Wednesday, February 14, 2018

147 Twinkle

typing in strange, exotic places,
I have yet to discover the algorithm,
a destiny in digital immortality,
tho the white page of death has blinked many times
and pulled from me pieces of ancient signs,
arranged in blue-lined characters,
exhumed from burials along fiber-optic lay lines.

Monday, February 12, 2018

Pumice.

we can not discern the meaning;
standing in the rain outside your window
doing this to myself
soaking my clothes
not wanting to go home
hoping you wouldn't come downstairs
looking for reconciliation
misunderstanding loss
like in some movie decaying on old film
could it have been ten years ago and more?
I have done the impossible thing; I have moved on

Vacant.

conch shell thunder in my ear
hanging from a headphone wire
the empty soundless waves
the coiled marks in the sand
voices rushing up against my eyes
the blackness that comes with setting sun
a constant mirage of images
hollow thoughts refusing a response
isolation against the static storm.

Thursday, February 1, 2018

None.

Blue seashells over my eyes I call them coins
          leave them under the gravestones
that like the old man's teeth
                                             rot in long lines lisping
out old vague drunken songs I don't wish to recall
          whatever words were written in our past
I am not connected to the tears that are escaping
       
           from these shells
                                       I want to become the ridges
become the gradients of color on the outside
I no longer wish to pay for living with my sight

Tuesday, January 23, 2018

Gum.

upon my back
the little fantasies
alternate realities
hyperspace dreams
     constructed daily
     through forced interactions
     grow like gentle flowers
     fighting through thick crabgrass weed
I drag them like a past
through dying worlds
each thought as sweet
and bitter as the last
     upon my face I wear
     an opaque mask
     fixed like the storyteller
     to the ear of the keeper of rotted hearts
     restrained by new possibilities
     buried deep beneath thick blank pages
     frayed and yellowed and molted
     coating the pockmarked surface of the earth 

Soot.

sky was so gray
upon waking
that a heavy pink
underlined the clouds

you said, 'in Taiwan that means it will rain,'

but here
I waited all day
and it did not

I missed the rain

I waited for it

sky lost
its harbinger pink
by noon
it was flat
lifeless gray

you said, 'in Taiwan that means it will rain,'

but in America
on its eastern shore
the color on the clouds
meant nothing

Worm.

darkness is how i see the outside of the car
darkness as if the terribleness of the inside of the car grew &
ranged outward in a cone shape
one that had been split and folded over several times

from all its softened sides it reached out with infinite lines
it engulfed the world
the inside out blackness of the car
metal frames surging it begot my dream

inside as my perception expands the only light was your drag
and the acrid smoke of green that floated flatly against the curled edges
marking out your shadow
then the light passing into my hand
my mouth
the taste bitter and drunk like the car filled my lungs

i thought aren't I going to work?
aren't I driving?
why is it so dark and why does the car feel inside out
prolapsed and growing larger beyond the window
becoming another inconceivable untenable space
burning between my fingers silenced by my breath

Sunday, January 21, 2018

A good day to die (signifying nothing)

Jim Harrison creeping bridges for suicides
Quentin Compson-like decomposed bodies
No teeth left to relate the skull's former contents
Enough that they both wore peacoats
Talked to themselves
Cursed the snowflakes of the northeast
Died
Killed their mind
Alcohol drugs maybe failure
Father's lies about railroad tracks
Mothers sending  children to farthest faraway states
The emergent death of the national park
Green things become gray
Drown
Under those obsessed bridges
Become markers
Tourist traps
Pauper's graves

Saturday, January 20, 2018

VA DMV: A classic picture show

When looking out at the rainbow
That rainbow which descends on bleak buildings
Those buildings branded DMV
To wonder at all the sorted numbers called lives mingling
To wonder at all the photos taken of their static faces
It's hard to imagine that a single thought by humanity has ever been profound 
Necessary
Revolutionary
Borne with grand design
Imagination
It's hard to envision the assembled parts
aligned in each matching chair
as anything other than rats building their own cages

Thursday, January 18, 2018

Wind.

they've left the world

         all of them

listen

         they haven't made a sound

there used to be a continued hum

      recurrent in the background

now I am alone

       they've taken the voice with them

absence

      comforts like a window pane

tho it is only glass

      I can also break

like a sheet protects the body

     from phantom chill

I was alone

       where they had gone

listen

      we'll never know

they can't tell us what they've heard

Wednesday, January 10, 2018

Salt.

through claw marks
     a frothy white piss

                                     on my window shield
fingers draw rifts in the snow

the blood wheel between my nails
                                                        turns kidney pink
like a body of stone
     salt lingers above the freezing line

when the pavement gives out the road sinks like footprints

leaves a fleeting trail
                                   like a baby's first words
                                                                       
for the hunters to follow

Tuesday, January 9, 2018

Glass.

ghosts stalk my cat in the dark corners of our apartment

every once in a while he'll notice them

with widening pupils he focuses on the void just over my shoulder
where phantoms lurk like the deep circles under my eyes

bruised shadows hidden behind a pane of glass

Wednesday, January 3, 2018

No.

grown deep into ground
vision moved like a glacier
over the boulder field
bringing with it an old ice age

with every glare
the rocks bore witness
to my deliberate advance
my existence
they believed in it
as movement

it was this or the sky

which was deeper blue?

stones that crumbled to my endless breath

death crawled on its belly across the earth

the very cliff-faces were novels
to my impending glory
I drank heavy from the history of the world
growing into my own tomb
god pulled galaxies out of my frozen maw
chewing time
like a billion years worth of dying stars

Tuesday, January 2, 2018

Ocean City, IN

in indiana i warned her about the lake effect

she said, the title waves are toothpaste blue,
          they crash & froth on the shore

the water came from somewhere beyond the beach,
          but there shouldn't be an ocean

from the driver's side window
          empty fields were replaced with motel front doors
the wind was not strong enough to close their eyes

our tires left fault lines in the sand

Saturday, December 30, 2017

VASE.

There's this          poem

On my bathroom wall

It only comes to me in the afternoons

When the sun slants in

Stretching the figure of a glass flower vase
Dashing its heart against the white         wall

Looking like ashes

Smeared by my stare