On Preparing Beautiful DescentsIt's necessary to annotate the appearance of rain
things are brief now
We can not go on pouring through music,
your voice departs and people become religions about witnessing a sun
stumbled into words on the green rivers of that country,
collisions and collisions of light recalled post-facto by a girl who was there
The promise was not of perpetuity but rather of the existence
of a manuscript which explains the business of preparing beautiful descents
And let me tell you I've imagined its insistence of clouds, the blacker the better
a singularity of bodies more tree than water,
and red deserts that exist to be wandered upon by love-story refugees
You don't have to wash your hair that morning. Dress casually and
in suspension of belief
you may smoke as many cigarettes as you need
I am asking that, because things are brief
you come and grieve with me
Alien Abduction Survivors Club"Silence is a predication of severe instability. Take the storm that killed your father: You've remarked in your sleep, repeatedly, about the presence of pigeons."Alien Abduction Survivors Club4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
I wake up and I can't move. 'I've been taken again,' I think, 'and this time they will fall in love with me.'
"Tell the group about your life."
I'm not sure if there are words for creation, but they have a seemingly infinite amount of terms for the measurement of time.
My mother killed herself that night. I remember her hands on my shoulders, the hallway convulsing this kind of synchronized surreal romance. She would cry or yell and the walls would shake. Did I tell you she never prayed? She prayed that night, with her hands on my shoulders, begging God over and over to bring me home.
"Their intentions have not been established, however, it is becoming increasingly apparent that the visitors do not wish us harm. I believe that, like all monsters, they are simply acting upon fundamental compulsions: The desire to e
Time Travel for Ex AddictsThe only thing you can take with you is musicTime Travel for Ex Addicts4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
And a couple of streets if you have room
Leave the T.V. behind but turned on
You may not bring a watch, digital or otherwise
Nor may you bring the possibility of rain
After dinner get yourself lost
There will be questions. Don't answer any of them
Eventually the voices will start to come together until everything is noise
Next type the name of a young boulevard in the interface
Lie down near that street while it snows and count backwards from 100
You will find yourself in bed but don't worry
it isn't yours
A voice will fall from the sky and say,
Please remain hysterical
in the event of an emergency.
If something goes wrong you will die.
Para Espanol oprima numbero dos.
There are no other options
Fight sleep, it's a poor substitute for making planetfall
When you close your eyes you will see light
And it will remind you of traffic
You have to think about a song now
Any song will do
named after women
When you see a fe
19We're refusing the drugs, he says,193 years ago in Scraps More Like This
and everyone returns from the park like strangers.
Let me begin with a sunflower in the sink,
our CIA is ordered to photograph Mt. Ararat,
someone she used to know has gone missing.
From the paradise inside my head
our country is her father's voice
describing the rocky mountains in a language we no longer understand.
And the clouds, the absence of instructions.
So on windy days the sky is swept of pollution
and the white-capped mountains haunt above the freeway,
almost transparent with distance.
And Leaving. Leaving is everywhere.
Leaving is the breath of this place-
tables overturned, dinners half-eaten,
our country in bloom like a river.
Our science suggests that alien abductions
and near-death, tunnel-of-white-light bona fide religious experiences
are chemically indistinguishable.
So there's nothing else to believe in, I guess.
Our spies are arrested looking for ships on foreign mountains,
the strangers in the park pull the plug,
we thank the audie
Anthropology NotesThe astronaut came down and afterwardsAnthropology Notes4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
the world was swollen with rain which, in proper context,
were really words for deliverance and our frailty,
built-in, endemic, was the inevitability of disaster,
the events to which those poems allude.
As a story of creation it is entirely plausible that trains exist
only as metaphors in a longer motif about the illusion of destination:
An estrangement of the art from the source trauma,
not unlike a child abandoning God or, paradoxically, a God abandoning a child
Things to fear:
The insurrection of beauty in bad people
, add word for: lust, leave
Our job is to watch people so long that we begin to act like people.
Our soul is:
Believe refraction, flash, a slight delay in communication between the flood and the electricity.
Q:What did the astronaut bring besides words for cessation?
Q: What do LSD, Penicillin, and us have in common?
Going over 100 miles per hour two cars collide on Limonite Avenue, killing the occ
some revolutionsIn the running water I list the ways I'd be changedsome revolutions3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
if I weren't born among angels.
