There are rules
Why are there doors?
Why aren't appliances a little smaller?
The standard is so.
I won't go back.
I can't go back.
I will not go back!
I cannot go back.
Grading papers
You are bad
You are good
There are rules.
Why aren't doors larger?
Why aren't appliances smaller?
Why is the standard so?
Average human.
Average hands.
Average height.
Average weight.
Average machines?
///disconnect.
You are good.
You are not bad.
Grading papers.
As a child.
There are rules
Why are there doors?
Why aren't appliances a little smaller?
The standard is so.
I won't go back.
I can't go back.
I will not go back!
I cannot go back.
The Ancients 2
Cigarette butt circles chrome sink drain
and catches against the manhole cover
chrome plug.
Tinnitus shaped curl
aerator screamed
hush.
Glance backward
to see
the dune peak alive with beads.
Fuffs of sand scrolling backward
as the lake large as an ocean
sings to a freshwater jam band.
The gales
the chorus. Trees misshapen,
rooted as near as
the inland sea would allow.
Eyes to the medicine cab'
mirror for a sun. Hairs held in place
by grains of sand.
Do you not shower?
Do you not wash?
I've seen no ocean like that before.
and catches against the manhole cover
chrome plug.
Tinnitus shaped curl
aerator screamed
hush.
Glance backward
to see
the dune peak alive with beads.
Fuffs of sand scrolling backward
as the lake large as an ocean
sings to a freshwater jam band.
The gales
the chorus. Trees misshapen,
rooted as near as
the inland sea would allow.
Eyes to the medicine cab'
mirror for a sun. Hairs held in place
by grains of sand.
Do you not shower?
Do you not wash?
I've seen no ocean like that before.
Walk Like an Angel (junkyard mix)
I'm still getting used.
The hammers fall
and heels kllonk.
Onward to the sun.
The powder mixed wrong.
Stepped on again; Gods damned it.
Films slide by
the way skins peel off of lips.
My glasses. My glasses! My glasses!
Have you ever been stranded
two miles offshore
to swim for your life if you want to?
A horse and a slay
to carry the day.
Grandma was senile when she died.
Something so beautacious
so silly gorgeous and sporting
so fresh, you ragamuffin!
"Yeah" is not "Yes".
Or was that Marie.
Or was that Harvey.
Envy the extended families and
burn them to death that
you may collect their bones
if you deign to take the time to know.
Tea, with a dash of
concentrated pet milk from a can and
two cubes, decaf of course.
A walk to the salon and a
car ride that stinks
of the carpets tread plastic shoes.
Plants grow, windows shut, insects
stuck to the laundry tree.
G.I. Joes and laughter and matchbox cars
and tiny apples and fear
hanging in the corner of every room.
Grandfather clock chime.
Twitching blue nailed toes.
Why didn't the nerve sever.
56 books beneath the coffee table.
Mirror wall for space for what.
Dead dog statue.
What was its name.
Why are the plants not outside.
The garage is packed.
What is that smell
inside of my backpack?
I don't want to sleep on the floor again.
Is she going to die?
The clocks are unfit.
Where are the encyclopedias.
The chairs are many.
The jokes are thin.
Be a man.
Bury your secrets.
The hammers fall
and heels kllonk.
Onward to the sun.
The powder mixed wrong.
Stepped on again; Gods damned it.
Films slide by
the way skins peel off of lips.
My glasses. My glasses! My glasses!
Have you ever been stranded
two miles offshore
to swim for your life if you want to?
A horse and a slay
to carry the day.
Grandma was senile when she died.
Something so beautacious
so silly gorgeous and sporting
so fresh, you ragamuffin!
"Yeah" is not "Yes".
Or was that Marie.
Or was that Harvey.
Envy the extended families and
burn them to death that
you may collect their bones
if you deign to take the time to know.
Tea, with a dash of
concentrated pet milk from a can and
two cubes, decaf of course.
A walk to the salon and a
car ride that stinks
of the carpets tread plastic shoes.
Plants grow, windows shut, insects
stuck to the laundry tree.
G.I. Joes and laughter and matchbox cars
and tiny apples and fear
hanging in the corner of every room.
Grandfather clock chime.
Twitching blue nailed toes.
Why didn't the nerve sever.
56 books beneath the coffee table.
Mirror wall for space for what.
Dead dog statue.
What was its name.
Why are the plants not outside.
The garage is packed.
What is that smell
inside of my backpack?
I don't want to sleep on the floor again.
Is she going to die?
The clocks are unfit.
Where are the encyclopedias.
The chairs are many.
The jokes are thin.
Be a man.
Bury your secrets.
Tube Socks
Arrayed beside the new pack
you're nice. Pink from the day I tossed you in
with the red hoodie I've been meaning to return
to that lovely fellow, Justin.
Thread bare, some of you, when I forgot to clip
my fingernails and pulled up to my heel
a tiny bit too hard and your ankle opened
with a "yowch!" Floppy necked from
days behind the wheel, sweating, sweating, sweating,
never the same after I peeled you away
from my brown skin turned gray
from a sauna boot.
Black half sideways stripes from the time
my bicycle chain locked and my shoe
tangled in the toe cage and my foot
sprung free of the laces only to catch in
black greased chain links and slowly tip over
unable to get off the finicky road machine.
Timber!
A new pack. Is there anything nicer?
The thick threads not yet beaten flat.
The odor of odorlessness.
Empty odometers, the lot of you.
Excitement ripping the package open hurling
them every which way.
First the left foot. Then the right.
Well there is something nicer.
How about that first stroke of a new deoderant?
Ooooooooh, that is a good one.
To the general store!
you're nice. Pink from the day I tossed you in
with the red hoodie I've been meaning to return
to that lovely fellow, Justin.
Thread bare, some of you, when I forgot to clip
my fingernails and pulled up to my heel
a tiny bit too hard and your ankle opened
with a "yowch!" Floppy necked from
days behind the wheel, sweating, sweating, sweating,
never the same after I peeled you away
from my brown skin turned gray
from a sauna boot.
Black half sideways stripes from the time
my bicycle chain locked and my shoe
tangled in the toe cage and my foot
sprung free of the laces only to catch in
black greased chain links and slowly tip over
unable to get off the finicky road machine.
Timber!
A new pack. Is there anything nicer?
The thick threads not yet beaten flat.
The odor of odorlessness.
Empty odometers, the lot of you.
Excitement ripping the package open hurling
them every which way.
First the left foot. Then the right.
Well there is something nicer.
How about that first stroke of a new deoderant?
Ooooooooh, that is a good one.
To the general store!
Migrations By Day
Near the bend of the rosy afternoon rays
and the elbow of tail lights shuffling
through the tall grass of radio towers
and high tension lines rising through
the ebb of tree limbs
announces the trail master, with a huff
and spray, "this way!"
Along the line
each humped beast replies,
with a huff and spray above,
"yes, this way. This way to home!"
Some mist, some sway, some
trundle along content
to snuffle the footprints before to know
which way.
The turn comes ours and
trunk reared up
the windshield clouds with
washer fluid misting from ahead.
We join in the display
for the ones behind
who may not know.
Thumb into the shower knob,
the wipers go
and purple deicer fluid, unchanged from
the seasons of snow,
fills the air and joins the dust all around
the orange cones of construction
yet to begin.
"Yes this way," hand out of the open window
to cool the day's heat , "yes, this way
to our weekends and home!"
and the elbow of tail lights shuffling
through the tall grass of radio towers
and high tension lines rising through
the ebb of tree limbs
announces the trail master, with a huff
and spray, "this way!"
Along the line
each humped beast replies,
with a huff and spray above,
"yes, this way. This way to home!"
Some mist, some sway, some
trundle along content
to snuffle the footprints before to know
which way.
The turn comes ours and
trunk reared up
the windshield clouds with
washer fluid misting from ahead.
We join in the display
for the ones behind
who may not know.
Thumb into the shower knob,
the wipers go
and purple deicer fluid, unchanged from
the seasons of snow,
fills the air and joins the dust all around
the orange cones of construction
yet to begin.
"Yes this way," hand out of the open window
to cool the day's heat , "yes, this way
to our weekends and home!"
August Scream
Some evenings the air feels uneasy.
There is no wind, no crickets.
The familiar embrace of starlight stiff. Cold
as if it is speaking through cinder blocks
or not at all.
A warning that something is coming.
Something is tugging at the seams,
gnawing away a thread here,
a stitch there. Something is trying to get in,
you must go home at once.
Street light bathed windows
follow you like the wide plastic eyes of
Betty Boop clock
thick with cobwebs and the tented legs of
dead spiders.
You must go home at once,
something is trying to get in.
Hide. Hide. Hide!
There is no wind, no crickets.
The familiar embrace of starlight stiff. Cold
as if it is speaking through cinder blocks
or not at all.
A warning that something is coming.
Something is tugging at the seams,
gnawing away a thread here,
a stitch there. Something is trying to get in,
you must go home at once.
Street light bathed windows
follow you like the wide plastic eyes of
Betty Boop clock
thick with cobwebs and the tented legs of
dead spiders.
You must go home at once,
something is trying to get in.
Hide. Hide. Hide!
Falling
The familiar metal glide hiss
rises beneath the church mum shush
stream of faucet water through the aerator
into the pit of the bean boiling pot
planted in the kitchen sink basin.
Darted eyes see the glint of
an exclamation points blade
begin its baton tumble
from the bars of the overhead rack.
Can a knife be caught, snapped
out of thinning air
between fingertip's
unzipped
wails?
By a handle, perhaps.
Certainly not
by the hairs of toes.
Misplaced for convenience.
Hidden for necessity.
Between jars to drink from
and forks and spoons. To eat
what is on the menu.
Can a knife be caught, snapped
out of screaming air
between thick palms
resting day's weight
on cool cast iron?
Mother shush falls
beneath ringing ears and heart's throb.
Hands do not move.
The blade clatter swallowed
by the nine part percussion section
that followed it down.
The second hand moves once more.
The pot, full, burbles to the drain.
One blink. One more.
Turn off the faucet and the kitchen light.
Go to bed. There is nothing on the menu
tonight. Tomorrow, perhaps.
Breathe tomorrow.
The Ancients
Speak in dreams.
The wind sand
makes your hair
a bubble chamber.
The last time
we went to see
the ocean
I shook sand from my sneakers for twenty nine days.
Atomic 'doo gel.
Fine and canned.
A few puffs
of "Houqsinn's Ocean Musk"
above eye level,
walk through,
and we are ready for a night out
in the city.
Shower on Sunday.
Dunes and tall grass
behind eyelids.
Drain burbles and head hiss and loaded coffee cooling.
Wet cigarette butt circles and vanishes.
Retinas send aches pleasant in the dark.
Atomic decay of sunsets in 60 watt bath water.
The half life of memory seas.
The wind sand
makes your hair
a bubble chamber.
The last time
we went to see
the ocean
I shook sand from my sneakers for twenty nine days.
Atomic 'doo gel.
Fine and canned.
A few puffs
of "Houqsinn's Ocean Musk"
above eye level,
walk through,
and we are ready for a night out
in the city.
Shower on Sunday.
Dunes and tall grass
behind eyelids.
Drain burbles and head hiss and loaded coffee cooling.
Wet cigarette butt circles and vanishes.
Retinas send aches pleasant in the dark.
Atomic decay of sunsets in 60 watt bath water.
The half life of memory seas.
Through A Porthole
The size of bent edged metal lodged and twisting
inside her intestines is unknowable, to watch
me fall to one knee for the fifteenth time, blue
red, gold, and phosphorous white
licks of flame bursting from my suits seams.
Break glass, air driven out. Still burn. Chemical
blaze. Extinguisher plumes filling containment.
Still burn. Over radios screams and crackling tears.
I'm okay, I'm okay!
I can't help you!
Please, listen to me. I'm okay.
Days that pass and months without incident.
When we arrive at the colony station
the stories we will tell. Work continues. Monitors
blink and machines whir our songs.
Card games and reading her to sleep.
Nights up with me when I could not.
Check in, check out. Cautious smiles.
Loose bodies and minds. Guests, invitations.
Space walks and communiques.
Drops to planets and moons and back.
Stay aboard, take care of the ship while she's gone.
Let go. Another job lost. I don't understand
what happened.
I can do this. Don't worry. I can-
You have to try.
I can-
Alarms drown thoughts, seals clip into place.
Over radios urgent commands conflict.
Get inside.
This time is different. The thump of
foot thick steel beams seat to their cylinders.
