I'm licking my teeth
and the expanse of carpet
between us
is skipping by leaps and bounds
around the mulberry bush
where the monkey chastens the weasel
and our hands, joined on the stem
of smokeware
are like a left and right
half of some kind of
vector diagram's
attempt to explain Pointilism
through a tie in to
the Large Hadron Collider
and the laughter
slapping the back of my head
like a baby's ass to a giggle track
on an early evening show begging
for a profitable demographic
isn't the bubble
burble
pop
and sizzle of pearls of wisdom
to a frying pan of woes
as much as it is
a salamander clinging molecule to molecule
nerve to vibrating yard of fat cased and stupeffectedly tense
nerve
to the sole of my foot and the knowing
that if i ever put that foot down
it will be very
very
messy
and I'd rather it happened
away from your recording eye.
original works of parts
Before the Outing
My boots are resting easy
on a thin layer of rot and fragrance
and soft bodied brown whispers of apple cores
at the foot of the bowing water logged planks of the front porch.
The orange and red and
crinkle edged leaves the trees shed
are still crunchy despite a weeks worth of rain
that fell two nights ago and from where I stand they are mosaic.
My hands are naked and cold
in the crowded pouches of my vest as
I watch the little souls of my breaths thin in air
that retains its dusk despite terry cloths and coffee and good hash.
Considering slipping my fingers
into the thick down of gloves gifted I am
reminded of my father's words from older days
about how the best way to kill a mosquito is to wait for it to land.
I leave my prickling iced hands
where they are and the thought of him
warms me as much as the day I realized too much
oil can foul a mechanism's function much worse than no oil at all.
My son's bedroom lamp is
still unlit and Enfield upon my shoulder
I begin the sweet and airy walk without him knowing
my disappointment is not with him, but with the end of a season.
on a thin layer of rot and fragrance
and soft bodied brown whispers of apple cores
at the foot of the bowing water logged planks of the front porch.
The orange and red and
crinkle edged leaves the trees shed
are still crunchy despite a weeks worth of rain
that fell two nights ago and from where I stand they are mosaic.
My hands are naked and cold
in the crowded pouches of my vest as
I watch the little souls of my breaths thin in air
that retains its dusk despite terry cloths and coffee and good hash.
Considering slipping my fingers
into the thick down of gloves gifted I am
reminded of my father's words from older days
about how the best way to kill a mosquito is to wait for it to land.
I leave my prickling iced hands
where they are and the thought of him
warms me as much as the day I realized too much
oil can foul a mechanism's function much worse than no oil at all.
My son's bedroom lamp is
still unlit and Enfield upon my shoulder
I begin the sweet and airy walk without him knowing
my disappointment is not with him, but with the end of a season.
Dead Air
Energy drinks to stay awake
and do nothing until sunrise
aside from laying skin cells
into the seat of a desk chair
with 1970s ergonomics in mind
so that I can spend the day
with my eyes closed
roaming an apartment building
occupied by friends
I haven't seen in years
while they pour pitchers of beer
from bathroom sinks and
play the games we had in common
before we had separate lives
so that I don't have to
talk to myself
surrounded by daytime strangers
The idea was good
the execution was sound,
but 10:30 a.m.
still makes the rounds
and razor blade in my right hand
unsteadied by sleepless nights
I'm stripping light gauge wire
to fly an antenna kite
with the end strung to a receiver
I found at a sale of antiques
to help me make sense of white noise,
but mostly to hear purpose speak.
and do nothing until sunrise
aside from laying skin cells
into the seat of a desk chair
with 1970s ergonomics in mind
so that I can spend the day
with my eyes closed
roaming an apartment building
occupied by friends
I haven't seen in years
while they pour pitchers of beer
from bathroom sinks and
play the games we had in common
before we had separate lives
so that I don't have to
talk to myself
surrounded by daytime strangers
The idea was good
the execution was sound,
but 10:30 a.m.
still makes the rounds
and razor blade in my right hand
unsteadied by sleepless nights
I'm stripping light gauge wire
to fly an antenna kite
with the end strung to a receiver
I found at a sale of antiques
to help me make sense of white noise,
but mostly to hear purpose speak.
