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achingly so. “sea,” you could say
and between each crest I would see
your eyes slivers of lashes, downturned.
CRACKLING MOON VISIBLE
ON THE EASTERN SEABOARD,”
I see tick below talkshow.
here is an imagined forecast
clear skies, scattered stargazers
until dawn milks the dulcet night
sore from crystal sugar deposits
centuries accumulated in your mouth
is this shore like the moon or the horizon
do you know?) in the corners,
ruby gums, shining cavities likely
this evening when a low pressure front
locates the pliers for loosening
another dream of pearls in a whirlpool,
of the summer hail plinking windows finally
overwhelming the clatter of my falling teeth—
the weatherman I elect to be
on the drive to the windy city
removes his tie and suit to bask
in the unique dark of his childhood
until then, the spaces between
skin, sheets, the carpet fibers
and the bottom of the door
where a strip of light rests
April.i. modern sensory.
one: hoop earring shimmers
deep in the cut of city light
as she stands the chill of thin
fabrics, the other just sang
thru the slats, clinked off the top
of the subway car below her feet, passing;
day gone by in best threads
and ten triple C tablets; look
she gets from all passers-by of her
in cold, in a dress, high… the one
that increases intensity with each
wrinkle under the eye; and echoing
thought of mother, reminding how
many zeros were in the cost
of the last pair of heels daughter
stole and wore, then ruined or lost while out.
two strikes: of middle class protesters
over prime sidewalks that have led to
noteworthy deaths; of proverbial lightning
in the same underground tunnel (her golden hoop lands just feet
from the band of a man who didn’t end up
marrying his fiance, a story of similar weight
to the aforementioned [but future tense] tale
of Tanya’s, it goes like so: Jerome met Idris
at a sit-in where J wore a fitted jacket and
The Age of the Wasp.There is heavy noise
in the other room and my head
bounces full of heavy
heavy weighted things
that I wish I could tell
I know or knew. The building
feels flatter and flatter
beneath my tired shoes
and I release air with difficult
pushes out into the still gentle a/c that
tickles over my arms, a goodbye from fair
weather, a rattling doorknob. I kissed
you and then,
for a different goodbye lightly
brushed my hand on your face and neither
could have kept me warmer. I will always
be in the twilight even if the sun somehow stopped
the earth and returned me back
to June, to the hopping / hotel rooms and the / rippling island of sidewalks
and dirt paths. the secret green heart I heard shaking its
own trees against the sheet glass
only grew for a time of honeybees and its now
the age of the wasp.
I am stingers and fear in others
and myself. I die on the window
and the death at all points
afterward will need to be cleaned
Fragment 2conventional development of a memorial out of bland symbolism and a "contemporary" sensibility involving phallic steel work + endless dematerializing glass or untreated raw roman concrete like the effigy we were too self obsessed to set on fire we were saving for the long absent libido
SonarHonestly don't know
Where the Hell is
Our light house, stood up
On fallacies of rocky coasts
Awaiting night time liners.
We turn days, years over
Nights that swim thoughts
With wading tidepools
And deep ends oceans old,
Unspecific. Past points
In existence where photons whir
To silhouette Earth's tumbling
Light houses stood up like pins
At lane ends, each of us
Soon ricocheted, collapsed into
Honestly don't know
Where the light house
We eyed with curious fear
A serpent more afraid and prostrate
Than us, than its cobra raise
Or rattle might entail, a tower made
Derelict by global position
The Elderly.cover the elderly in flowers
and go ahead and give them their architecture
their hollowed fluted columns covered in vine
ivy vines and corinthian florets and vegetal
give them doors. closing and opening at their focus
and at their "remember the opening of
the memorial highway?" how they could now
borrow suzie's husband's pickup any old saturday
and be there in half the time
to the endless heaven of open marketplace
can buy anything there
in a peace of mind haven treehouse in the blood
jungles spilt nectar and flies all about
just let the elderly have the joy
infants get coming in
with comfy strollers and
expectant children. with colors
marketed to them and a shower thrown
when the date is set to celebrate
the going out, the deathday
it was not planned, but it was in course
so let the abandoned asphalt fill its cracks
with lemongrass and resilient roots
sing joy to every pillar in its rise or its fall
the presence marked until the marker's overgrown
In TimeI wait:
underneath my thoughts,
through its riverbeds.
tears fall into dry banks
memories fill them.
pragmaticthat falling star will burn a hole
right through your pocket
and then where will you be?
foolish patchwork prince
burnt fingers and blistered thumb
no closer to your dreams
no farther from your nightmares
...Tension, is building between
our bones; cracking
these boundaries that bind
[lets not get lost in the moment
Our Wayward Starsguide the specimen
through the maze
and through the rain
rinsing our clothes
like they're still on fire
and somewhere, well
they probably are
and you pray
like tomorrow itself
is the fuel
that empties our dark places
like what lives there
goes away at dawn
but it doesn't
and i pray
like tonight itself
is the dark
that fuels our light
like what lives in each
feeds the ugly other
and it might
but, we're all prey
and the dream itself
is the place where
our chemical flames
hit the surface
flailing as we sink
in panicked clothes
from a distance
we must look like
lost, accepting the
drowning slow burn
of our descent
we look like what we are
MoreWith a broken heart- you’ll starve
All the love you’ll receive will drip out
And constantly you’ll be ‘needing’ more.
melting i've kept a philanthropist
chained to a metal desk
he's starved to the ribs, smeared
in hate and loathing,
starving and sensitive.
i watch his eyes,
melted silver pills
stretched between two little pits.
today, i'll unlock him.
give him a blanket
offer him coffee,
and a fresh heart
(i can spare a pulse)
love is a medicine
that will never cost a thing
Love's FearHe holds her,
maybe he is ready
to talk about love.
He takes a breath.
She takes a breath.
She is not ready for love,
her heart is cold;
left from a frozen wasteland of a childhood,
she can not receive his love.
He takes another breath,
maybe its not the right time,
He noticed she was upset,
the scars on her arms left a trail
to her heart.
He is unsure.
She is unsure.
Maybe love is possible,
a hug can go a long way in life
thawing ones insides.
Chewing the half moons of his fingers.
Chewing the half ways of her fingers.
He sighs, ready to take the big step,
lightly taps her on the shoulder;
he is now ready he thinks.
He opens his mouth to speak.
She opens her mouth to speak.
leash.I am a homosexual with three pet dogs.
One came home with my mom from work;
the front leg already broken and amputated.
A mystery shih-tzu, large for her breed,
now hops through my house many years later
arthritis, cataracts, and rotten teeth.
She may never die, may she never die;
her crooked spine and visible ribs
may make her whine and snore,
but every guest loves her novelty.
The next is mine, a beagle from
a large puppy mill, who did not know
grass, ceiling fans, or people.
She craves love almost as much as food.
Spayed too soon she filled out fatter
than her hips could always move.
She cannot jump into my high bed.
She is soft and my hands will pet at her
as she trembles to lick my skin.
She is patient and kind, but steals
socks and the other dogs' food;
What favorites for good behavior often do.
The last followed me home on a sweaty summer hike.
Her breed was unknown, exotic and new to me
with shining black fur and golden eyes blinking.
I closed my front door on her that d
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