The whoosh of air gone. Through smoke dimmed porthole,
her eyebrows broken and streaming,
a hand across her mouth. This time is different.
Please, listen to me. I'm okay. Don't-
The lights turn off. Extinguishers plume.
I cannot see through the fire light filled helmet, you.
Days pass. The lights are gone and
the remains of myself charred and
heat grafted to what's left of the suit.
I can't help you. I love you.
Crackles through
the radio link.
I know. I love you.
Before it dies alongside the main lights and
the emergency system's too.
I forgive her the blast door ever fallen locked.
The ship abandoned for too many memories
trapped inside. Too many smiles and footfalls logged.
Too many meals and doors and machine sounds we knew.
The pain of helplessness that must have tore through her
to see the blaze rise from being
without an answer
arrests me anew each year
removed from finding the outer seal lock
against containment, turning the hard key
and blowing myself into the depths of space.
Never again
to tap "I love you" in Morse on the blackened porthole window.
The empty ship still turns in space somewhere
full of memories and aches, scorches, and empty pods.
A keepsake floating in a drawer with drapes.
Perhaps a shoe and a few keys to nothing.
What system it's found
or salvage impound or
if it's fallen into the belly of a star,
no one knows.
Across the reaches, alone on my station, cobbled together
from other ships and wrecks I've come across,
through deaths and births I cannot say,
I still comb signals now and then and smile,
a bit of ash drifting from my cheek.
Once in a while the noise resolves and
I see a picture of her content and shining face.
Brush away the spark and adjust a sleeve's clasp.
We are loved.
We are home.
inside her intestines is unknowable, to watch
me fall to one knee for the fifteenth time, blue
red, gold, and phosphorous white
licks of flame bursting from my suits seams.
Break glass, air driven out. Still burn. Chemical
blaze. Extinguisher plumes filling containment.
Still burn. Over radios screams and crackling tears.
I'm okay, I'm okay!
I can't help you!
Please, listen to me. I'm okay.
Days that pass and months without incident.
When we arrive at the colony station
the stories we will tell. Work continues. Monitors
blink and machines whir our songs.
Card games and reading her to sleep.
Nights up with me when I could not.
Check in, check out. Cautious smiles.
Loose bodies and minds. Guests, invitations.
Space walks and communiques.
Drops to planets and moons and back.
Stay aboard, take care of the ship while she's gone.
Let go. Another job lost. I don't understand
what happened.
I can do this. Don't worry. I can-
You have to try.
I can-
Alarms drown thoughts, seals clip into place.
Over radios urgent commands conflict.
Get inside.
This time is different. The thump of
foot thick steel beams seat to their cylinders.
The whoosh of air gone. Through smoke dimmed porthole,
her eyebrows broken and streaming,
a hand across her mouth. This time is different.
Please, listen to me. I'm okay. Don't-
The lights turn off. Extinguishers plume.
I cannot see through the fire light filled helmet, you.
Days pass. The lights are gone and
the remains of myself charred and
heat grafted to what's left of the suit.
I can't help you. I love you.
Crackles through
the radio link.
I know. I love you.
Before it dies alongside the main lights and
the emergency system's too.
I forgive her the blast door ever fallen locked.
The ship abandoned for too many memories
trapped inside. Too many smiles and footfalls logged.
Too many meals and doors and machine sounds we knew.
The pain of helplessness that must have tore through her
to see the blaze rise from being
without an answer
arrests me anew each year
removed from finding the outer seal lock
against containment, turning the hard key
and blowing myself into the depths of space.
Never again
to tap "I love you" in Morse on the blackened porthole window.
The empty ship still turns in space somewhere
full of memories and aches, scorches, and empty pods.
A keepsake floating in a drawer with drapes.
Perhaps a shoe and a few keys to nothing.
What system it's found
or salvage impound or
if it's fallen into the belly of a star,
no one knows.
Across the reaches, alone on my station, cobbled together
from other ships and wrecks I've come across,
through deaths and births I cannot say,
I still comb signals now and then and smile,
a bit of ash drifting from my cheek.
Once in a while the noise resolves and
I see a picture of her content and shining face.
Brush away the spark and adjust a sleeve's clasp.
We are loved.
We are home.
Tricks of The Trade (Uncle Tyrone)
I don't remember who won that game. Probably you.
With relatives disparaged the morning after. Funny
the assignment list grew. Keep up appearances.
Guess who's coming for dinner.
The VHS player runs and an elaborate dinner enough
to keep each member's mind occupied until
the maintenance work is done and the stories are told,
at least the ones the little'uns are to learn from and
consciousness of the small sneakers and little hands
faded in to nostalgia and stories of work too large
for young eyes and hands to do and gossip too large
for restless smiles and darting evangelic eyes to track.
Pow pow!
Basketball hits stone outside and rolls to Tyrone's shoe.
Burgundy scrubs. A nurse.
Dad said you flipped a tank
and got kicked out of the army for it.
Can you hit it from across the street?
I haven't tried (I lied). A rubber skinned ball through a hoop
at 40 feet once. That car parked in the driveway of that guy
dad chats up sometimes that he's been trying to get to study group.
We're not supposed to be over there or something.
He's bad. Air ball. I swear, I did it once. I shovel his driveway
sometimes.
So your pops plays you?
No. I like to play by myself. Sometimes the neighbors play too.
Has he ever played you?
Yup, he always wins when he does, but he always cheats.
Here's what you have to do, okay? Layup swish.
There is a button.
Mhm.
Alright, shoot it.
That's not fair!
Just poke them right there! Right when their arms go up! Brick.
Belly button, man. Poke them in the belly button or low ribs! Brick.
No, that's stupid! That is so shitty!
Right in the ribs, man! Every time. Shoot it again, I know you're quicker!
See! Why you laughing, why you laughing, you know I got you! Shoot!
You going to try it on someone else?
Nope.
It's good to know though, right?
Yup. Giggle. Brick.
Alright, little man.
With relatives disparaged the morning after. Funny
the assignment list grew. Keep up appearances.
Guess who's coming for dinner.
The VHS player runs and an elaborate dinner enough
to keep each member's mind occupied until
the maintenance work is done and the stories are told,
at least the ones the little'uns are to learn from and
consciousness of the small sneakers and little hands
faded in to nostalgia and stories of work too large
for young eyes and hands to do and gossip too large
for restless smiles and darting evangelic eyes to track.
Pow pow!
Basketball hits stone outside and rolls to Tyrone's shoe.
Burgundy scrubs. A nurse.
Dad said you flipped a tank
and got kicked out of the army for it.
Can you hit it from across the street?
I haven't tried (I lied). A rubber skinned ball through a hoop
at 40 feet once. That car parked in the driveway of that guy
dad chats up sometimes that he's been trying to get to study group.
We're not supposed to be over there or something.
He's bad. Air ball. I swear, I did it once. I shovel his driveway
sometimes.
So your pops plays you?
No. I like to play by myself. Sometimes the neighbors play too.
Has he ever played you?
Yup, he always wins when he does, but he always cheats.
Here's what you have to do, okay? Layup swish.
There is a button.
Mhm.
Alright, shoot it.
That's not fair!
Just poke them right there! Right when their arms go up! Brick.
Belly button, man. Poke them in the belly button or low ribs! Brick.
No, that's stupid! That is so shitty!
Right in the ribs, man! Every time. Shoot it again, I know you're quicker!
See! Why you laughing, why you laughing, you know I got you! Shoot!
You going to try it on someone else?
Nope.
It's good to know though, right?
Yup. Giggle. Brick.
Alright, little man.
The Last Pasta
The fridge door opens and the light comes on.
Shadows fall over the shelves. Does milk
even come in cartons anymore? The big ones?
How would you hold it
with no handle?
Pop the cap off of the orange juice. Fermenting.
Sip. Not terrible.
Sniff the barbecue sauce. A fingertip dab
or two. Make it an even three. An even four.
The fridge door rests on an ankle. A butt cheek.
Milk doesn't come in cartons
unless your are twelve. Maybe nine.
The bread loaf comes out in hand
then returns the same, open end spun plastic
closed easily shrugged dinner bubblegum machine
quarter in and puzzle in an egg game
thumbnail to tile to tile to make a picture
that looks like food.
A blue lid in the crisper draw
by tired toes
handle pulls.
The pasta. The pasta. The last pasta
in the house.
A pop of lid's lip,
a very small breath.
There is no Earthly reason,
what songs last pasta sings,
those notes should come
into or from a mouth
when the shelves cup other things.
The light goes out and the fridge door closes.
Shadows fall over the shelves. Does milk
even come in cartons anymore?
Shadows fall over the shelves. Does milk
even come in cartons anymore? The big ones?
How would you hold it
with no handle?
Pop the cap off of the orange juice. Fermenting.
Sip. Not terrible.
Sniff the barbecue sauce. A fingertip dab
or two. Make it an even three. An even four.
The fridge door rests on an ankle. A butt cheek.
Milk doesn't come in cartons
unless your are twelve. Maybe nine.
The bread loaf comes out in hand
then returns the same, open end spun plastic
closed easily shrugged dinner bubblegum machine
quarter in and puzzle in an egg game
thumbnail to tile to tile to make a picture
that looks like food.
A blue lid in the crisper draw
by tired toes
handle pulls.
The pasta. The pasta. The last pasta
in the house.
A pop of lid's lip,
a very small breath.
There is no Earthly reason,
what songs last pasta sings,
those notes should come
into or from a mouth
when the shelves cup other things.
The light goes out and the fridge door closes.
Shadows fall over the shelves. Does milk
even come in cartons anymore?
Summer Cuts 4
Lick wire split fingertips. The sting of the pierce
still fresh and blood dried.
The rule returns:
always use gloves when handling braided cable.
Bicycle repairs to complete.
Simple work underneath the sun and mosquitoes
while dandelions stretch and play.
Grease blacked palm to brow.
80 can feel like 110 and 75 can feel like 50.
Each season
is the most on record, right?
Sun down and chimney swifts
alight back home. Their winged racket
keeps the bats in. Traffic signals.
A Sol traffic light.
Heat will play.
Wrench slip and skinned knuckle sigh
breaks the static. Clouds muscle against
a fire's light of stars.
Somewhere up there
is Summer too
and a kid fixing a bike.
Snot all bad, hawking phlegm at an early moth.
Missed. Clover patch. Splat.
A good day is a good day.
Lick fingertips. Sit and light another.
Sore forearms and long inhalations, one second for each hour
beyond Winter's grip. Ash, out, pick up the 5/16ths C wrench.
still fresh and blood dried.
The rule returns:
always use gloves when handling braided cable.
Bicycle repairs to complete.
Simple work underneath the sun and mosquitoes
while dandelions stretch and play.
Grease blacked palm to brow.
80 can feel like 110 and 75 can feel like 50.
Each season
is the most on record, right?
Sun down and chimney swifts
alight back home. Their winged racket
keeps the bats in. Traffic signals.
A Sol traffic light.
Heat will play.
Wrench slip and skinned knuckle sigh
breaks the static. Clouds muscle against
a fire's light of stars.
Somewhere up there
is Summer too
and a kid fixing a bike.
Snot all bad, hawking phlegm at an early moth.
Missed. Clover patch. Splat.
A good day is a good day.
Lick fingertips. Sit and light another.
Sore forearms and long inhalations, one second for each hour
beyond Winter's grip. Ash, out, pick up the 5/16ths C wrench.
Cat Owner
What do you want on your piece of taco?
Meow.
Taco piece? What's the difference. They're the same thing.
Meow.
We're out of meat, but I think there are some beans in-
Meow.
Peanut butter in a taco?
Meow.
Where?
Meow.
That good, hunh? Well, that's definitely only going on yours.
Meow.
No, I have never been to the Philippines. Do they even make tacos there?
Meow.
No, there is no meat. Tuna is a meat.
Meow.
Fish is too a meat. Not all meats are meats though.
Meow.
Coconut meat.
Meow.
About ten minutes. Go find your brother and ask him what he wants too. I'm only making dinner once.
Meow.
Meow.
Taco piece? What's the difference. They're the same thing.
Meow.
We're out of meat, but I think there are some beans in-
Meow.
Peanut butter in a taco?
Meow.
Where?
Meow.
That good, hunh? Well, that's definitely only going on yours.
Meow.
No, I have never been to the Philippines. Do they even make tacos there?
Meow.
No, there is no meat. Tuna is a meat.
Meow.
Fish is too a meat. Not all meats are meats though.
Meow.
Coconut meat.
Meow.
About ten minutes. Go find your brother and ask him what he wants too. I'm only making dinner once.