Upstairs Neighbor
"You hear her laugh when she sees you
and you don't know
what she's laughing about, but you laugh with her,"
and she nods off muttering agreement
with herself while we pick apart
boiled chicken
and her chin falls with her fork
and the thought dangles mid air
like the carcass of a Mayfly
stuck to the end of a time curled slip
of melon juiced fly paper
swung pendulum like beneath a ceiling fan
doing its best impression
of a dinner plate's drunken oscillations
twirled atop a three ringer's dowel
above our heads
that maybe the show
of wide stretched mouth
and bleached fronts set amongst a sea of dark southern creases
has more to do with the upstairs neighbor's pathology
than any one of a variety of humors
ascribed to wearers of periwinkle
sun hats and lime tinted scarves.
and you don't know
what she's laughing about, but you laugh with her,"
and she nods off muttering agreement
with herself while we pick apart
boiled chicken
and her chin falls with her fork
and the thought dangles mid air
like the carcass of a Mayfly
stuck to the end of a time curled slip
of melon juiced fly paper
swung pendulum like beneath a ceiling fan
doing its best impression
of a dinner plate's drunken oscillations
twirled atop a three ringer's dowel
above our heads
that maybe the show
of wide stretched mouth
and bleached fronts set amongst a sea of dark southern creases
has more to do with the upstairs neighbor's pathology
than any one of a variety of humors
ascribed to wearers of periwinkle
sun hats and lime tinted scarves.
The Scarf Your Mother Knit
The red and black patched knit scarf
came out of the box marked Autumn today.
Wrapped tightly round my nose and mouth
the wind could not bite my
still pinchably cute smile
if you could've seen it
from across the platform at the McDonald St "el".
The lushly woven thing still smells
like the finished wood floors of the old apartment
and the fire places in the mansions upwind
on the other side of the parkway.
The wind shows its teeth again and tries its best
to pluck every hair from my eyebrows,
but I don't mind it.
The scarf and I
we know that somewhere
a flame is bounding up and down
along a length of speckled wood,
saying the right words
in the pop and snap of warm lips
to an audience of
your resting eyes.
came out of the box marked Autumn today.
Wrapped tightly round my nose and mouth
the wind could not bite my
still pinchably cute smile
if you could've seen it
from across the platform at the McDonald St "el".
The lushly woven thing still smells
like the finished wood floors of the old apartment
and the fire places in the mansions upwind
on the other side of the parkway.
The wind shows its teeth again and tries its best
to pluck every hair from my eyebrows,
but I don't mind it.
The scarf and I
we know that somewhere
a flame is bounding up and down
along a length of speckled wood,
saying the right words
in the pop and snap of warm lips
to an audience of
your resting eyes.
Creeper
Can an ear be blamed
for tilting into a
half heard conversation?
Can a thigh be blamed
for making note of a
carelessly applied swatch of skin?
Can a shoulder be blamed
for not giving a
centimeter upon contact?
Can an eye be blamed
for maintaining a
line of sight despite
a crescent of dark
tights clinging for life and limb
to a ripe butt cheek
atop a toned and
sandaled
and
manicured
foot?
I'm just trying to ride the subway.
Excuse me.
for tilting into a
half heard conversation?
Can a thigh be blamed
for making note of a
carelessly applied swatch of skin?
Can a shoulder be blamed
for not giving a
centimeter upon contact?
Can an eye be blamed
for maintaining a
line of sight despite
a crescent of dark
tights clinging for life and limb
to a ripe butt cheek
atop a toned and
sandaled
and
manicured
foot?
I'm just trying to ride the subway.
Excuse me.
Housemate 2
One foot planted in the white vinyl cushion
of squeaky kitchen stool. The other pushing
the contact papered collapsible excuse
for a table against the wall. Spilling juice
and plated toast flip free and napkins flutter
to the floor like panties and you mutter
about having to be at work in ten minutes
and I would listen, but I've still got a fifth to finish,
vacation to kill, and air guitar to shred
and don't worry about your carpet while you're gone,
I'll piss in your closet instead.
of squeaky kitchen stool. The other pushing
the contact papered collapsible excuse
for a table against the wall. Spilling juice
and plated toast flip free and napkins flutter
to the floor like panties and you mutter
about having to be at work in ten minutes
and I would listen, but I've still got a fifth to finish,
vacation to kill, and air guitar to shred
and don't worry about your carpet while you're gone,
I'll piss in your closet instead.
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