Thursday, September 18, 2014

you and i lost in the forest of meaningless symbols





the sound of human voices in
                          august rooms


the sound of heat or the
weight of it


thunder at the edges


mountains grey in the haze or
blue beneath a colorless sky


asks where’s the map?


answers why do you need it?
and both of them naked
 
both of them waiting


and pollock is dead, of course,
                              and cobain,
                               and christ,
just to give you a better idea of WHEN
                                                  and
she has freckles on her pale breasts


he is never quite comfortable
in his own skin


says i’d like to see the desert and
she smiles at him and laughs


says but i need to get home


you see?


there are always places to go but
they will never be arrived at


there are some reasons more important
than others, or at least there
those who see it this way
 
one more time he says and she agrees


there is here and now and then
                                       (later)
there is the idea that HERE and NOW
are fading into the past


sits alone in a darkening room
and begins to understand this



Friday, September 05, 2014

excerpt 1






* *

drinking poison all day and she
said she was thirsty asked
why all it did was rain and then the
needle tracks of course and all of the
tear-stained apologies

the white spaces between houses

the smell of the river and
the same old argument

said the baby should have a name and i
told her there was no baby and
she asked why i hated her

she asked why i kept denying god

and the police had a  clear shot
but then he jumped

the streets were empty all
afternoon but i kept hearing the
sound of laughing children
 
kept getting off at the wrong exit

knew i was almost home but
couldn’t figure out why





Monday, September 01, 2014

someone and someone




was feeling okay was
slowly approaching
the idea of suicide
 
was four below
zero at two
in the afternoon
 
sunlight and the
taste of road salt

the ghosts of
old lovers

nothing to laugh at but i
was laughing there at
the highway’s edge
while the river froze and
the first of the massacred
children was buried

while the
conspiracy theorists
fucked each other
in curtained motel rooms

and i forget if i was
nothing but i knew we
were nowhere and it felt
like this mattered

felt like small birds
singing but without the
hope of spring

felt like frost filling the
cracks in the walls

colder than the morning
they found my father on
the dining room floor,
though the same shade of
grey, and at this point in
time all objects in the
known universe are
                  of course
still moving further
apart

at this point in time
your body
means more to me
than your name

seems like a waste of
breath to apologize
for things that aren’t
ever going to change



Sunday, August 31, 2014

a cage in the forest



tell the blind man there's
nothing to see


let the politicians
fuck your daughters


don't settle for the facts when
the truth is what really matters




don't worry about man ray
dead now for 30 years in
paris, and i still keep
waiting for his call




i stand on the edge of the
porch roof, next to the
hole in my house where the
light pours out




look






the days are shorter now
and all of my fears that much
closer to the surface



no amount of poetry will
ever cure cancer




no man who would ask for
your vote would
ever give you his in return




these are things to think about
while you watch dorothea
undress, and when she asks if
you love her, you should smile
without answering






you should
kiss her breasts




words aren't the enemy,
of course, but it's always
best to act as if they are

four ghosts









sleepwalking





knew him when he was dead,
early spring or late summer, town filled
with the stench of decay
 
a parade for jesus on some
bleachwhite saturday afternoon


flowers and virgins, senile old men
holding rifles, and what i remember is that i
could no longer remember which
century was mine


sat next to an open window
listening to freeway traffic, someone’s
girlfriend screaming in the second
story apartment across the
street, then laughing
 
almost midnight


july maybe, maybe october


birds with broken wings, angels
caught in branches, in nooses,
and politicians, and terrorists, and all of
them concerned with butchery and power


all of them concerned with
vengeance and he said fuck this


said let’s go find a bar and i
knew him to be dead and i knew him


had dated his sister had slept with
his wife and i said wait


i said the parade’s going to start soon
and he just smiled and shook his head


set fire to the house


pulled the trigger


something stupid and dramatic and the
girls on the floats were all
beautiful as they smiled into the sun



Monday, June 23, 2014

the golden dog






or lives controlled by
need and not desire


end of summer and the
                  idea of fear
too large to be ignored

gun held tight in the
fist of christ

taste of gravel and of
              broken glass

cold blue sky over empty parking lots,
over the clean, meaningless lines
                             of gas stations

over the corpses of children
killed by chemical warfare, because
the world is always so much
more than your own small,
                      petty failures

the kingdom of ashes
begins at your door

the missing man is found two weeks
later on some weed-choked
stretch of riverbank
almost eighty miles away

his wife is with her boyfriend
when the news
makes its way back home

even now
the possibilities for joy
                   are endless