Meow.
Ghosts
I want more.
I want more.
I want more.
Glitch.
Shedding shedding skins and
I want more.
I want more.
I want more.
Bastard by rite
abd-abf?
abz and aba.
Meet half way
thunder meet light
sound barrier meet fright.
Scars.
I want more.
I want more.
I want more.
Thirty two means nothing.
Lock & key.
Swallow it
to know
"...hello, goodbye..."
I'm late.
I'm late.
I'm late.
I want more.
I want more.
Glitch.
Shedding shedding skins and
I want more.
I want more.
I want more.
Bastard by rite
abd-abf?
abz and aba.
Meet half way
thunder meet light
sound barrier meet fright.
Scars.
I want more.
I want more.
I want more.
Thirty two means nothing.
Lock & key.
Swallow it
to know
"...hello, goodbye..."
I'm late.
I'm late.
I'm late.
Smoker 60
There is a house on a hill
the sun sets south by south
west, catching the asphalt
patches.
If you visit
the horizon
someone will die.
Kiss, wink, survive.
Sloppy seconds and time travel.
Forgive and forget. Learn new ways toward passion.
If each second can eat a second off,
I am game. I want to
light a cigarette at the viewing
just to smoke indoors.
A step back
from kicking the coffin off
its stand.
It will be hilarious.
the sun sets south by south
west, catching the asphalt
patches.
If you visit
the horizon
someone will die.
Kiss, wink, survive.
Sloppy seconds and time travel.
Forgive and forget. Learn new ways toward passion.
If each second can eat a second off,
I am game. I want to
light a cigarette at the viewing
just to smoke indoors.
A step back
from kicking the coffin off
its stand.
It will be hilarious.
Smoker 59
Between fingertips
embers light and suss.
Tears dry. We can
kill them.
We can kill them.
Cursed. Blessed. War.
Given up on crying. A teardropular object.
I've heard the stockpiles of drums (bass)
buried beneath the dunes around Dakota
are going south.
Might be the mountains. My geography is shit.
You heard about that?
Do you have a magic marker?
Silly is like cologne. Gear? Three. Cruising? Mh-hm.
Cruising speed. Hypersleep. Upon arrival
ready
to go to war. Beheadings
are not without their "cannot go back". In the theme
of what turns
a rum runner
into a red drum
and a bass runner
is rules.
Three five seven snub hug
hip
hippie
fuck boy wink
rotate
Dream.
Wake.
He can
t
hu
rt
you]]\\\\
He cannot hurt you anymore. He cannot hurt you.
You are okay. Ten four?
embers light and suss.
Tears dry. We can
kill them.
We can kill them.
Cursed. Blessed. War.
Given up on crying. A teardropular object.
I've heard the stockpiles of drums (bass)
buried beneath the dunes around Dakota
are going south.
Might be the mountains. My geography is shit.
You heard about that?
Do you have a magic marker?
Silly is like cologne. Gear? Three. Cruising? Mh-hm.
Cruising speed. Hypersleep. Upon arrival
ready
to go to war. Beheadings
are not without their "cannot go back". In the theme
of what turns
a rum runner
into a red drum
and a bass runner
is rules.
Three five seven snub hug
hip
hippie
fuck boy wink
rotate
Dream.
Wake.
He can
t
hu
rt
you]]\\\\
He cannot hurt you anymore. He cannot hurt you.
You are okay. Ten four?
Cat Nap
Open one eye to partly cloudy rays
between the slats of the window shade,
stippled through the thin burgundy curtains,
to see if the cat is still stone asleep
in the crook of your arm
while the A/C whirs.
Find that he
has one eye open to see
if you're ready to serve lunch or
tickle a swiveling ear,
or if you'll forget he is there
and give up your warm pillow
because you've gotten up to go pee.
Tut and click teeth
until his lid closes
and he stretches and yawns.
The afternoon is young,
the apartment a sauna,
scratch scratch his nose,
then your own, with a free hand
before slipping, for a few minutes more,
back to sleep.
between the slats of the window shade,
stippled through the thin burgundy curtains,
to see if the cat is still stone asleep
in the crook of your arm
while the A/C whirs.
Find that he
has one eye open to see
if you're ready to serve lunch or
tickle a swiveling ear,
or if you'll forget he is there
and give up your warm pillow
because you've gotten up to go pee.
Tut and click teeth
until his lid closes
and he stretches and yawns.
The afternoon is young,
the apartment a sauna,
scratch scratch his nose,
then your own, with a free hand
before slipping, for a few minutes more,
back to sleep.
One of Those Days
"Pssst."
The hell do you want?
"Just wondering what you're up to."
Work.
"Oh. Cool."
"Hey."
Yeah?
"Still working?"
Yeah.
"Oh. 'Kay, cool."
"Pssssssssst."
Yes?
"Soooooo, want to work on something else? I could really use some help."
No.
"Oh, come on!"
"Hi."
Hello. Maybe later, I really need to get this done.
"It's later now."
Not now-later... later-later.
"It's later-later now, if you want to be technical about it."
"Hey, buddy. Hey. I know you can hear me. Hey, you."
Oh my god, this had better be important!
"What are you doing tonight? Any big plans? 'Cause if you're not busy..."
I do not have time for this.
"Forty-five minutes and I promise I'll leave you alone. Deal?"
"Hey, sweetness. I don't mean to be a bother, but can you come here a sec?"
What is it?
"My hamstring has been bothering me all day, can you help me stretch a little?"
I know what you're doing. Thirty minutes, alright? And I don't want to hear a peep out of you until tonight. Not an hour from now, not two hours from now. Not until tonight. Deal?
"That sounds perfect. I don't know what I'd do without you."
"Pssst, hey."
For crying out loud!
The hell do you want?
"Just wondering what you're up to."
Work.
"Oh. Cool."
"Hey."
Yeah?
"Still working?"
Yeah.
"Oh. 'Kay, cool."
"Pssssssssst."
Yes?
"Soooooo, want to work on something else? I could really use some help."
No.
"Oh, come on!"
"Hi."
Hello. Maybe later, I really need to get this done.
"It's later now."
Not now-later... later-later.
"It's later-later now, if you want to be technical about it."
"Hey, buddy. Hey. I know you can hear me. Hey, you."
Oh my god, this had better be important!
"What are you doing tonight? Any big plans? 'Cause if you're not busy..."
I do not have time for this.
"Forty-five minutes and I promise I'll leave you alone. Deal?"
"Hey, sweetness. I don't mean to be a bother, but can you come here a sec?"
What is it?
"My hamstring has been bothering me all day, can you help me stretch a little?"
I know what you're doing. Thirty minutes, alright? And I don't want to hear a peep out of you until tonight. Not an hour from now, not two hours from now. Not until tonight. Deal?
"That sounds perfect. I don't know what I'd do without you."
"Pssst, hey."
For crying out loud!
Smoker 58
The moon is an ember
wrapped in rolled blankets of dust
between the stars.
Lightyears.
Colonies.
Flags.
Coats of arms
and armor
against the planets weather.
We will survive.
A new colony.
Ankle high grass. Camera lens whirring.
Battery Power!
Listening to the sound of double doors
behind me
watching the moon set
wishing there was a wolf like me
somewhere on Europa.
The moon,
wrapped in coal clouds and simmering,
surging,
emulating a sun. I would swallow you.
I can.
Teeth gnash.
Lashes blink.
Wewillbehomeinfortywinks.
wrapped in rolled blankets of dust
between the stars.
Lightyears.
Colonies.
Flags.
Coats of arms
and armor
against the planets weather.
We will survive.
A new colony.
Ankle high grass. Camera lens whirring.
Battery Power!
Listening to the sound of double doors
behind me
watching the moon set
wishing there was a wolf like me
somewhere on Europa.
The moon,
wrapped in coal clouds and simmering,
surging,
emulating a sun. I would swallow you.
I can.
Teeth gnash.
Lashes blink.
Wewillbehomeinfortywinks.
Smoker 57
Can I appropriate your words?
Fire, Walk With Me/
The no gooders do gooders
she makes me cry no moar
loud more kings more games
do not begin to describe
how razor I can be
tough I can be rough I can rhyme
like a shut the fuggup.
There was a time I used to count the eyelashes on your upper eyelid. There was a time when I used to count the sound of the licks on your back side. Got dahmn, we both know the sound of the wings of just how time flies.
Some things don't change. Thirty years old and you still get to enjoy how pops still fights like. Holy biz, I'm glad like
if I was there I would
make a new song like
dot dot dot
fuck double taps
I will triple up
his forehead
little screw holes
and a bit
of more lead
because he still doesn't understand
if he hurts one of us
he hurts all of us
and what's more is
theonlythingholdingmebackisthefactistherackofpotentialunrealizedonhiswatchandI'dlovetokillbutmylifemeansmorethanthatshitthathesonandIwasgonetheminuteshedecidedwithhimandIwasgonetheminuteItoldwhatshewasonandsheleftmefordeadandImdoneputtingbabytosleepTheygavemesevenyearsIgavethemmyfutureandtheyateituplikeIwasleasedandsoweareenemiestiloneofusdiesfuckyouI can not
I will not
I refuse
the gate of a lie.
Fire up the lighter. Roll toward the surface to air missile. Break toward it and afterburn.
Fire, Walk With Me/
The no gooders do gooders
she makes me cry no moar
loud more kings more games
do not begin to describe
how razor I can be
tough I can be rough I can rhyme
like a shut the fuggup.
There was a time I used to count the eyelashes on your upper eyelid. There was a time when I used to count the sound of the licks on your back side. Got dahmn, we both know the sound of the wings of just how time flies.
Some things don't change. Thirty years old and you still get to enjoy how pops still fights like. Holy biz, I'm glad like
if I was there I would
make a new song like
dot dot dot
fuck double taps
I will triple up
his forehead
little screw holes
and a bit
of more lead
because he still doesn't understand
if he hurts one of us
he hurts all of us
and what's more is
theonlythingholdingmebackisthefactistherackofpotentialunrealizedonhiswatchandI'dlovetokillbutmylifemeansmorethanthatshitthathesonandIwasgonetheminuteshedecidedwithhimandIwasgonetheminuteItoldwhatshewasonandsheleftmefordeadandImdoneputtingbabytosleepTheygavemesevenyearsIgavethemmyfutureandtheyateituplikeIwasleasedandsoweareenemiestiloneofusdiesfuckyouI can not
I will not
I refuse
the gate of a lie.
Fire up the lighter. Roll toward the surface to air missile. Break toward it and afterburn.
Tracers 4
Come home.
Sit where Bralliesh Cafe's sun umbrellas were
on 49th and Canning St.
Stoplight squeak
in the breeze.
Pack up tin shot glass and pocket the kit
after screwing the cap on.
Awoo!
I heard stories about Torrenby,
the carnival grounds and grand stage
before the war.
Things were nice then.
Sit where Bralliesh Cafe's sun umbrellas were
on 49th and Canning St.
Stoplight squeak
in the breeze.
Pack up tin shot glass and pocket the kit
after screwing the cap on.
Awoo!
I heard stories about Torrenby,
the carnival grounds and grand stage
before the war.
Things were nice then.
Projector
Recluse and correspondent,
force and fragment,
black body and iridescent disk.
Faster, faster!
I know you.
There! There is the smile.
And there: the grin.
Go back. Do not allow the tape
at speed to rip or slow enough
to melt against the lens,
gears, and skin.
Quickly enough
to project a human
from within the ends
of its worlds. A harmonic
continuum curling against
itself to imprison a ghost.
The 4,551st attempt
a resounding, screaming,
eye gouging, success.
Shut it off. Its singing
rises to my ears like
vertebrae at a spine's base
gripped in a hydraulic vise,
burst and crushed one at a time like snow globes
until the last ornament is reached
at the base of my skull.
Shut it off.
I know this song. Ready the
plasma gulf apertures for test 4,552.
Reduce the cycles by 2%.
Call me when we're ready to resume trials.
force and fragment,
black body and iridescent disk.
Faster, faster!
I know you.
There! There is the smile.
And there: the grin.
Go back. Do not allow the tape
at speed to rip or slow enough
to melt against the lens,
gears, and skin.
Quickly enough
to project a human
from within the ends
of its worlds. A harmonic
continuum curling against
itself to imprison a ghost.
The 4,551st attempt
a resounding, screaming,
eye gouging, success.
Shut it off. Its singing
rises to my ears like
vertebrae at a spine's base
gripped in a hydraulic vise,
burst and crushed one at a time like snow globes
until the last ornament is reached
at the base of my skull.