She developed alongside me as a lotus flower develops its sunrise
contained in the gentle palm of resurgence dropping echoes
with each pink triangle falling in sequence until the light
had pinched time off the ancient face of the clock.
conclusionsi wake up to the sound of january 3rd and youconclusions4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
remind me of how litchi juice tastes like an
open wound in my mouth. i remember how
we were blackcurrant on each others' tongues
but only sound like static now
like tuning the radio out
after your favourite song has
[violins. singing bowls.]
december ended and i started to meditate
again. i tuned out of gigahertz and
for your reflection to find my eyes again
and now i am at the lakeside, the jetty,
the quay. i am meditating and the water's
edge is waiting for you to exist again
[touching his fingertips
to his lips]
somehow in september, i became the
edge of a cliff you were always too
scared to look over
you only loved me in february]
and of february i will dream.
inlandbecause upon arrest the ocean sits withinland3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
but never occupies
because when I woke the anarchists
were demanding suffrage from heaven
because the news announced whale bones
pulled from a mountain in turkey
because i went to the liquor store
and the missing posters were gone
because every noise the city makes
is a foreign language falling extinct
jesus was a mushroomIt's going to get worse.jesus was a mushroom3 years ago in Scraps More Like This
They are gathering to explain how terraces fall extinct in old cities,
provisions drafted in secret to allow these feral instances of styrofoam,
the thousand great floods, the bacteria relenting their world
to speculation about congruent realities
to become legally recognized as miracles.
Then ugly old men and their ideas about never dying fill a park.
Shoulder to shoulder we are compelled into view until the video cuts
to a building folded 8 times (which is impossible for paper but not people)
The truth is there was another experiment before this;
that world was flat and full of sick elephants.
And I slept in a truck in the middle of those woods,
thinking about the other place and its men,
their construction of a cult out of left-over radio transcripts,
with the promise of existence violent in their lungs.
Have we ever been abducted by aliens? Let me tell you,
right before people fall asleep there are debates,
the noise of a thousand different religion's angel
AnnotationsIn free countries every word is inflamed with flowers.Annotations3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
There are always funerals to attend.
That Soviets sent atheists to die in space
only evidences the premise that an ache is sovereign in humans.
(Collectively, we've done all the drugs in the catalog,
worked to exile ourselves from the pull of suns
curving around rooms, bent like trees in the soft algae radiation)
Who entered who is irrelevant in the procession of things,
but important to nation building.
People often leave each other with the windows set like clocks
to bloom at the insurgence of a feral moon.
They call the silence an animal,
a painting of wooden boats lined across the strait.
And people used to cross there, I say,
smoking with strangers in a bright field.
This morning, another nuclear physicist died.
We begin to question the notion of accidents.
And then the gravity and harmonicas;
woman smiles down the wall.
When news comes from the past I remember you were beautiful.
Dried-up river: Tell me you've bee
something to write about...I'd been drug sniffedsomething to write about...5 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
addled & otherwise
by agents in
points of origin
hope to heart to god
like father thought
hand to fist to mouth
like mother taught
as if no one had
colored those pale
so I shook
as all good books
to the shape
you've made me
I tried to trace
as a map
but found you'd
s18People who die in their sleep have the most beautiful stories.s183 years ago in Scraps More Like This
It's true that we each carry the burden,
planets and streets we didn't cross,
a restless vibration of fields,
wind that exists as a particle or a wave
depending on which ocean we're witnessing.
She came back with all of it.
And then photographer missing in the painting follows with:
I sat down across from them both,
I was only a man, the art that exists here
is relentless. It had to be mountains.
It had to be snow
Yielding to the experiments,
the bodies of our heroes riddled with tumors
and begging for new york or LA; they assemble
as the oak in the front yard,
as an exodus of birds following the shoot-out down the street,
And when they tell their stories they are backwards.
Trees begin in the jungle fire bombing,
and end in Nicaragua next to a vision of the lady of sorrow.
The buildings ascend like prophets with no one left to warn.
Until they all find the sea,
suspended or fast-f
In Lieu of FlowersThe citrus district glows like experiment-In Lieu of Flowers3 years ago in Scraps More Like This
canvas upon canvas, the smell of fallen Spanish empire
reassembled from the rows of orange that move
like the sovereignty of the pacific.
Coming upon the cemetery; endowment lost to a city;
the yellow, the yellow the yellow.
in a young countryOur people surrender to depression with elephants in their poetry,in a young country3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
the suicide machines built like the helmets of astronauts
more or less proving god's absence in their wake.
We've perfected the technology to photograph an airplane
bending at the moment of impact. This is the world we were given.
In our books the bodies fall upward and nobody prays. We're left
watching spines stand and drift into an exodus of hands in a video
of unsinkable buildings. Our state is overpopulated with expositions
of the ache that some get while staring at the sky. The folk music
of our planet's oceans can no longer lessen this place's collisions,
all of the metal in our bodies is homesick,
all of these geese stayed behind and froze to death in the park.
