This will be a day of days! A sunrise to sunset
for the ages. Four capital letters to remember.
When my fingers were too small to fill a palm
and my lips too thin to caress fingernails.
Turn corner and trick while cases litter sidewalk
and you held my hand
sweat to dry skin and I felt more volatile and
kinder than I've ever been.
The road signs said their peace;
the reflections said their light
river eyed, long lashed, curtsies.
Knuckles tightened
as grip gave way
ten minutes beside each lawn strode by.
Each ray, each chirp, each clink
our watches bumping face
glass to metal
to remind
magic may be as simple as meeting the right person
at the right time.
I have to meet a man about a horse.
Today will be a day of days.
Sunrise to sunset.
Please hold my hand.
original works of parts
Family Tree
Daddy was a merchant.
Sister was an author.
Brother was a combatant.
Mommy didn't bother.
The tracers flew above foxholes
close enough to jar
if fingers closed fast enough
to feel shell casings flutter.
Sister was an author.
Brother was a combatant.
Mommy didn't bother.
The tracers flew above foxholes
close enough to jar
if fingers closed fast enough
to feel shell casings flutter.
The Sandman's Mascara
The walls met
above the neon electronic dart board.
You were there.
A tendril of smoke leaking.
On second thought.
Your number on my receipt
when I closed my check
with a smiley face and
a flourish.
On second thought.
Leaving the bathroom door open
to sigh on its pneumatics
you turned the faucet on
winking and slipping a blue toothpick between your lips.
On second thought.
Juke box stacked
to the ribs. Tipped cap and nine quarters spilled
from your pocket. Glance down,
You left your jacket on the chair back.
On second thought.
Have you seen him? That's his butt
in that plastic tray there. That thing in the black tee!
Have you seen him? With the brown eyes!
"No one left or came in the last hour, brother."
On second thought.
Bird baths in public restrooms never go over well.
Was there this guy with eyes like lanterns? Just here?
Yes, here! The hell else would I be talking about?
No? Freckles on the nose and a gray jean jacket?
On second thought.
I could've swore. Are you sure?
Yes! Okay, I am going crazy. Sorry to bother you.
Sit and tent fingertips. Squint at the televisions above.
Chair pulls away and elbows brush.
On second thought.
Eyes dash
to the floor.
Black on black sneakers. Again.
Count sheep, count down, count up. "Come here often?"
above the neon electronic dart board.
You were there.
A tendril of smoke leaking.
On second thought.
Your number on my receipt
when I closed my check
with a smiley face and
a flourish.
On second thought.
Leaving the bathroom door open
to sigh on its pneumatics
you turned the faucet on
winking and slipping a blue toothpick between your lips.
On second thought.
Juke box stacked
to the ribs. Tipped cap and nine quarters spilled
from your pocket. Glance down,
You left your jacket on the chair back.
On second thought.
Have you seen him? That's his butt
in that plastic tray there. That thing in the black tee!
Have you seen him? With the brown eyes!
"No one left or came in the last hour, brother."
On second thought.
Bird baths in public restrooms never go over well.
Was there this guy with eyes like lanterns? Just here?
Yes, here! The hell else would I be talking about?
No? Freckles on the nose and a gray jean jacket?
On second thought.
I could've swore. Are you sure?
Yes! Okay, I am going crazy. Sorry to bother you.
Sit and tent fingertips. Squint at the televisions above.
Chair pulls away and elbows brush.
On second thought.
Eyes dash
to the floor.
Black on black sneakers. Again.
Count sheep, count down, count up. "Come here often?"
The Sandman's Purse
Gummy bear
flavored eye liner
so that when you cry
you will blow your nose
into your bottom sheet,
waking, to find your tongue
in a tropical wonderland.
Two Transportation Authority passes
from 2009. I am pretty sure
they are no good now,
you never know.
One broken cigarette. Is that the pebble
beach all along the lining?
Well I am pretty sure
it is no good now.
A letter opener.
That one is not supposed to be in there.
Key ring with keys. A straw
with no sleeve. A notepad.
A pumice stone that looks like lipstick.
And a bedpan. There is some
pelletized glass and an
uncapped sharpie next to
a fourthed piece of brick
with a dime sized sticker on it too.
That's about it, though.
And a receipt.
And a nickel.