Shut it off.
I know this song. Ready the
plasma gulf apertures for test 4,552.
Reduce the cycles by 2%.
Call me when we're ready to resume trials.
Will We Be Able to Get Out?
Possibly.
Do not hurt anyone.
Answer honestly.
Think carefully.
Please don't lock me up again.
Please don't lock me up again.
Please don't lock me in.
I've worked so damn hard to get here.
Can I trust you?
Please don't lock me up.
Do not hurt anyone.
Answer honestly.
Think carefully.
Please don't lock me up again.
Please don't lock me up again.
Please don't lock me in.
I've worked so damn hard to get here.
Can I trust you?
Please don't lock me up.
By The River
Fog.
Fog. Summer is going to hurt you.
At the pier we. Ghost weather. Street
light. Lamppost? The scent of leave's
aspiration that only comes when the day is
turning. The dark forest. The blue pines.
Ghost weather. Legends of witch and bed time
s
stories come true. Candles between boughs
to set light to air
is all you need to be safe
they said.
Thick air. FOG. Wet air. FOG! Please
stay with me. Birds chirp as usual
do not be fooled
in the pines and woods there is only trouble.
In the dark and the fog, blue tint,
mist enveloping everything
outside of the range of whatever torch you make,
don't go!
It is foggy outside and when you can smell
the shores of the Allegheny from here
carried across senses,
its weight in every breath,
don't go.
Fog. Summer is going to hurt you.
At the pier we. Ghost weather. Street
light. Lamppost? The scent of leave's
aspiration that only comes when the day is
turning. The dark forest. The blue pines.
Ghost weather. Legends of witch and bed time
s
stories come true. Candles between boughs
to set light to air
is all you need to be safe
they said.
Thick air. FOG. Wet air. FOG! Please
stay with me. Birds chirp as usual
do not be fooled
in the pines and woods there is only trouble.
In the dark and the fog, blue tint,
mist enveloping everything
outside of the range of whatever torch you make,
don't go!
It is foggy outside and when you can smell
the shores of the Allegheny from here
carried across senses,
its weight in every breath,
don't go.
Indiana Jones
Learning what is lost.
Three fifty seven snub nose
underneath the adam's apple.
The results are not.
Why are we.
Okay, soon.
Bring the noise.
It's good to be home
in a blizzard. To twelve.
Am I going deaf?
It was fun to play weatherman.
I am. So what now?
I am dying. So what now?
Target.
Warp gate.
In all seriousness. 2042.
I hope we can have flying cars by then.
That would be swell.
I know that I am killing myself.
I dream. Sometimes I see the places where glass
meets the frames and I think back to
glass is a very slow moving fluid and
debunk
heat and settings "it is how they settle"
I am going to die.
There are no corrections to make.
Choices sure. Fo fuggin sho.
I want to play a song.
I want to be sure that
when we log the last lap time
I am there to see it too.
"entering the dark between the stars
this is hobbes calho 7833067 85 load out. course set for
grid nine oh shik shik four eight. smooth sailing.
get a hold of aek aek for me if you can find the time.
let jillo meer know we'll be getting there early. shutting it down.
talk to you soon"
Three fifty seven snub nose
underneath the adam's apple.
The results are not.
Why are we.
Okay, soon.
Bring the noise.
It's good to be home
in a blizzard. To twelve.
Am I going deaf?
It was fun to play weatherman.
I am. So what now?
I am dying. So what now?
Target.
Warp gate.
In all seriousness. 2042.
I hope we can have flying cars by then.
That would be swell.
I know that I am killing myself.
I dream. Sometimes I see the places where glass
meets the frames and I think back to
glass is a very slow moving fluid and
debunk
heat and settings "it is how they settle"
I am going to die.
There are no corrections to make.
Choices sure. Fo fuggin sho.
I want to play a song.
I want to be sure that
when we log the last lap time
I am there to see it too.
"entering the dark between the stars
this is hobbes calho 7833067 85 load out. course set for
grid nine oh shik shik four eight. smooth sailing.
get a hold of aek aek for me if you can find the time.
let jillo meer know we'll be getting there early. shutting it down.
talk to you soon"
Swallow The Moon
Fan blades dry the inside corners
where my nose smooths into cheek bones.
Another yawn wide enough to
pop the click track where my jaw dislocated
all of those- has it been two? One. All of those
months ago. It does not hurt anymore.
The teeth have almost worn new grooves
to align. Flex the muscles of my legs
until my ankles click and tremble
toes loose from under sheets and a blanket.
Summer will be here soon. The days
are got shorter. Slowly release and curl,
tuck up, with my back to those damn fan blades
and listen to my blood rush through my veins
echoing inside the pillow dampening.
Snort running nose and sigh. Too cold for sheets
too warm for blankets. Turn the fan to low or
cook inside. Overcast was promised, not rain.
A chance, perhaps. Tangled, tangled in these sheets!
Summer will be here soon. The days are got short.
Why sleep at all. Morning sun will be returning
from errands overseas. Did you finish your chores?
Breath a few wheezes and open your mouth,
something is gotten to your nose and swelled.
The futility, laugh and regret the shudder,
how long have we been in bed today?
Paw at swollen, sleep crusted, eyes that have not
so much as blinked. Forty-five minutes to sunrise.
where my nose smooths into cheek bones.
Another yawn wide enough to
pop the click track where my jaw dislocated
all of those- has it been two? One. All of those
months ago. It does not hurt anymore.
The teeth have almost worn new grooves
to align. Flex the muscles of my legs
until my ankles click and tremble
toes loose from under sheets and a blanket.
Summer will be here soon. The days
are got shorter. Slowly release and curl,
tuck up, with my back to those damn fan blades
and listen to my blood rush through my veins
echoing inside the pillow dampening.
Snort running nose and sigh. Too cold for sheets
too warm for blankets. Turn the fan to low or
cook inside. Overcast was promised, not rain.
A chance, perhaps. Tangled, tangled in these sheets!
Summer will be here soon. The days are got short.
Why sleep at all. Morning sun will be returning
from errands overseas. Did you finish your chores?
Breath a few wheezes and open your mouth,
something is gotten to your nose and swelled.
The futility, laugh and regret the shudder,
how long have we been in bed today?
Paw at swollen, sleep crusted, eyes that have not
so much as blinked. Forty-five minutes to sunrise.
Them's The Rules
Passing a smell test at 9 A.M.
before you've accomplished anything
is about as useful as
kicking a car's tires
to see if there is any gas left in its tank.
The moment sweat begins to bead
the rest of the world will ascertain
you have not showered in three days.
Scrub brush is on the rack.
Soap is on the shelf.
The hot takes a minute to warm up.
What am I saying,
you know the drill.
before you've accomplished anything
is about as useful as
kicking a car's tires
to see if there is any gas left in its tank.
The moment sweat begins to bead
the rest of the world will ascertain
you have not showered in three days.
Scrub brush is on the rack.
Soap is on the shelf.
The hot takes a minute to warm up.
What am I saying,
you know the drill.
No Pants Wednesday
If every orgasm
set you blind for minutes
you would likely
and rightly
become quite apprehensive
to touching your own skin
and that is no way to live.
The little tremor
and screw of the lip,
the glint of teeth
in tiny pop of saliva bubble,
jaws spreading to breath
and lashy licks of eyelids
when you finally blink
is certainly enough
for a Wednesday
kiss of a reminder
that it is okay
to take a moment
away from the world's afternoon
and burn every minute
of that torn away page
in love
with just you.
set you blind for minutes
you would likely
and rightly
become quite apprehensive
to touching your own skin
and that is no way to live.
The little tremor
and screw of the lip,
the glint of teeth
in tiny pop of saliva bubble,
jaws spreading to breath
and lashy licks of eyelids
when you finally blink
is certainly enough
for a Wednesday
kiss of a reminder
that it is okay
to take a moment
away from the world's afternoon
and burn every minute
of that torn away page
in love
with just you.
Near The Fire Pit
Feeling myself
wake up to Winter thaw.
I miss you. A wife, a baby
inside still screaming across the fabric
at mach 2.3.
To inconvenience. To inconvenience?
I do not know how to reach you.
Love has not faded.
If love were projects there would be
duct tape coating every city
on the face of the earth. Lowercase.
Picking up my phone
wasn't terrifying
before.
I've changed. Fuck that,
you've changed. Fuck that.
I've changed.
All I want is visitation rites
to grant visitation rights. I kid. I lost
you. I was warned. Minefields crossed
eleven inches at a time, hipdy shifty,
toes grasping terra and fumbling
and fumbling
and fumbling
pick up!
I will rip you a new one. Jealousy is a silver bullet.
Coursing and coursing and cooling. A tank fitting
trigger
leashed. Pinky toe in grass.
I will find you
and adjust.
Blacklisted, haw haw haw.
In time. I took a photograph
of the embers.
Kicking up and wandering.
What is that song? Two coins in a fountain
or something like that.
Rip the wheels from the motorway.
Grey diamonds and chorus. Leaf in the wind
or something like that.
Easy furnace. The depths of love and
slag.
As much as I miss you,
sitting beside my fire pit and eating fumes,
poking the chameleon circuit flame lights,
poking the char and infrared and near white
and amber and breathed flashfire rose and glow bits,
the brain that you showed me live
on the range.
Thunder through skull underside secret
to crack the lock's door.
I believe the idea and joy of you
doing the same.
The years will fly by.
The years will fly.
wake up to Winter thaw.
I miss you. A wife, a baby
inside still screaming across the fabric
at mach 2.3.
To inconvenience. To inconvenience?
I do not know how to reach you.
Love has not faded.
If love were projects there would be
duct tape coating every city
on the face of the earth. Lowercase.
Picking up my phone
wasn't terrifying
before.
I've changed. Fuck that,
you've changed. Fuck that.
I've changed.
All I want is visitation rites
to grant visitation rights. I kid. I lost
you. I was warned. Minefields crossed
eleven inches at a time, hipdy shifty,
toes grasping terra and fumbling
and fumbling
and fumbling
pick up!
I will rip you a new one. Jealousy is a silver bullet.
Coursing and coursing and cooling. A tank fitting
trigger
leashed. Pinky toe in grass.
I will find you
and adjust.
Blacklisted, haw haw haw.
In time. I took a photograph
of the embers.
Kicking up and wandering.
What is that song? Two coins in a fountain
or something like that.
Rip the wheels from the motorway.
Grey diamonds and chorus. Leaf in the wind
or something like that.
Easy furnace. The depths of love and
slag.
As much as I miss you,
sitting beside my fire pit and eating fumes,
poking the chameleon circuit flame lights,
poking the char and infrared and near white
and amber and breathed flashfire rose and glow bits,
the brain that you showed me live
on the range.
Thunder through skull underside secret
to crack the lock's door.
I believe the idea and joy of you
doing the same.
The years will fly by.
The years will fly.
Summer Cuts 3
Fly down Allegheny River Boulevard
beneath the shade leaves and lucky fuzzy dice
twirling black and gold in the windows down
whipped cabin air.
Tap fingers on the sun cracked dash
and belt Modern English's chorus
"and melt with you!" Row the gearbox to five
and hear the burble bang of the old V8
echo against the undersides of the rotting
railway overpass.
Summer used to be funny, and smelly, and sweaty, and lazy.
Still is. Just a lot less skin on skin these days.
The world stopped and for a little while we melted
for better and worse
and then that master clock continued to churn
and the gears
crushed me alive.
Spring is here and rushed through veins.
Cigarette butt flips and glows,
spun into the green and shadow flashes
along the road.
Is there anything worse
than being stuck in traffic
when it's 109 degrees without air conditioning
and the hangover is larger than life?
Nothing to talk about.
Blurs of silver, red, and white!
Blue, a yellow fish, a black with pink stripes!
A monster truck? Have fun parking that.
Corners and white lines and red line and wind!
Oh, deer! Hello, g'bye woodland ghosts.
Almost smell the river from here
"and melt with you!"
Let's go to the park today
beneath the shade leaves and lucky fuzzy dice
twirling black and gold in the windows down
whipped cabin air.
Tap fingers on the sun cracked dash
and belt Modern English's chorus
"and melt with you!" Row the gearbox to five
and hear the burble bang of the old V8
echo against the undersides of the rotting
railway overpass.
Summer used to be funny, and smelly, and sweaty, and lazy.
Still is. Just a lot less skin on skin these days.
The world stopped and for a little while we melted
for better and worse
and then that master clock continued to churn
and the gears
crushed me alive.
