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


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


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