That's about it.
flavored eye liner
so that when you cry
you will blow your nose
into your bottom sheet,
waking, to find your tongue
in a tropical wonderland.
Two Transportation Authority passes
from 2009. I am pretty sure
they are no good now,
you never know.
One broken cigarette. Is that the pebble
beach all along the lining?
Well I am pretty sure
it is no good now.
A letter opener.
That one is not supposed to be in there.
Key ring with keys. A straw
with no sleeve. A notepad.
A pumice stone that looks like lipstick.
And a bedpan. There is some
pelletized glass and an
uncapped sharpie next to
a fourthed piece of brick
with a dime sized sticker on it too.
That's about it, though.
And a receipt.
And a nickel.
That's about it.
Smoker 52
I killed a plant today.
I taped it back together.
As long as fluids can pass
along the cellulose tubes
with sun for days
it will be fine. It is not
dead if I do not see it.
Right? Remember
not closing Torus's eyes
before sliding his body
into the garbage bag. Before
cutting off all of his whiskers.
You have to see
in the next one and
whiskers are only useful when
three dimensions are-
-together again,
the process was all wrong.
Overcome
with grief
linear paths
are wrapping
rose bush branches
in packing tape
to hear the snap of resistance on thorn
and start over
to do something
anything to agent.
the plant is dead. Is dead days through.
You are not allowed to leave
until I say so.
I taped it back together.
As long as fluids can pass
along the cellulose tubes
with sun for days
it will be fine. It is not
dead if I do not see it.
Right? Remember
not closing Torus's eyes
before sliding his body
into the garbage bag. Before
cutting off all of his whiskers.
You have to see
in the next one and
whiskers are only useful when
three dimensions are-
-together again,
the process was all wrong.
Overcome
with grief
linear paths
are wrapping
rose bush branches
in packing tape
to hear the snap of resistance on thorn
and start over
to do something
anything to agent.
the plant is dead. Is dead days through.
You are not allowed to leave
until I say so.
The Sandman's Phonebook
Come to rake books,
if you do get two nights
or two days worth of sleep
each week
you are
golden.
However the statistics are compiled.
Fear not. Fatigue is a
t-shirt and a slogan.
A lost chorus line of teeth
is progress.
Could be a t-shirt too.
No matter how the hours
are stolen away from the ember licked door,
they are currency and with them
on our eyelids
walk & growl,
motor shakes
to keep time.
if you do get two nights
or two days worth of sleep
each week
you are
golden.
However the statistics are compiled.
Fear not. Fatigue is a
t-shirt and a slogan.
A lost chorus line of teeth
is progress.
Could be a t-shirt too.
No matter how the hours
are stolen away from the ember licked door,
they are currency and with them
on our eyelids
walk & growl,
motor shakes
to keep time.
I Wanted to Have Children
Work to tend the bones and tissue paper of this body
while its mind decays its every core
until the day it slumps like a pumpkin in July,
sun beaten, fly ridden, gas plumaged, colorful
in the way wood nearly charcoal
will glisten in the right cut of daylight.
"Who's afraid of a great big clock?"
Another death, another thing this body
will refuse or break to do. Dare turn the key,
then knob, and force the door again?
Dare fumble one arm into that dark, cheek pressed
to the door's jamb, eyes pressed closed,
teeth pinching tongue's tip to
remember where the damned switch is
before something cold and wire haired and wet
brushes your wrist and you rip your arm away.
"No, please. Please, come in,"
says the dark doorway. You'd better run.
Leave it closed, but linger,
palm to the metal knob.
"Die now. Die later. It is all the same to us."
while its mind decays its every core
until the day it slumps like a pumpkin in July,
sun beaten, fly ridden, gas plumaged, colorful
in the way wood nearly charcoal
will glisten in the right cut of daylight.
"Who's afraid of a great big clock?"
Another death, another thing this body
will refuse or break to do. Dare turn the key,
then knob, and force the door again?
Dare fumble one arm into that dark, cheek pressed
to the door's jamb, eyes pressed closed,
teeth pinching tongue's tip to
remember where the damned switch is
before something cold and wire haired and wet
brushes your wrist and you rip your arm away.
"No, please. Please, come in,"
says the dark doorway. You'd better run.
Leave it closed, but linger,
palm to the metal knob.
"Die now. Die later. It is all the same to us."
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