Spring is here and rushed through veins.
Cigarette butt flips and glows,
spun into the green and shadow flashes
along the road.
Is there anything worse
than being stuck in traffic
when it's 109 degrees without air conditioning
and the hangover is larger than life?
Nothing to talk about.
Blurs of silver, red, and white!
Blue, a yellow fish, a black with pink stripes!
A monster truck? Have fun parking that.
Corners and white lines and red line and wind!
Oh, deer! Hello, g'bye woodland ghosts.
Almost smell the river from here
"and melt with you!"
Let's go to the park today
Museum Afternoon
Thousands of ghosts
behind inch thick glass,
tastefully lit so they will not escape,
or open their plate
convincing the staff from outside.
Walking the beat
after everyone leaves,
jingle keys on my hip
to the windows and doors and the stairwell
to the roof overlooking the city.
Pass the janitor for this floor,
with his buffing machine
and headphones on
humming his music, tonight I like to believe,
just for me.
An empty case ahead.
The taxidermists are busy
in basement S3.
With thousand watt lights,
needles and magnifiers, gloves and masks.
Four floors up,
the central air groans through grates.
The food court has flies.
The Sperm whale blinks and a chair's foot squeaks
"everyone dies, some day."
Checking a watch and then a wall clock.
Nine more hours to go.
The elevator rings, opens, and remains.
No one mentioned
an exhibit cleaning.
There was a time
I could've swore
the cases would all
talk to me.
Check a watch and then a wall clock.
When we get home
we are never alone,
and more alone than we ever dreamed.
Once inside, take off our clothes.
Listening to you sleep while waiting for water to heat.
A lemon wedge in coffee on the fire escape.
Watching clouds flirt with the moon
while the star points and airplanes gleam.
Hairs stand on end
with the sun's morning yawn.
We have to go back
and place palm to glass.
We're never alone.
Tears clap to tile.
The janitor on this floor
nods and smiles
while we pretend to sneeze to wipe our nose.
Adjust the sleeves.
The elevator rings and closes.
behind inch thick glass,
tastefully lit so they will not escape,
or open their plate
convincing the staff from outside.
Walking the beat
after everyone leaves,
jingle keys on my hip
to the windows and doors and the stairwell
to the roof overlooking the city.
Pass the janitor for this floor,
with his buffing machine
and headphones on
humming his music, tonight I like to believe,
just for me.
An empty case ahead.
The taxidermists are busy
in basement S3.
With thousand watt lights,
needles and magnifiers, gloves and masks.
Four floors up,
the central air groans through grates.
The food court has flies.
The Sperm whale blinks and a chair's foot squeaks
"everyone dies, some day."
Checking a watch and then a wall clock.
Nine more hours to go.
The elevator rings, opens, and remains.
No one mentioned
an exhibit cleaning.
There was a time
I could've swore
the cases would all
talk to me.
Check a watch and then a wall clock.
When we get home
we are never alone,
and more alone than we ever dreamed.
Once inside, take off our clothes.
Listening to you sleep while waiting for water to heat.
A lemon wedge in coffee on the fire escape.
Watching clouds flirt with the moon
while the star points and airplanes gleam.
Hairs stand on end
with the sun's morning yawn.
We have to go back
and place palm to glass.
We're never alone.
Tears clap to tile.
The janitor on this floor
nods and smiles
while we pretend to sneeze to wipe our nose.
Adjust the sleeves.
The elevator rings and closes.
I Was Promised Flying Cars
Moving the fabric of my bed sheets
between my index and thumb,
imagining all the ways my fingerprints are known.
I was told there would be flying cars
by now.
Replicants? How funny would that be
by now.
between my index and thumb,
imagining all the ways my fingerprints are known.
It is good to laugh. Or is it? I would love to
take teeth.
Every person should have a hobby once mating
falls through.
Prioritizing concerns, once age becomes a real
parcel of actual time is sort of important.
There is a space on the shelf
with a jar that has your name on it
gathering dust.
between my index and thumb,
imagining all the ways my fingerprints are known.
I was told there would be flying cars
by now.
Replicants? How funny would that be
by now.
imagining all the ways my fingerprints are known.
It is good to laugh. Or is it? I would love to
take teeth.
Every person should have a hobby once mating
falls through.
Prioritizing concerns, once age becomes a real
parcel of actual time is sort of important.
There is a space on the shelf
with a jar that has your name on it
gathering dust.
When It Comes To World's End
When it comes to world's end,
I walk the line.
In all and all,
gas over winter and Winter over nuke,
blues over pop, drowning over electronica,
shelling over vaporization (again) ,
fragments in flesh over gas,
door to door kick ins
over breach. And
target practice
over live rounds.
Five hundred pound packed steel cans
of cement. Phosphorous and chlorine.
Fields of wire and actual mines capable
of upending a tank and quite capable
of relieving you of your limbs.
Who would wish that on a taste for flame.
Come again? So there was this one day.
Seven concussions in. I hate everything.
Broken noses and
I get tired of i c io knknen ne nea a . I get
tired of fixing things. It is exhausting.
The dream faded a long time ago.
That soup fed for years, we all know it.
It's gorgeous.
Golden.
I walk the line.
In all and all,
gas over winter and Winter over nuke,
blues over pop, drowning over electronica,
shelling over vaporization (again) ,
fragments in flesh over gas,
door to door kick ins
over breach. And
target practice
over live rounds.
Five hundred pound packed steel cans
of cement. Phosphorous and chlorine.
Fields of wire and actual mines capable
of upending a tank and quite capable
of relieving you of your limbs.
Who would wish that on a taste for flame.
Come again? So there was this one day.
Seven concussions in. I hate everything.
Broken noses and
I get tired of i c io knknen ne nea a . I get
tired of fixing things. It is exhausting.
The dream faded a long time ago.
That soup fed for years, we all know it.
It's gorgeous.
Golden.
Tooth and Nail
On pain of death
the line you cross
with ease.
In all seriousness; you will die.
I have no misgivings about cutting
the head from a bear.
I have been trained, schooled, and practiced.
It is
nothing
to me.
Keep your yards.
Your camp.
Your one million and one jokes.
Your one million and two.
And your stories of the battles and
reckless bits you performed
when you were my age.
I will have your teeth.
Dreamed reasons.
Thank you for flying
tiger airlines,
mind the plastic,
we will be landing shortly.
the line you cross
with ease.
In all seriousness; you will die.
I have no misgivings about cutting
the head from a bear.
I have been trained, schooled, and practiced.
It is
nothing
to me.
Keep your yards.
Your camp.
Your one million and one jokes.
Your one million and two.
And your stories of the battles and
reckless bits you performed
when you were my age.
I will have your teeth.
Dreamed reasons.
Thank you for flying
tiger airlines,
mind the plastic,
we will be landing shortly.
Runaway
Sleep at night.
Keep running.
Keep running.
Keep run6ing.
If you can make it to sunrise
before he hits you.
Run, run, run away.
I can't shake it.
I can't shake him.
I want to be as small as a flea.
"Able to leap tall buildings
in a single bound."
I want to help.
Heard that before.
Runaway.
Run. Run. Run!
Lies and road. Lies and cement.
Lies and I'm tired of snot
flowing over my lips and touching
my shirt.
Cry and run and
why will no one believe me?
Find new ways to say
he is not my father.
Please don't hurt me.
Keep running.
Keep running.
Keep run6ing.
If you can make it to sunrise
before he hits you.
Run, run, run away.
I can't shake it.
I can't shake him.
I want to be as small as a flea.
"Able to leap tall buildings
in a single bound."
I want to help.
Heard that before.
Runaway.
Run. Run. Run!
Lies and road. Lies and cement.
Lies and I'm tired of snot
flowing over my lips and touching
my shirt.
Cry and run and
why will no one believe me?
Find new ways to say
he is not my father.
Please don't hurt me.
Old School
Can w bring back
throwing your shoe at someone?
Instead of cussing?
There are many ways to do it.
Soft lobs for laughs,
spikes for flames.
It can happen.
Why not set the trend
and reclaim
a wonderful expletive.
throwing your shoe at someone?
Instead of cussing?
There are many ways to do it.
Soft lobs for laughs,
spikes for flames.
It can happen.
Why not set the trend
and reclaim
a wonderful expletive.
Clean Up Hitter
When you've put away a wallet.
A keys. A keys? I drove here.
It starts without them. Noted.
Well my phone is here.
Friday! Wednesday? I will take a vowel.
Keys in the tray
where they poke through
the plastic bead lattice and
we can see
which set
by the teeth and notch and tags worn smooth.
Sunglasses? Check major.
The weather in Schan Rchlandia is a beautiful
78 degrees with clear skies and an early moon
if you look out of the windows on the left hand side
as we approach.
The seat belt light will be turning off in a few minutes,
enjoy your stay and thank you
for choosing Tiger Radio for all of your
travel needs.
We are on schedule and with a little luck
we will be touching down
a few minutes ahead of schedule.
My wallet
is beside the keys.
My dreams are nipping.
A coffee please. Yes, just one. Thank you.
A keys. A keys? I drove here.
It starts without them. Noted.
Well my phone is here.
Friday! Wednesday? I will take a vowel.
Keys in the tray
where they poke through
the plastic bead lattice and
we can see
which set
by the teeth and notch and tags worn smooth.
Sunglasses? Check major.
The weather in Schan Rchlandia is a beautiful
78 degrees with clear skies and an early moon
if you look out of the windows on the left hand side
as we approach.
The seat belt light will be turning off in a few minutes,
enjoy your stay and thank you
for choosing Tiger Radio for all of your
travel needs.
We are on schedule and with a little luck
we will be touching down
a few minutes ahead of schedule.
My wallet
is beside the keys.
My dreams are nipping.
A coffee please. Yes, just one. Thank you.
A Brief Intrusion
The dream
in which you shatter all of your teeth
into confetti
is still a dream.
One hundred and seventy seven yards,
give or take,
the couplings of train yard sound
the same as the tick of plastic gears
inside the wall clock.
The truce was a lie.
The range is live.
Hear a pin drop
and window panes throb.
Half of the way home.
Calm blue oceans.
Witt and memorized.
Can do spectrauma.
Island to island
and around the world
in thirty seconds.
Delusions.
Seams reveal the saw's path.
Spark to ember and ember
to dust. The carts trundle on,
squink and squeal,
metal on metal.
152 cars, approximately 73%
scrap metal. The rest, fluid tankers, painted
by the same tagger. At the river.
There are many places to hide teeth if you want
to build a collection. Personally,
I could take them or leave them. My deal
is moving toward
a beak. I'm not sure
if shedding teeth
is part and parcel
along the way,
but I'm game.
in which you shatter all of your teeth
into confetti
is still a dream.
One hundred and seventy seven yards,
give or take,
the couplings of train yard sound
the same as the tick of plastic gears
inside the wall clock.
The truce was a lie.
The range is live.
Hear a pin drop
and window panes throb.
Half of the way home.
Calm blue oceans.
Witt and memorized.
Can do spectrauma.
Island to island
and around the world
in thirty seconds.
Delusions.
Seams reveal the saw's path.
Spark to ember and ember
to dust. The carts trundle on,
squink and squeal,
metal on metal.
152 cars, approximately 73%
scrap metal. The rest, fluid tankers, painted
by the same tagger. At the river.
There are many places to hide teeth if you want
to build a collection. Personally,
I could take them or leave them. My deal
is moving toward
a beak. I'm not sure
if shedding teeth
is part and parcel
along the way,
but I'm game.
Racer's Vision (One Minute - Twenty Eight Seconds)
| The first lap is to learn.
|---------The second lap is to pace memory.
| The third lap is to press.
|---------The second lap is to pace memory.
| The third lap is to press.
Ecosystem 400 Atmospheres
Turn on light
to see what has never
seen color.
Iris close.
Silt in focus and beacon.
Know skeletal
under pressure
far from
what keeps warm.
Aliens!
20'000 leagues.
where no one can hear you
cry.
Laugh.
Stepping across and through the silt.
Snap the map. Unfurled.
Two clicks to the bar.
I heard there was pool there.
Spit spot, step in time.
Sally forth
or something like that.
All in all,
make like a tree
and leave
or something like that.
Silt
and
snow.
Skeletal and blight,
spined and black dish eyed,
unless ultraviolet shines or
a plain spotlight where no lantern has business.
Tallyho!
Above
a shadow shifts.
Heavy and wide as an
asteroid.
Light unable
to close the distance.
to see what has never
seen color.
