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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
Path of lifeLife is a dangerous path
Full of twists and traps
A path we're forced to walk
Without turning back
We may regret the past
We may regret the mistakes
But we must learn from them
And keep moving on
We may predict the future
And even fear it
But we never know
What happens next
The only thing we have
Is the present, here and now
So let's live it
And forget about the rest
The mistakes of the past
The mysteries of the future
All part of life
This path we all walk
wordless they succumbAnd they fell -
just like that.
Just like the act of breathing;
soundless and inevitable.
Like an eager girl slipping
straps from her shoulders,
the soft crush of silk at her feet.
We Have No TimeAll we have
Is a sliver
Everything we will
Do in life
We all die before we know it
Its a fact of life
And I am already dying
A slow painful death
One year at a time
One month at a time
One week at a time
One day at a time
Then we flatline
On a metal sheet
Buried in the dirt
To think we were born yesterday
Only to die tomorrow
Winter's GirlI was winter's girl,
frozen under a thick layer of ice.
People tried to break it with their ice picks, but to no avail.
They eventually left me cold and in pieces in my frozen abyss.
You're thawing me out, slowly but surely.
"Summer girls aren't for me, "you say.
"Too full of sick strawberry sweetness."
That was just said to comfort me, but it oddly worked.
Maybe time with you will make me a summer girl,
no more need for thawing,skating with you above my ice.
WonderlandWhen I was little, I knew Wonderland.
Logic was faulty and rules were no more.
Up was down; down was up.
That was how it constantly was.
Fish swam in the air and drowned in water.
Worries were small and dreams were big.
One fell up until they reached the clouds,
Which were then used for soft beds and pillows.
Gender was an unnoticed trait.
Everyone was blind.
Everyone could see.
There were no expectations to uphold.
I was happy.
Then I woke up-or fell asleep-
Into a world with war and prejudice and plague.
I wondered then, and I do now…
Was Wonderland not the real world?
The Answer is Noneplease excuse the crushing
of this conversation
and i'll forgive the wheeze
as my mind's
pinch your windpipe
all but shut
watch my fading blur
as i step like god
and your heels drag
now you're the one
whose able is unned
dissed and nonned
your ghostlungs, my balloon
floating and bumping
and the whether
of pressure differentials
feels true, against
to the girl with the razors in her back pocket,stop. turn around. i understand you,
and i understand the sadness
entrenched in your bones. i understand
the late nights spent in anxious prayer
to the towels, to the creaky floorboard
just outside your parents' room, to the sink
that stains too easily. i understand
the catastrophic glances that people throw you
when you open your mouth and try
to belong. i understand the intense moments
spent in dressing rooms splicing together outfits
that will gracefully sweep past tally-marked wrists and ankles
and hopefully make sense in the dead of summer.
i understand the nights that you carve the emptiness
onto the razor and wonder if it wouldn't be better
to just die tonight instead. no one can be angry...
or disappointed...or judgmental...or sympathetic (because
sometimes forced empathy is the worst)...when you
no longer exist. it just stops. and anything
has to be better than this.
well, you're right about one thing. it does
get better. and not in that corny way
people tell you. you won't se
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
ViolinI remember the day
you told me violins
were strung with cat gut
and that is why
you hated music
(who says that to a child?)
I followed you
all that summer.
I watched you
grow away from mother -
your whiskey held better conversations
and all she did was cry.
We'd sit cross-legged on the porch
and count the horseflies
settling on our lunch.
You would drown tadpoles
in a bucket
surprised they could not swim
and I would dream
of cherry popsicles.
And when night would gather
on the sidewalk
I'd hold my breath
until a star appeared.
Don't bother making wishes
you'd tell me -
stars are dead weight in heaven
and God has cloth ears.
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