PastThick mist tucked into old hills,Past3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
heavy and slumbering;
the tattered clouds gone lavender.
I won't tell you how beautiful it is.
I will only say, I am going home.
The swerveI tore my flesh on the corner of the lake & bled in cubesThe swerve3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
and my best friend knew the weight of my green eyes and tried to sell them
and the spring left me heavy in my skin and the air she breathed me
tasted of umami and B12 and water. I drank it all in just like water
and began the aviary process of collecting budding groves and early springs.
you came to me with eyes like empty jars begging for sparks
and the hundred scraps of paper of pretty lies in pretty cursives,
the firefly wings and peonies and ocean salts and river rocks
and you were the first one capable of rustling the dead leaves
at the creek floor, so those went in, too. adding pensive things
to your eyes until they flooded over. they keep flowing
You were beside me trembling at being essential
and I could barely contain my laughter
from spilling into the air of the auroral forest
and getting caught naked in the mountains
The first time I didn't mean it to tear
through your skull and plant flowers
and you were beside me
a poem about driving in pennsylvaniaI'm driving west and at the state line all I can seea poem about driving in pennsylvania3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
are canvases of steaming light waiting to be painted
in the brushstroke forest that lies like a crescendo
across the reservoir where the grass washes over our ankles
and my eyes will never open so wide again.
June 12th had all the markings of a fine poem:
thick music scattering lights to the night city
reflecting in the same warm cadence of breezes
and your head resting on my bony shoulder.
You asked me with such sweetness if you could read my poems,
but please don't leave me with my love, with the cats
spilling out of your arms into the contaminated water
of taking in the divine ecstasy of just existing.
I want you to be so happy that when I swear to protect
your solitude, you will promise to escape for me,
to tear off the anxious rivulets that keep us netted
in the seasons as they appear in the Hudson Valley:
three sadistic ellipses promising comfort with the turn
of the next gentle equinox and rattled atmosphere
and my eyes are di
a brief visit extendedcalifornia returnsa brief visit extended3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
portraits of love
etched in endless steps
and slanted streets
stretching sunburnt limbs
its languid strides
like solemn hymns
in the grass
'round grace cathedral
it finds hope
but still potent
its thrift shop moments
of battered truths
than those intended
it makes belief
not makes believe
that nothing's ended
Of solace sleeping in today was the essence,Of solace3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
waking up the process of becoming singular
I want to end it
but I can't stop associating you with these images
: a season being flung onto the ocean, making a mess of color
there's an insect caught in my poetry,
trying to mend its broken wing
The Farmers SonWe sat sipping grappa as the storm clouds rolled in from the ridgesThe Farmers Son3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
like the smoke from some great unseen inferno,
the wood walls and shingles of the house complained to us
in low groans,
of the wind coming up hard, through the valley,
and there was flickering light from a candle,
and she told me how light from a prism dissects into different colours that correspond
in some way to our bodies and that all of life was a rhythm
and I believed that part,
and I believed there were stars beyond the sight of man on any grey day
and that they might hold some greater secret than prisms or rhythms
or any question a farmers son could ever mutter,
and the wind slowed to a stillness
and the rain moved in and our voices gave way
to what my Father would call The Lords Music,
the pitter-patter of water
on the dry and flaking earth.
Mad ManI think I lost usMad Man4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
in a glass of scotch -
going down like
every mad man
I ever envied.
Why did I believe
your lips tasted
sweet and heathen
like the heather
I laid you in
that last night
I came home?
I had a thing
for damaged women,
and you could drink
your mother's last words
AliensThey have no notion of past or present,Aliens4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
everything is about oceans.
When they ask for you
it is really a story about seeing the ocean.
Listen. It is failure of bridges that builds angels.
GROCERY BAGGER/ COLLEGE STUDENT:
Is this the depression
we've all been experiencing?
Please have a seat and forget the edge of that coast,
you were not intended for this distance.
GROCERY BAGGER/ COLLEGE STUDENT:
I believe we're all owed an explanation.
Where is this manifest?
I've never ridden a horse, I am being dreamed about.
You would not believe
the stories redwoods have.
You each get one phone call.
GROCERY BAGGER/ COLLEGE STUDENT:
But the voicemail I've been trying to reach,
"I dream of psychiatrists telling stories
about dreaming of women
they've seen in unedited videos on the internet.
Sometimes they save her from that burning nightclub."
If you're going, leave your voice
somewhere in a room I know.