Iris close.
Silt in focus and beacon.
Know skeletal
under pressure
far from
what keeps warm.
Aliens!
20'000 leagues.
where no one can hear you
cry.
Laugh.
Stepping across and through the silt.
Snap the map. Unfurled.
Two clicks to the bar.
I heard there was pool there.
Spit spot, step in time.
Sally forth
or something like that.
All in all,
make like a tree
and leave
or something like that.
Silt
and
snow.
Skeletal and blight,
spined and black dish eyed,
unless ultraviolet shines or
a plain spotlight where no lantern has business.
Tallyho!
Above
a shadow shifts.
Heavy and wide as an
asteroid.
Light unable
to close the distance.
Paint The Corner of The Plate
If
I ever do take one looking,
flip my bat,
gesture at the home team's manager
with a throat slit or something similar,
it's not because I am angry.
It is because baseball bores me and
thirty one innings
is quite sufficient.
Every suicide is a retirement,
but not every retirement
is a suicide.
I ever do take one looking,
flip my bat,
gesture at the home team's manager
with a throat slit or something similar,
it's not because I am angry.
It is because baseball bores me and
thirty one innings
is quite sufficient.
Every suicide is a retirement,
but not every retirement
is a suicide.
Sundial
Glance up
at the points above. Tiny windows miles overhead.
On board the H.S.N. Yiinkf. Automatic doors
at the gas station on Earth. The news said
it was coming back.
What the hell is taking so long
to leave. Three weekends ago. Four?
The cops still come around.
Ritual 12:15 lunch break. Oh fifteen?
Turn up the headset. "Light pollution,"
pass the bills.
Take the smokes. "Used to be able to see the moon-"
Exit. What is that ship still doing up there?
Pull 1, flip it lucky, replace.
What does the sunrise look like from there?
at the points above. Tiny windows miles overhead.
On board the H.S.N. Yiinkf. Automatic doors
at the gas station on Earth. The news said
it was coming back.
What the hell is taking so long
to leave. Three weekends ago. Four?
The cops still come around.
Ritual 12:15 lunch break. Oh fifteen?
Turn up the headset. "Light pollution,"
pass the bills.
Take the smokes. "Used to be able to see the moon-"
Exit. What is that ship still doing up there?
Pull 1, flip it lucky, replace.
What does the sunrise look like from there?
Dance For June Sunset
The garden lamps rise for Summer the same way the sun
disco balls.
The moon
only glitters
when the stars are out too.
City life is far too brief.
Set a fire
in the backwoods
and see
what comes near
to play.
Dance furiously for the long and dog days.
Fall and Spring are nothing to me.
Celebrate extremes as the rainbow shows
what the I can't see
In person.
Know the transitions and familiarize.
How wonderful the dark.
How wonderful the light.
How beautiful to walk
with the wind against your back. All ways
the wind with
intent on your might?
The garden lamps rise for Summer
in the depths of Spring.
The ground soft enough to mud your shoes.
The sprigs crisp enough to snap
without breaking.
In person.
Scream and yowl,
fink and howl to the absent moon.
Present. A matter of time and
enough glass to catch a bulb.
Check shoe laces for blood.
disco balls.
The moon
only glitters
when the stars are out too.
City life is far too brief.
Set a fire
in the backwoods
and see
what comes near
to play.
Dance furiously for the long and dog days.
Fall and Spring are nothing to me.
Celebrate extremes as the rainbow shows
what the I can't see
In person.
Know the transitions and familiarize.
How wonderful the dark.
How wonderful the light.
How beautiful to walk
with the wind against your back. All ways
the wind with
intent on your might?
The garden lamps rise for Summer
in the depths of Spring.
The ground soft enough to mud your shoes.
The sprigs crisp enough to snap
without breaking.
In person.
Scream and yowl,
fink and howl to the absent moon.
Present. A matter of time and
enough glass to catch a bulb.
Check shoe laces for blood.
The Art of Fucking
Do you see
lines, points, and graph theory,
or
do you wrinkle the corner of a pillow
on your couch and curse the propensity
to insist the lights be turned off.
Confined to a time of day.
Manufacture anything
while you're at it.
Laugh over breakfast:
a lime and crackers and a plastic stripped square
of cheese. Cigarette out
in a sneaker sole. Blame it on the night.
Never trust an over eager high five.
Feel free
to shift little things in their apartment
30 inches to the left or right
while they are asleep.
lines, points, and graph theory,
or
do you wrinkle the corner of a pillow
on your couch and curse the propensity
to insist the lights be turned off.
Confined to a time of day.
Manufacture anything
while you're at it.
Laugh over breakfast:
a lime and crackers and a plastic stripped square
of cheese. Cigarette out
in a sneaker sole. Blame it on the night.
Never trust an over eager high five.
Feel free
to shift little things in their apartment
30 inches to the left or right
while they are asleep.
January Kiss
Home from Emma's birthday party
we stayed long enough to make the train schedule
in time. Stopped off at the drug store,
do they still call them that,
to make up costumes and you went as a box:
packing tape on every seam.
I went as bargain bin socks.
"Last minute idea," we agreed,
was too easy.
The debate on table games ran long,
my mind drifts over the ease of frat house logic
and quarters broached and shot down
before the "wart" left my mouth
to make "quarters".
A window glance
to remind we are 29 floors up
and it is a one way ride
to the sidewalk.
A beat to glance at the telescope's
empty space. "Why don't they have one?"
Undressed and too dressed to fuck.
Oh, they'll break up soon. She's on a tour.
Not a "last hurrah!" sort of thing,
but he did say some weird shit
while we played Connect Four before she
disappeared for half of an hour.
Breathing in your fresh toothpaste:
"let's touch eyeballs."
The old joke turns and hiccoughs.
Let's touch eyeballs.
Noses mash while lips rest and
breaths from inside your wings
come to rest in my chest.
Eyelash tickle and flinch and wince.
"I'm tired too." Agree that folks should learn
to dance more often.
Your phone is on the kitchen counter,
not the L line's seat.
Pajamas. Mine is in the freezer.
How else will I remember
to put ice cubes in my water come morning.
Breathing in, noses eyelashes apart.
I love you. I envy you your friends.
Let's see them again. Breath in. Breath out.
Whisper. Listen to your lungs
like a neighbor sex offender and warm
my insides by your bellows, feeding a fire.
"Let's go out tonight."
Your quiet heart. Your memories.
Your Emma. Your party.
Our confetti, our dance. Our argument
parting ways to work and
I thought you had fun too.
I'm sorry.
Lighter spark.
Gray tendril licks the sky blanketed in stars.
I'm glad you can sleep.
Old friends and music and table games.
I miss you already, tamping out a cigarette
on a stairwell bolted to the side of building.
Come morning
you will not miss me.
we stayed long enough to make the train schedule
in time. Stopped off at the drug store,
do they still call them that,
to make up costumes and you went as a box:
packing tape on every seam.
I went as bargain bin socks.
"Last minute idea," we agreed,
was too easy.
The debate on table games ran long,
my mind drifts over the ease of frat house logic
and quarters broached and shot down
before the "wart" left my mouth
to make "quarters".
A window glance
to remind we are 29 floors up
and it is a one way ride
to the sidewalk.
A beat to glance at the telescope's
empty space. "Why don't they have one?"
Undressed and too dressed to fuck.
Oh, they'll break up soon. She's on a tour.
Not a "last hurrah!" sort of thing,
but he did say some weird shit
while we played Connect Four before she
disappeared for half of an hour.
Breathing in your fresh toothpaste:
"let's touch eyeballs."
The old joke turns and hiccoughs.
Let's touch eyeballs.
Noses mash while lips rest and
breaths from inside your wings
come to rest in my chest.
Eyelash tickle and flinch and wince.
"I'm tired too." Agree that folks should learn
to dance more often.
Your phone is on the kitchen counter,
not the L line's seat.
Pajamas. Mine is in the freezer.
How else will I remember
to put ice cubes in my water come morning.
Breathing in, noses eyelashes apart.
I love you. I envy you your friends.
Let's see them again. Breath in. Breath out.
Whisper. Listen to your lungs
like a neighbor sex offender and warm
my insides by your bellows, feeding a fire.
"Let's go out tonight."
Your quiet heart. Your memories.
Your Emma. Your party.
Our confetti, our dance. Our argument
parting ways to work and
I thought you had fun too.
I'm sorry.
Lighter spark.
Gray tendril licks the sky blanketed in stars.
I'm glad you can sleep.
Old friends and music and table games.
I miss you already, tamping out a cigarette
on a stairwell bolted to the side of building.
Come morning
you will not miss me.
Androids Dream
Wake up. Please wake up.
Nuzzle the grille. Lick the left sideview mirror.
Then lick the right.
With gloved fingertips
nick the icicles from fenders.
What's wrong? Please talk to me.
Fire. Remember that night beneath a silver dollar moon
when we bombed all the way to Tarentum
humming to 94.5 FM and the disc jockey said
next Saturday would be a great day
to watch the Perseid meteor shower
if we could get to a location
without light pollution?
It snowed on the way back home and
it was dark enough to expect
a night whale to thrust
four lanes of silt headlit flaked blacktop &
send us into a flock of barrels
like a silver trimmed, rust fendered, bowling ball.
Please wake up.
Help is on the way.
I love you.
Nuzzle the grille. Lick the left sideview mirror.
Then lick the right.
With gloved fingertips
nick the icicles from fenders.
What's wrong? Please talk to me.
Fire. Remember that night beneath a silver dollar moon
when we bombed all the way to Tarentum
humming to 94.5 FM and the disc jockey said
next Saturday would be a great day
to watch the Perseid meteor shower
if we could get to a location
without light pollution?
It snowed on the way back home and
it was dark enough to expect
a night whale to thrust
four lanes of silt headlit flaked blacktop &
send us into a flock of barrels
like a silver trimmed, rust fendered, bowling ball.
Please wake up.
Help is on the way.
I love you.
Remember When It Used To Snow?
Tapping fingernails against a cheek
to figure out what to wear
while the global scheme is flux.
A few degrees separates
hot from brush-fire
wet from slush
snap cold from snow
humid from hurricane
Sol from desert
and chilly from black ice.
All purpose spacesuit
will suffice.
The long run is
Christmas trees
decorated with beach shells,
different from
frost.
Remember when they had a chance
to say
"fuck that"?
Your kids are
going to have a bone to pick with you.
to figure out what to wear
while the global scheme is flux.
A few degrees separates
hot from brush-fire
wet from slush
snap cold from snow
humid from hurricane
Sol from desert
and chilly from black ice.
All purpose spacesuit
will suffice.
The long run is
Christmas trees
decorated with beach shells,
different from
frost.
Remember when they had a chance
to say
"fuck that"?
Your kids are
going to have a bone to pick with you.
Smoker 56
Odometer reads well.
Speedometer too.
Standard.
Gear shifts near perfect when
the asphalt speaks to the motor and transmission
road speed matches. Golden. Shift.
Without a thunk. Whisper and an easy nod.
Old iron hide. Broken knuckles and skin flakes.
Blood on the chassis and some burned to oil fumes
on the engine block. Torn fingernail tips sitting
in the "I" and "C" beams that keep the machine
churning. Flake of eyelash vaporized at 600F.
Silly function. Park. Get out. Sit in the truck bed.
Spark. Think.
Pilot a weapon every day or ride a refrigerator
to the third star on the right.
Stories have been told of an oasis
where sandwiches come already made
and where the made come to look at sandwiches
without buying.
Read the cloud like flipping coins
with chicken bones.
It is a shame no one believes in magic
with the same fervor.
Be sure to stop by the general store
to pick up more needles
and thread. The ashtray is already prepared.
Speedometer too.
Standard.
Gear shifts near perfect when
the asphalt speaks to the motor and transmission
road speed matches. Golden. Shift.
Without a thunk. Whisper and an easy nod.
Old iron hide. Broken knuckles and skin flakes.
Blood on the chassis and some burned to oil fumes
on the engine block. Torn fingernail tips sitting
in the "I" and "C" beams that keep the machine
churning. Flake of eyelash vaporized at 600F.
Silly function. Park. Get out. Sit in the truck bed.
Spark. Think.
Pilot a weapon every day or ride a refrigerator
to the third star on the right.
Stories have been told of an oasis
where sandwiches come already made
and where the made come to look at sandwiches
without buying.
Read the cloud like flipping coins
with chicken bones.
It is a shame no one believes in magic
with the same fervor.
Be sure to stop by the general store
to pick up more needles
and thread. The ashtray is already prepared.
