Thursday, February 23, 2017

Ode to the CIA

topple those corrupt regimes,
remember the glory of uniting forests,
fields and fields of luscious fruit
fertilized by your very own hands,
sowed with the blood and tears
of our thankless heroes, boys and girls,
oh, gentle benefactor of the west,
when even God, replete in white robes
on newly won thrones, no longer trusts you
what little hope is left?

Monday, February 20, 2017

Big toe

where there was was space between bed and floor

earlier that day heavy clothes rack had fallen on my toe

dented with heavy white lines the nail

I bent down to check the damage

where there was space between flesh
                     
                                                              and nail

I reached in           retching

thinking where all the membrane and skin

had

gone

Friday, February 17, 2017

She knows I hate 'I'm sorry' red roses

She knows I hate 'I'm sorry' red roses
listen to this shit
I have no ego but the one god gave me
placed by the solely by the finger of his right hand
directly to the touch of my porcelain brow
everlasting
she knows I hate valentines day
but there were flowers on the table anyway
there is no one more laid back than me
but I can't stand when I am not listened to
and obeyed
She knows I hate 'I'm sorry' red roses
there they were anyway
casting red shadows in the afternoon sun
this kind of thing would offend anyone
not just me
I am only reacting logically
she should have expected this outcome
I told you she knew
she didn't care
She knows I hate 'I'm sorry' red roses
she left them for me
I threw them away

Thursday, February 16, 2017

Writing a walking poem

feverish long poems in the night left tattered on front door steps
making an arrow of the map unable to escape the grid like sprawl

follow the stanzas out to the river edge
remember each word must go with you
stick them like candy between your teeth
wash them out under the sewer of your home

these relatively meaningless directions on specific on wire-taps
contain massive spoilers for the coming week
poems cascade like arc waves drowning offhanded remarks
each new episode resets the continuity mark
ADHD victims are integral to this body trade

the street signs are no help it is the cracks on the floor show the way
fill them with your spit and sweat
eat from tattered remains from the hole punch
recognize the language unrolled from collective heads
leave the DNA to be gathered by the next intelligence sweep
throw your hands up at the unhinged finish line
ejaculate on the cuffs

Cater to the master

to get down on your knees
bend slowly
take care not to stress your back
lean over
slightly arching your hips
place equal pressure
on the balls of your feet
breathe out
while engaging your core
make sure
your thighs are parallel
then perpendicular to the floor
place  palms facedown
before you
make sure to keep your eyes
on the ground

Tuesday, February 14, 2017

Possum

they tried to console me

about your death

told me that you stole food

that you weren't supposed to be

but that doesn't change the fact
I left you in the cold night
trailing halfhearted prayers

that I rode you down

that you died alone
upon the black earth

without even the headlights
to guide you home.

Friday, January 13, 2017

called death

forget to light the candle o'er
the fire's glow of faded edges,
what little can be remembered
of what once was though it's broken,
thrown away through burning wick,
the word flickers and suffocated,
pulses to each weakened breath,
is a starry, familiar ghoulish face

Wednesday, January 11, 2017

writing in rain

there, across the keys
bobbing up and down

on waves

monosyllabic, mute       saints
knuckles cracking, bones snapping
strung along about the endless white

a long march of nothing

thoughts about death

but I will not die today, in the rain
as it tumbles down yet          unseen

I'm ready to let dry

clothes, fingers, the day     the night

where goes the wind in mountains unseen

and the rain distorts the screen
floods the page.

Tuesday, January 10, 2017

Thrown away

pale are the glories brought before and
quiet is the history of the mind. One that lies
and falsifies itself with story.

There in the trunk is the truth. Locked
safely away. The many thoughts of every
other body minus my own. My own is not
like those.

Orange peels, onion skin, egg shells. All
I have to offer is hollow leftover remains.
Pretty paintings without a canvas, no brush,
no pen, not a single frame.

Nothing worth keeping.

Friday, January 6, 2017

Home

when i am gone. things
remain static.

i had once clung to imagery. to
write down. now I can't find it.

you called me. on the phone,

i could have texted. but
i didn't.

i never do. i constantly
think about it. texting. how
i never do it.

it was a misunderstanding.
why you called. why i replied,
i never meant to.

so i had to lie. to
not hurt your feelings. i lied.

i said 'i was just thinking about
calling you.'

but i wasn't. i wasn't thinking
that at all.

Wednesday, January 4, 2017

watercolor of a rooster; misinterpreted

black gloved hand reaching toward me, fingers grappling,
white forearm to bicep, grotesquely muscled, shaded gray,
the blood red mask covered face cut by three long gashes,
a single ugly, near reptilian eye, cold, piercing stare,
one jagged, ugly, gold tooth, sharpened to tear.

Monday, January 2, 2017

First spot

closest to the farthest spot,
first space on the longest mile,
left in park, ignition off;
walking home through the rain.

Sunday, January 1, 2017

Daughter

my daughter was very old,
yet, I was a young man.

no, she was not very old,
in the way that is very old,

she was very old to me,
for, I had never known her.

my daughter had grown up without me.
she was someone I did not know.

I remembered her the day she was born,
in that, I was sure she existed.

it was just so strange that this many years had passed
without my realizing.

I could not say a word to her,
and to me, she could not even look.

You have not raised her, thought,
as I watched her walk around and past and before me,

that is why you do not now her,
why you will never know her,

you are far too removed to ever care about anyone but yourself.

Holly Ho 2

time the lights
are hollow husks,
torn from cable
wrapped up tight
safely melted down,
colored as bright
as the sky
on empty winter nights.

Holly Ho 1

time the lights
are broken down,
locked in caskets
metal-lined,
stowed away
beneath the deck
in dank galleys
on haunting ships.