news of the night:
they're madly searching for fresh acts of God
(or quantum luck) on second floors,
scattered tumblers in trailer parks.
nevermind the great uncertainty
leaning down your neckline,
the untelling weight-hood and period-luminosities
they teach you to ignore in school
until your comfortable derangement
can be seen from a dozen parsecs away
as one more animal armageddon.
why don't our hands,
against our weather?
pentadactylismpentadactylism3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
and in so doing
you deign to make
some unknighted landfall
in a mime
of an irreversible
all this time
when we’ve gathered up the last
of roadworthy flowers,
touched our final
in the skull
on leaving . . .
we’re still together
hungering in underboards
dog-fed on blood slivers, whiplash and improvidence.
do we pick at moments
to unlock their gnashing
i have no reason for what i want
just . . . be my collaborateur
be everything that is outlying and forbidden
the cavus which cannot bear the weight of waterweeds
and i promise to keep you
ever since our funeral
in that godless hollow
of a mind
PositiveLeft to me, your worst historian,Positive2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
to pick up, in a daze, some depth of diction
I never found while you had lived
and I can only now pretend that words are capsules
of sanguinity, that they’ll unmask the symbologies
of sound that bore your binaries to their realms
like sacred dreams of Hypnos.
Regret’s a simple word.
I always thought of "A Separate Peace", and in those scenes
you were this Mozart in the rough, a perfect chord, one
which I would meekly channel through cracks of light
shown through the fist of my own interference,
Why this wisdom, now?
The cosmic clown who wrote this song
does not annotate our endings with an epilogue.
I do not see the irony in celebrating
your new found space.
There is no iconicity,
no special shape
that serves the world
as you did serve,
to bend and writhe the streets
into a wellspring, a circuitr
dead1.dead2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
i hear these words
and something happens
in the yard;
it doesn't fit
i see it squeeze
into the slits
beneath your shirt.
i feel it fly the smooth
from off your back. it turns
and hides behind the acres,
of jagged rooftops,
kept far and safe
has left the limb
as light would leave
i’m staring into its absence
and some new kind of animal is made;
its reversal is alive.
it doesn't move or breathe.
the park is wintered over, and i don’t go.
are all gone.
and when they do come back, they never change
from birth to birth,
a clan of inbred
with felt umbrella
that don’t remember
who i was.
one last thought of your last thought
and all the rest become their graves.
nothing i remember, now
will reach the earth.
i have no bottom ground,
the narrow knots of wood
that span and hoard and cup my self
are laughing into holes;
low Tlow T3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
i'm too soft and rotten
sacred blood oaths,
or thresholds; a frozen inch of face
the same as light years, oceans,
i'd rather brush my mind with pills
and stick these artifacts of wealth
hard inside your origins
and keep the grass
ParamnesiaI've tasted the richness and emptinessParamnesia2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Hacked my way through abstract forests,
Somehow it all made sense.
A scene gets deleted,
I'm looking out and watching myself
Walk backwards like a Hollywood ghoul:
I hear you say,
"Only hummingbirds can fly that way".
You are binding stars to everything,
You tell me it is sunlight catching on dust
My self-taught body can utilise these fictions:
Irrational numbers which bend in arm-crooks,
Closing eye beams, who shrivel fjords
And shutter planets;
A wicked, living dissolution (without a will,
Defeats the twin which light has dreamed . . .
And now un-dreams.
I watch the untold eloquence of mind (we thought it chaos,
But it was freedom!)
The fonts and titles, the smiling spectres
Cataloged in gravities
Are now, themselves, in repossession.
Starting where we finished,
Humming backwards to the sun.
beneathbeneath3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
it goes without saying:
the air that settles
on your chest
the language of your local fruit
the swirl of rind
their glyphs and runes
like sun-bent cheeks
and creatured time
that sleeps between us.
i needn't tell you anything
or speak my way inside of you
you've doctored in all my aspirations
your furious dreams' wild successions
no longer carry
i am written
(it is not a dream if it is everyday)i no longer have the gall(it is not a dream if it is everyday)2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
to write letters to my universe.
it’s stony quiet,
it’s possum eyes in headlights,
in Victrola dust.
some tireless pamphleteer
has wrecked this room
with motorized felicity!
there must be
one bill for every breath,
and now, i see
you are the same.