Proclamation C445.2
Those of us that live with the blessing of machinations
shall gift their shadows to all, with neither malice nor
fear. In that shade will grow all things beautiful and
cell. Within the galaxies of cells are universes.
Within these new alls, we are.
Roads to glory are paved in bone.
The gifts of shadows are not these.
The machinations will join the tree as time
joins all rivers and seas,
all lives in breaths.
shall gift their shadows to all, with neither malice nor
fear. In that shade will grow all things beautiful and
cell. Within the galaxies of cells are universes.
Within these new alls, we are.
Roads to glory are paved in bone.
The gifts of shadows are not these.
The machinations will join the tree as time
joins all rivers and seas,
all lives in breaths.
Blade Runner
Every time you walk the razor
you renew the lease
on this body.
One more nail to hang a picture.
One more mural committed to walls.
One more reason to see
the sun rise and bathe the evening slag
and die.
Every time you walk the razor
to renew the lease
on this body,
promise me the evening sky
when the chimney swifts are feeding
and the bats are beginning to take wing.
That silk spectrum sky between
diamond black heaving and
sunlight's bleeding.
Every time you walk the razor
and renew the lease
on this body,
show a glitter of teeth
to let the engine seething
breathe underneath.
you renew the lease
on this body.
One more nail to hang a picture.
One more mural committed to walls.
One more reason to see
the sun rise and bathe the evening slag
and die.
Every time you walk the razor
to renew the lease
on this body,
promise me the evening sky
when the chimney swifts are feeding
and the bats are beginning to take wing.
That silk spectrum sky between
diamond black heaving and
sunlight's bleeding.
Every time you walk the razor
and renew the lease
on this body,
show a glitter of teeth
to let the engine seething
breathe underneath.
WQgh
Who does not love to be tickled.
Thinking over from the outside.
How many years did it take
to understand what that thing
on the side of your face was?
Do not stick a pencil in there
or scratch it. Stick bubblegum.
Or fingernail.
No, the eraser end of a pencil
is just as bad.
It is okay, to be a little bit ticklish,
shush!
In all seriousness;
years were spent well.
I know better than to stick a pencil in my ear.
You Should Eat Something
Have you seen the snow caked along the fence
in triangle fold napkin nubs
in the crooks of every single link
except the spots where dogs have walked,
sniffed, peed, and wagged with glee and
the little holes where birds have pipped
and popped up and down on the cold wire?
The garbage trucks didn't come. Neither
did the mail. It did - not for me. The way I like it.
The cold was lovely and the air pressure
too low to really enjoy running around
with pinched nerves pinching again. Toss snowballs
regardless, shaped like saucers to fly farther
and knock miniature lengths of frosty walls
off of the power lines overhead to the walks below.
Pain is tiresome. Or am I tired because I haven't eaten?
Or am I tired because I laid down
instead of sitting up to read the news?
Or am I tired because I read the news?
Or am I tired because I ate too much last night?
Or am I tired because it is, after all, Winter again?
Or am I tired because it will be 55 degrees tomorrow?
Or am I tired because I will eat too much?
Or am I tired because I don't want to eat and must?
Or am I tired because I cannot do it today
and must? You should eat something.
I know. Have you seen the snow outside?
A cup of tea would be stellar in this cold
that is impossible to acclimate to. By the way,
have you seen the snow on the fire escape
nearly an inch thick with paw prints
tracked through in black circles of circles?
It is lovely. A cup of tea would be stellar,
thank you. You should eat something.
in triangle fold napkin nubs
in the crooks of every single link
except the spots where dogs have walked,
sniffed, peed, and wagged with glee and
the little holes where birds have pipped
and popped up and down on the cold wire?
The garbage trucks didn't come. Neither
did the mail. It did - not for me. The way I like it.
The cold was lovely and the air pressure
too low to really enjoy running around
with pinched nerves pinching again. Toss snowballs
regardless, shaped like saucers to fly farther
and knock miniature lengths of frosty walls
off of the power lines overhead to the walks below.
Pain is tiresome. Or am I tired because I haven't eaten?
Or am I tired because I laid down
instead of sitting up to read the news?
Or am I tired because I read the news?
Or am I tired because I ate too much last night?
Or am I tired because it is, after all, Winter again?
Or am I tired because it will be 55 degrees tomorrow?
Or am I tired because I will eat too much?
Or am I tired because I don't want to eat and must?
Or am I tired because I cannot do it today
and must? You should eat something.
I know. Have you seen the snow outside?
A cup of tea would be stellar in this cold
that is impossible to acclimate to. By the way,
have you seen the snow on the fire escape
nearly an inch thick with paw prints
tracked through in black circles of circles?
It is lovely. A cup of tea would be stellar,
thank you. You should eat something.
Creature of the Night
Voicemail. Voicemail. Sneeze. Rise. Yawn.
Stretch. Head and tail lights turn as they should.
The lunch rush. The get home. The day shift
and graveyarders. The drones and kid linked.
The zombies with too many chemicals inside.
The walkers and dog folk. The joggers. The fit.
The teens and cutting classes and the crack
slippers. The up to late and the never slept.
The sleepers and the ambitious. The gray and
car pooled. The stay at homes and the young
at heart and the "why am I here"'s. The juke
boxers and fire drillers and the gamers too.
The nature watchers and the camera quest
head firsters. The old song and dancers and the
ragers. The kleptomaniacs and the negotiators.
Voicemail. Voicemail. Cough. Rise. Yawn.
Oh what a happy day. The stars are almost up,
Sol not entirely gone. Somewhere up there
I do believe
the moon is
doing its thang.
Plenty of time
to shower
and polish my teeth.
There is a big day ahead of us.
Have the decency
to smile with a little sunshine when you speak.
Stretch. Head and tail lights turn as they should.
The lunch rush. The get home. The day shift
and graveyarders. The drones and kid linked.
The zombies with too many chemicals inside.
The walkers and dog folk. The joggers. The fit.
The teens and cutting classes and the crack
slippers. The up to late and the never slept.
The sleepers and the ambitious. The gray and
car pooled. The stay at homes and the young
at heart and the "why am I here"'s. The juke
boxers and fire drillers and the gamers too.
The nature watchers and the camera quest
head firsters. The old song and dancers and the
ragers. The kleptomaniacs and the negotiators.
Voicemail. Voicemail. Cough. Rise. Yawn.
Oh what a happy day. The stars are almost up,
Sol not entirely gone. Somewhere up there
I do believe
the moon is
doing its thang.
Plenty of time
to shower
and polish my teeth.
There is a big day ahead of us.
Have the decency
to smile with a little sunshine when you speak.
Headphascanaut
Stop what you are doing.
Proceed to the nearest shelter.
This is not a drill.
Stop what you are doing.
Proceed to the nearest shelter.
This is not a drill.
Hallucinations are real.
They can hurt you.
Manifestations are imminent.
Stop what you are doing.
Proceed to the nearest shelter.
Frequencies are rising.
Hallucinations are real.
As real as you and I.
They can hurt you.
Manifestations are imminent.
Proceed to the nearest shelter.
This is not a drill.
Hallucinations are real.
If you cannot find a shelter
proceed to open and empty spaces.
If you cannot move
shelter in place
and do not speak. They can hear you.
Stop what you are doing.
Proceed to the nearest shelter.
This is not a drill.
Proceed to the nearest shelter.
This is not a drill.
Stop what you are doing.
Proceed to the nearest shelter.
This is not a drill.
Hallucinations are real.
They can hurt you.
Manifestations are imminent.
Stop what you are doing.
Proceed to the nearest shelter.
Frequencies are rising.
Hallucinations are real.
As real as you and I.
They can hurt you.
Manifestations are imminent.
Proceed to the nearest shelter.
This is not a drill.
Hallucinations are real.
If you cannot find a shelter
proceed to open and empty spaces.
If you cannot move
shelter in place
and do not speak. They can hear you.
Stop what you are doing.
Proceed to the nearest shelter.
This is not a drill.
The Boy And His Bat
Whatcha doin?
Hammering nails into a bat.
Why?
Because I have to go talk to someone.
Why?
Because they are very bad listeners.
Why?
Because they're used to not having to and their ears don't work.
Why?
Because that's how it's always been.
Why?
I don't know, kid.
Why?
Because if you ask questions you get your head caved in.
Why?
Because that's how it's always been.
Why?
Because a long time ago the people in power decided
we were not people.
Why?
Their god told them so.
Why?
Because it was easy to believe.
Why?
It was comfortable.
Why?
I don't know, kid.
Why?
I've never felt that way.
Why?
I stopped believing in gods.
Why?
Because Jesus doesn't save.
Why?
Because some things cannot be forgiven.
Why?
If you forgive, they are free to hurt you again.
Why?
Second chances, third chances, and on and on.
Why?
Because killing is wrong.
Why?
Do you want to die?
No.
How would you feel if I took your life away?
Bad.
And how would you feel if I took your life away,
but you didn't die.
I dunno, that sounds weird.
Doesn't it?
Yeah.
Killing is wrong, you got that.
Mhm.
Hammering nails into a bat.
Why?
Because I have to go talk to someone.
Why?
Because they are very bad listeners.
Why?
Because they're used to not having to and their ears don't work.
Why?
Because that's how it's always been.
Why?
I don't know, kid.
Why?
Because if you ask questions you get your head caved in.
Why?
Because that's how it's always been.
Why?
Because a long time ago the people in power decided
we were not people.
Why?
Their god told them so.
Why?
Because it was easy to believe.
Why?
It was comfortable.
Why?
I don't know, kid.
Why?
I've never felt that way.
Why?
I stopped believing in gods.
Why?
Because Jesus doesn't save.
Why?
Because some things cannot be forgiven.
Why?
If you forgive, they are free to hurt you again.
Why?
Second chances, third chances, and on and on.
Why?
Because killing is wrong.
Why?
Do you want to die?
No.
How would you feel if I took your life away?
Bad.
And how would you feel if I took your life away,
but you didn't die.
I dunno, that sounds weird.
Doesn't it?
Yeah.
Killing is wrong, you got that.
Mhm.
How The Story Ends
Wherever he traveled
shadows grew longer and
the stars themselves dimmed.
The animals of the skies
fields and streams
grew hushed, and the winds refused to blow.
He was snared and entombed
by the iron that flowed
through his veins and
he brought with him endless night
as his father before him and his father.
shadows grew longer and
the stars themselves dimmed.
The animals of the skies
fields and streams
grew hushed, and the winds refused to blow.
He was snared and entombed
by the iron that flowed
through his veins and
he brought with him endless night
as his father before him and his father.
Question Marks 7
Dear Dr. B,
I may be meeting some new people soon.
I am scared.
Remember how the last meetings went?
A different kind of incarceration.
If the planets align again,
I will be willing.
I cannot trust them.
It may be a phase.
Why don't you notice when I clip
the noses off of my sentences?
I don't do it on purpose.
Object subject shifts?
Out of necessity?
Fuck me, maybe.
Have you ever danced?
Have you really ever danced?
Of course. What do you drive these days?
Can I see my file?
Yes, that is a good plant. The chair is good too.
It kind of feels like mid-fall if I had to
pin it down.
Does that gumball machine work?
A tiny one.
Desk sized.
I can have one?
I do have a penny.
Gross.
How long have those been there?
It's good to have a sense of humor.
Sincerely, Mr. H.
I may be meeting some new people soon.
I am scared.
Remember how the last meetings went?
A different kind of incarceration.
If the planets align again,
I will be willing.
I cannot trust them.
It may be a phase.
Why don't you notice when I clip
the noses off of my sentences?
I don't do it on purpose.
Object subject shifts?
Out of necessity?
Fuck me, maybe.
Have you ever danced?
Have you really ever danced?
Of course. What do you drive these days?
Can I see my file?
Yes, that is a good plant. The chair is good too.
It kind of feels like mid-fall if I had to
pin it down.
Does that gumball machine work?
A tiny one.
Desk sized.
I can have one?
I do have a penny.
Gross.
How long have those been there?
It's good to have a sense of humor.
Sincerely, Mr. H.
Docking Procedure Aboard the JXL-789 Dread Class Junker
somewhere near the inner system weigh station just outside Sol's asteroid belt
"Is there anything you would like to declare JXL-789?"
Thumb hovers over the channel go button.
Press.
"Yeah." Back to static. Six navigation screens,
twelve cursors, and two graphs light the cabin
in delicious aquamarine and yellow hues
against shadows and ROY G BIV LEDs
snugged into recessed plastic sheet body hues
hiding metal black frames and wires underneath.
