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