you’re no magic
planet. i will
some time tomorrow,
mid morning, when the bugs have died,
and drive to work
and i won’t think
that ever came
before that sun.
i’ll trade in shibboleths
and type in pointy letters
these sharp assessments
of fallacies and
that fringe our fates
like breached reactors,
off of old yucca
and they’ll pay me well
and you won’t hear me,
the shut-inthe shut-in3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
where are these keyholes to the Equinox? the stars huddle
like alien nettle,
a gray chime of wrens scaling tree limbs and middays,
Darwin has no lines for me
i've sheetrocked the blistering ivies and blossoms.
i've glassed out daubers and frightening mollusks
pillowing through mud honey and minute old ruins.
intimate with my quiet desk, my paper hoard
i'm still a coward; the envelopes, Obama glass, the dozen unused spiral
diaries are menacing concoctions, minotaurs of lost dimensions.
i used to sleep in creek-beds.
RemoteThe pond eyeRemote10 months ago in Free Verse More Like This
drunk with Oklahoma rain
comatose in the yolk
of a centrifuge
is my third
Egrets perch high in sycamores
like leaning lashes.
sickly black oaks
and hold mass at feeder ducts.
Turtles dart beneath the pupil
as cows come blundering
into the inner blue
of a vast
rhetoricrhetoric4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
they say insanity
in failing strategies.
what is living,
What is loving
. . . marry him.. . . marry him.3 years ago in The Great Valentine Exchange More Like This
he will gleam like photons
tangled in sheer joy.
where i harvest dead localities,
he will sheath the touchstone nerve.
his voice will soothe great quandaries
like growling cicadas solve summer nights.
his eyes will break into blessed anointments.
his lips will pierce the frighteners
and spill their silver antidotes -
a cure for every blasphemy,
a pardon for every criminal.
remember who he was,
a mystic lisping empathy
for pure, unbottled moments,
a silence worming through bicycle wind,
a gender scribbled on a brainstorm,
the flashing of satori
in the scatter-shooting cosmos,
a wonderer, wondrous
with no guilty body,
a boy's fond familiar
who keeps a tail feather of god
stuffed in a bag of beetle legs
and cats eye marble galaxies.
i suppose i was never
the one who was meant to apron you,
to feed the thirsty virginities
that open up
beneath your womb. . .
i'm not the one to paper you
with sanctuaries and closet troves,
The Bats of SedonaThat nightThe Bats of Sedona10 months ago in Free Verse More Like This
when the black lip
of Arizonian summer
and we watched from the balcony
these bats of Sedona
the both of us
thought them sacred
yarn on their tails
with the colour of the air
into the headdress
of a tree
and from it
the last of the rust red
and a vortex
of soundless antipodes
were blowing back the shroud
to all we did not fathom
but don’t speak of truth - whatever
you people use to
still the wings,
to know of things
I don't mind if they weren't bats
after all - if they were just some common swifts
feasting on the bugs below the condo lamps
i'll always remember
come gods or chaos
had the same
I took offMy day off.I took off2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
I stand in sunlight
I can watch it being day.
The mud is soft and cool at home.
I'd bury well without a casket,
I’ll be a naked pill for earth.
I build a garden box from wood,
smash my thumb.
too late for lettuce.
I had a premonition
I would live like this.
No one will remember me.
I’ll forget by Tuesday.
Moon CratersMoon Craters4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
in the smoke hut
that is melting
by the bulb,
I am this
of fragile-ware and crocheted filaments
that vein out in disparate quests
from the patterns of your
God, I have some
Spaniard lust for those pearly little drop-
chorales of your twin diviners
clotted up like amber marbles
and left to summer
in the charity heap.
Damn their colours, they're all mania degrees
awash in recollected prayers,
that bare your dark coal
and purpled burn stone
of the Goddess
made (on top) of you
finger through me
How you de-gleamed in reverse, a light-ascetic
black (pin)holes in a mime;
when I thought to thresh
you out of boots
to a craterous
forget about meforget about me3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
don't listen for it, anymore:
the ugly balladist, the poète maudit
unbosoming his delustrants,
strangulations and subglossal annulments.
i want you to find my secret life, the arrhythmia
of spoondrift oblivions.
open out your palms to me; i'm over-swelling with octonaries, octonaries!
that is where i've been these years,
in the night between kneeholes.