"What would you like to declare JXL-789?"
Tones and warning notes fall to silence and rejoin
with harmonies and arpeggio bells. Custom re-encodes
because if you are going to live your life on a ship
you might as well make the good sounds really good.
It is always a good day when the inner systems defense network
does not want
to turn you and the ship you rode in on
into star dust.
They are still looking and scanning
without teeth. Sniffing.
"It's been a long year. Merry Christmas, assholes."
Unstrap while the processors wait for guides, coordinates
and paths
and dance.
Spin on the ball of the boot and skip shuffle on reinforced heels
capable of magnetism on the grates, not now. Tap your heels together
to activate or moonwalk off the main deck.
Door open.
Swoosh.
Door close.
Swish.
Bounce. Skip down the hall, the gravity generator doing it all
and a bag of chips snatched from the snack harness
as we slide. The four heavy fold mauler engines make the entire floor
buzz standing still for a second before jumping farther in
headset on. Fingertip to wrist to clip the channel to voice command:
"Josephine?"
"Yes, captain" the ship comes back.
"Can we turn off the gravity?"
"Yes, captain."
Heading toward the weapons deck
flicking switches along the way. Lights on, lights off, lights on, lights off.
The weigh stations are boring as .... and take all day while they scan every
nook and bay for things we're not allowed to keep or must declare.
It's not fair, but it keeps the peace. Nodding to bass in my head
there is no time for grief.
Fourteen chips in a bag, crumple and pocket it with the weapons deck flying close.
I learned a long time ago not to keep the big bags of chips stocked.
That was a nightmare to clean. I still find crumbs in control panel seams.
"Joesphine, hail channel all speakers."
"Okay, Hobbes."
It's a dance party in zero gravity
until I bounce off the weapons deck lock.
Pat the chest mount key and air surges through with me,
pressurized of course, but one of these days I will get around
to fixing the meter that keeps the transition clean.
"Can I have some gravity, Josephine?" Close enough to the grates
to land like a cat, it kicks and I rebound off of my thick padded knees.
Floodlights on, my mech is brilliant after a thorough wash through its lock;
opposite, my runabout fighter and far to the back where
the floods barely touch is my junker craft. As much enormous claw and saw
as engine and wing.
With gravity good and the stage set we dance,
a little mud still stuck in boot treads falling off
through the grates
to no music
save for the bang and clank of crampon, leather, and jingle shuffle of jacket
playing in time to the jungle electronica bounding through my head.
"Ain't nothing like being back home now" laughed.
Poke and prod a few buttons hear and there with a twirl and catch
of dogtags orbiting my neck at the end of their chain.
Change the lighting a little and flip it back.
"We all get down in the disco," murmur dream.
Outside, lights flash in the darkness of space. Req lights blink on and off,
portholes glitz and glam. Point lights on fins and antennas wink and shine.
Waste dumps in a fireworks comet tail of crystals.
Get the party out of the way before things get serious.
"JXL-789 you are cleared. Welcome back. Stay out of trouble,"
comes over the public address system. Fingertip to wrist:
"Thank you, thank you. We'll do right. We're not staying long."
Static. The anthem of the inner system begins to play
with it's brass and snare and begins to fade. Time to get going.
We're okay in their book.
Touch the mech, the runabout, and the junker. Remember
the adventures and the scorch marks and dents that will have to be replaced
once we get back to Earth.
If we can swing it, I'll get them a paint job or two too.
What stocks ran out in darkest space.
Bring it back in one piece. What is in the cargo hold
will buy it all back two fold. Maybe three if we're lucky.
The junker life.
Gravity off, torpedo to the flight deck. Settle the lights down
along the way.
Harness in to the driver's seat. Why do I bother to keep passenger seats
these days? "Ya never know what you'll find out there," I remind myself.
Six navigation screens glow a cool blue. Cursors have settled.
Speed read the paragraphs and glyphs. The coordinates are true.
Mind the sleeping weapons systems orbiting Sol outside,
tuned to be there whether the confederation of nations on Earth
is old or dissolved and built to bizarro specifications new.
The party is over. Do business as business should be done.
The graphs shift and change on two screens. The other four
blaze deep orange on black as cursors snap into action and read out.
Four heavy fold mauler engines
capable of moving a Marrowclare class close to light
rumble the bones of Josephine as we begin the long descent to Terra
on the ecliptic. Switches and buttons and a few dials more.
Once she is good to ride I can let go and head for sleep.
I can't remember the last time I saw the Atlantic.
The calendar read out says it will be snowing when we reach orbit.
I worked on an ornament on my way through the outer giants.
I hope the entry station to walkabout has a Christmas tree.
It'll be nice to sit with other people and cheers a cup of
long steeped steaming tea.
"Is there anything you would like to declare JXL-789?"
Thumb hovers over the channel go button.
Press.
"Yeah." Back to static. Six navigation screens,
twelve cursors, and two graphs light the cabin
in delicious aquamarine and yellow hues
against shadows and ROY G BIV LEDs
snugged into recessed plastic sheet body hues
hiding metal black frames and wires underneath.
"What would you like to declare JXL-789?"
Tones and warning notes fall to silence and rejoin
with harmonies and arpeggio bells. Custom re-encodes
because if you are going to live your life on a ship
you might as well make the good sounds really good.
It is always a good day when the inner systems defense network
does not want
to turn you and the ship you rode in on
into star dust.
They are still looking and scanning
without teeth. Sniffing.
"It's been a long year. Merry Christmas, assholes."
Unstrap while the processors wait for guides, coordinates
and paths
and dance.
Spin on the ball of the boot and skip shuffle on reinforced heels
capable of magnetism on the grates, not now. Tap your heels together
to activate or moonwalk off the main deck.
Door open.
Swoosh.
Door close.
Swish.
Bounce. Skip down the hall, the gravity generator doing it all
and a bag of chips snatched from the snack harness
as we slide. The four heavy fold mauler engines make the entire floor
buzz standing still for a second before jumping farther in
headset on. Fingertip to wrist to clip the channel to voice command:
"Josephine?"
"Yes, captain" the ship comes back.
"Can we turn off the gravity?"
"Yes, captain."
Heading toward the weapons deck
flicking switches along the way. Lights on, lights off, lights on, lights off.
The weigh stations are boring as .... and take all day while they scan every
nook and bay for things we're not allowed to keep or must declare.
It's not fair, but it keeps the peace. Nodding to bass in my head
there is no time for grief.
Fourteen chips in a bag, crumple and pocket it with the weapons deck flying close.
I learned a long time ago not to keep the big bags of chips stocked.
That was a nightmare to clean. I still find crumbs in control panel seams.
"Joesphine, hail channel all speakers."
"Okay, Hobbes."
It's a dance party in zero gravity
until I bounce off the weapons deck lock.
Pat the chest mount key and air surges through with me,
pressurized of course, but one of these days I will get around
to fixing the meter that keeps the transition clean.
"Can I have some gravity, Josephine?" Close enough to the grates
to land like a cat, it kicks and I rebound off of my thick padded knees.
Floodlights on, my mech is brilliant after a thorough wash through its lock;
opposite, my runabout fighter and far to the back where
the floods barely touch is my junker craft. As much enormous claw and saw
as engine and wing.
With gravity good and the stage set we dance,
a little mud still stuck in boot treads falling off
through the grates
to no music
save for the bang and clank of crampon, leather, and jingle shuffle of jacket
playing in time to the jungle electronica bounding through my head.
"Ain't nothing like being back home now" laughed.
Poke and prod a few buttons hear and there with a twirl and catch
of dogtags orbiting my neck at the end of their chain.
Change the lighting a little and flip it back.
"We all get down in the disco," murmur dream.
Outside, lights flash in the darkness of space. Req lights blink on and off,
portholes glitz and glam. Point lights on fins and antennas wink and shine.
Waste dumps in a fireworks comet tail of crystals.
Get the party out of the way before things get serious.
"JXL-789 you are cleared. Welcome back. Stay out of trouble,"
comes over the public address system. Fingertip to wrist:
"Thank you, thank you. We'll do right. We're not staying long."
Static. The anthem of the inner system begins to play
with it's brass and snare and begins to fade. Time to get going.
We're okay in their book.
Touch the mech, the runabout, and the junker. Remember
the adventures and the scorch marks and dents that will have to be replaced
once we get back to Earth.
If we can swing it, I'll get them a paint job or two too.
What stocks ran out in darkest space.
Bring it back in one piece. What is in the cargo hold
will buy it all back two fold. Maybe three if we're lucky.
The junker life.
Gravity off, torpedo to the flight deck. Settle the lights down
along the way.
Harness in to the driver's seat. Why do I bother to keep passenger seats
these days? "Ya never know what you'll find out there," I remind myself.
Six navigation screens glow a cool blue. Cursors have settled.
Speed read the paragraphs and glyphs. The coordinates are true.
Mind the sleeping weapons systems orbiting Sol outside,
tuned to be there whether the confederation of nations on Earth
is old or dissolved and built to bizarro specifications new.
The party is over. Do business as business should be done.
The graphs shift and change on two screens. The other four
blaze deep orange on black as cursors snap into action and read out.
Four heavy fold mauler engines
capable of moving a Marrowclare class close to light
rumble the bones of Josephine as we begin the long descent to Terra
on the ecliptic. Switches and buttons and a few dials more.
Once she is good to ride I can let go and head for sleep.
I can't remember the last time I saw the Atlantic.
The calendar read out says it will be snowing when we reach orbit.
I worked on an ornament on my way through the outer giants.
I hope the entry station to walkabout has a Christmas tree.
It'll be nice to sit with other people and cheers a cup of
long steeped steaming tea.
Notes About Town
Some people leave notes when they're unhappy.
Unhappy with a little thing that you did.
Some people leave notes when they see something inviting
and what to know if you would be in to it too.
Some people leave notes when their timing is off
and the people they sought are long gone.
Some people leave notes to carry on conversations
because trees are lovely to speak with, rocks and hills too.
Some people leave notes when they're happy with the service,
or mad, or surprised, or just really horny and curious
if you may be curious and awkward and really horny too.
Some people leave notes when they're too busy to talk
or at least too busy to use their time to talk to you.
Some people leave notes when they can't remember
to buy new laces for their shoes or garbage bags that ran out 2 days ago.
Some people leave notes to plan ahead because
doctors have an odd habit of making everything take 3 weeks.
Some people leave notes when they're bored
and too anxious to enjoy a few hours or days of sitting still.
Some people leave notes when they want you to change,
but don't want go through showing you how you hurt them.
Some people leave notes when adventure calls out of the blue
and your voicemail box is stuffed like a purse full of mothy scarves.
I leave notes that are often mistaken for passive aggression,
but really
it is
that if
I were to
try to
talk it out
there is a one in ten chance
I will not be able to control my emotions well enough
so I leave notes to say hello and say goodbye and to high five,
to express what is beating inside my head and chest
and sometimes to spread a little gladness and,
most favorite of all, to make little games and buzz and leap and hug,
to grin ear to ear, to love and to rumble, to nuzzle and tumble,
most favorite of all; to play.
Unhappy with a little thing that you did.
Some people leave notes when they see something inviting
and what to know if you would be in to it too.
Some people leave notes when their timing is off
and the people they sought are long gone.
Some people leave notes to carry on conversations
because trees are lovely to speak with, rocks and hills too.
Some people leave notes when they're happy with the service,
or mad, or surprised, or just really horny and curious
if you may be curious and awkward and really horny too.
Some people leave notes when they're too busy to talk
or at least too busy to use their time to talk to you.
Some people leave notes when they can't remember
to buy new laces for their shoes or garbage bags that ran out 2 days ago.
Some people leave notes to plan ahead because
doctors have an odd habit of making everything take 3 weeks.
Some people leave notes when they're bored
and too anxious to enjoy a few hours or days of sitting still.
Some people leave notes when they want you to change,
but don't want go through showing you how you hurt them.
Some people leave notes when adventure calls out of the blue
and your voicemail box is stuffed like a purse full of mothy scarves.
I leave notes that are often mistaken for passive aggression,
but really
it is
that if
I were to
try to
talk it out
there is a one in ten chance
I will not be able to control my emotions well enough
so I leave notes to say hello and say goodbye and to high five,
to express what is beating inside my head and chest
and sometimes to spread a little gladness and,
most favorite of all, to make little games and buzz and leap and hug,
to grin ear to ear, to love and to rumble, to nuzzle and tumble,
most favorite of all; to play.
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