waiting for rain or
for snow
for the house to fall
minutes then hours then years
spent sitting at this table while the
days refuse to get any warmer
wars ending and wars
beginning
the ocean on fire
the animals deformed or dying
or not the animals
the children
this girl born blind
born without eyes without
arms without skin
twins attached at the skull
separated with great care
and then dead
buried or burned or eaten and
the baby asleep
his room
painted in soft colors
his tiny perfect hands
he will wake up and know
what it is to be loved
Monday, July 31, 2006
a generation
July, hot as blood, streetlights on midnight
leaves & I had just emailed a friend,
had asked her whether Creeley was alive
or dead, was sitting in a chair next to
the bed where my children slept.
Was writing down thoughts and lucky numbers.
A list of songs. Suicide poems for seventeen
poets I’d never met.
It was easy, knowing how little
they had to live for.
leaves & I had just emailed a friend,
had asked her whether Creeley was alive
or dead, was sitting in a chair next to
the bed where my children slept.
Was writing down thoughts and lucky numbers.
A list of songs. Suicide poems for seventeen
poets I’d never met.
It was easy, knowing how little
they had to live for.
Sunday, July 30, 2006
sorrow #1
your childhood home on fire
and yourself a child
and then later
a man in your daughter's bedroom
takes her and rapes her and kills her
and then the war ceases to matter
the past becomes a a hole and
the future is a shallow pit
and these streets all dream of rain
these wires run from
house to house
the silence of
sleeping electricity
the young boy with this
dog at his throat
ask him where his father is
and all he does is bleed
and yourself a child
and then later
a man in your daughter's bedroom
takes her and rapes her and kills her
and then the war ceases to matter
the past becomes a a hole and
the future is a shallow pit
and these streets all dream of rain
these wires run from
house to house
the silence of
sleeping electricity
the young boy with this
dog at his throat
ask him where his father is
and all he does is bleed
Friday, July 28, 2006
these forgotten days
the things in your life
you've lost
and the ones you never had
can you be defined
this simply?
can i tell you i need you?
not without fear
not without the trees and the sky
and the idea of buildings on fire
this man who drives to an
anonymous grove of trees in the
pacific northwest
buries his son
then drives back home
buries his son
then drives back home
you can close your eyes and
sing these words
and make them beautiful
you can push your hands
into the bloodsoaked soil
can swim or drown in the
bowels of this mindless machine
but you cannot control it
you cannot take away the
voices of the dead
what they sound like
in the end is
everyone you've ever loved
you've lost
and the ones you never had
can you be defined
this simply?
can i tell you i need you?
not without fear
not without the trees and the sky
and the idea of buildings on fire
this man who drives to an
anonymous grove of trees in the
pacific northwest
buries his son
then drives back home
buries his son
then drives back home
you can close your eyes and
sing these words
and make them beautiful
you can push your hands
into the bloodsoaked soil
can swim or drown in the
bowels of this mindless machine
but you cannot control it
you cannot take away the
voices of the dead
what they sound like
in the end is
everyone you've ever loved
NEW BOOK FROM SEVERED TONGUE PRESS
"give a poor man god and watch him starve"
poems without apology
$6.25+shipping, 86 pp perfect bound
available directly from lulu.com
***
coming soon -" World Without Sound"
3 electronic chapbooks gathered up in
one collection
circular saw
you will be hated by someone
and for any reason or
none at all
there will be a cross
or a bomb
or rows of ovens waiting to have the
human soot scraped from their
hinges
and there will be soldiers
and there will be alcohol and
women to treat like dogs
your wife
who will be made to crawl
or your daughter
who will be fucked by
a dozen faceless strangers
and wherever you are
there will be rain
and then crushing heat
and the corpses will bloat
your ideas of beauty will be
smothered by
thoughts of revenge
and you will hate for any reason
or for no reason at all
you will drive home the nails
without beliefs
we have nothing
and for any reason or
none at all
there will be a cross
or a bomb
or rows of ovens waiting to have the
human soot scraped from their
hinges
and there will be soldiers
and there will be alcohol and
women to treat like dogs
your wife
who will be made to crawl
or your daughter
who will be fucked by
a dozen faceless strangers
and wherever you are
there will be rain
and then crushing heat
and the corpses will bloat
your ideas of beauty will be
smothered by
thoughts of revenge
and you will hate for any reason
or for no reason at all
you will drive home the nails
without beliefs
we have nothing
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