spring breakI know things, after all;spring break11 months ago in Free Verse More Like This
not exactly wisdom
but little tidbits
to fit everything
like why I was left here
to begin with
a pile of growths
an avalanche of vessels
flung over bones
why I dumbly teeter like an old trophy
coffee table art
that bronze figurine mom’s boyfriend took with him
when he split
a naked nymph, arms flung back, chin
in the clasp of some great headwind
fashioned to be coveted
why I loom over new spring ants
like an ancient obelisk
angry and unfathomable
and my heavy house is sinking in the gumbo
around a slow explosion
in the mud
why the birds sound so different
when I woke this morning
the grackles’ wretched trumpets
on their last wing
there’s a weightless strumming
from willow warblers
sifting through the double panes of dirty glass
like warm filaments
on my arms
why I look
to the light
from a cloud edge
graying on the cedar fence
Beauty Ad NauseamCan we step through time and hope she learns thatBeauty Ad Nauseam4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
1. She is her own, and
2. She is, sincerely, only hers.
She finds it funny. She can read and re-read your words until the repetition of it all drains the colors of her lips, and scrapes the gerunds and infinitives from her teeth, but unlike her own, your words are always beautiful.
Bad Mouth Habitsi.Bad Mouth Habits4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
I carry God around in my lip like he's chew,
spitting his name out in poems like potholes,
I make everything a simile
for the hold he has on me.
When it comes to men,
I've the appetite of a Roman housewife,
I take, I taste, I tear,
swallow and then then toss up
for the next course.
I don't kiss anyone so dearly
as the glass pipe bridged between lips
Jameson, you're an Irish Lad,
a young ram of bucking proportions,
I let you rattle around my mouth
til I herd you in
Sometimes there's nothing so sweet
as the jack-hammer of angry words
or the steel trap clamp of silence.
I exercise my oral rights in
historythe air was moltenhistory2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
i see the evidence
cooling in your wake
and iron maidens
sadists are people, toothis sun has found its nihilistssadists are people, too2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
on cold curbs,
on concrete roads.
everyday, one of them guards the subdivision.
i thought, “a sphinx, a totem piece, an angel of death.”
whatever, my sleepy projectionist.
it’s on my way anywhere.
it’s on my way home.
silver-brown maw, it’s at its ugliest
shriveling inside of possum flesh
in a slow taut hug
of the last empty
i won't be caught up
just lay there
Parasitei spend my days looking out from the shadowsParasite4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
because this is all i was born to know.
i reside within the
written and erased
created and destroyed
that's what you always said they were
i am not abandoned so
i will tear away at your skin
like it is paper
as you bleed out the words
you once thought
were blotted from your mind
you are dying
these words have been written
there's no changing that now
kill me now
before these words become
your last dying breath
just to feel.she gripped her chestjust to feel.3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
it was warm, wet
looking down she noticed
funny, there is no pain--
none at all.
disappointment spread through her,
she had been counting on it
the physical feeling.
to remind her she was human.
and she continued about her day,
the red spot ever-growing
enduring stares from judging eyes.
no one bothering to ask
the question that seemed so obvious:
are you okay?
his voice was gentle, kind.
but the break in silence startled her.
of course she was okay
she looked up
dark eyes meeting a pair
whose vacancy reminded her unsettlingly
of the ones that gazed back
as she stood in front of the mirror that morning.
who did this to you?
he indicated the sparkling redness
drenching through the third blouse of the day.
well, i did.
why would someone so beautiful
want to cause herself this much pain?
he gingerly touched a hand
over the cloth covering the wound.
the injury seemed worse than he thought,
but she did not winc
AnterogradeAnterograde4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
There's an inevitable
preamble to every morning: the shriek
from a soundless planet
my own song.
Through Socratic discourse,
crossing off every
possibility . . .
I realize I'm not a fissure
spilling light into the sum, I am not
but a blur
that splits into an ant fire,
All I'll ever be:
outside a clothesline dimension;
just a numskull
It is the inkwell
I fall into. Look,
we have a barbiedoll
for a deity
so why do we need
of another ghost?
I seem to push myself
out of my killing sleep,
back through those bloody walls
again and again
to birth and murder and cherish
every terrible sequence of miracles
until Shiva tires of cutting me down,
having no more cherub worms to feed,
it will speak
that final prayer,