Friday, April 21, 2017

can you?

can you put
together all the pieces
out of order
in your head
transfer them
by hand transcribe
them by maw to
the brain reconfigure
that white horse
across the rio in
mexico that running
with forgettable brown
mare locked in treadmill
time can you reassemble
rainy days puddles
dark grey smell of
wet clothes was it
when you recalled
the drenched streets
the running window
panes standing under
umbrella awning watching
clouds fill sky feeling
each drop on skin looking
up the sound the
gentle heavy rushing
sound was it summer
winter fall or spring?

Tuesday, April 18, 2017

who needs this world, we'll get a new one

the round clock
                   time tock
               shape

I am there
                   I  am not
     a blue blip on a blue map screen

relay information
                    direction
       in which to go
                 denied location
forward & down
                             six feet in light years
        a million million billion miles
an hour away

                        wrinkled smile
          facial recog
                        dream light cam
mounted on the precipice
           top most peak of earth
mankind
                rain down

disturb the quartz-like clouds

solar swell

the curved broken edge
       flat memory superimposed
  mythical structures
                                  lost planet's lost people
                                            lost me
                                                         adrift
in space
                tethered to the sun
slowly suffocation fetish takes hold
cooked to crisp
                          in artificial life

deficient of the answers to come

set to silent
outerspace mode
                             what come after life
beloved by empty limits of our dream

to
     substitute what has passed
                                                for what is
present
              the round world
                                         is smashed down
on paper
               scanned
uploaded into the sky
                                   shines but a while
is marked for deletion
       by the future children of the colonial age

I am left to be one of those old fashioned things
        better off
                         forgotten
tied to the umbilical cord of old worlds
                                                                outmoded
set adrift at launch to lighten the weight
                   burning backwards
                                  burning along with
doomed earth
            doomed sun
                     doomed minds.

bus ride transcript

'what are you doing to my good children?'

--this from back of bus, the
semblance of body, thin grey strands
hair matted to liver spot forehead
sweat, yellowed skin,

'i told you, it doesn't want it!'

--pained

'my good girl!'

--who's?

'get outta my life!'

--alone, no phone

'i earned my credit! how did you do
the machines? no, it will not take
my
good
children!'

--the silence in each other seat, the counting
of blocks, streets, miles to the next stop

'i told you! drug on drug nothing! i don't want him!
get rid of the stupid
false
nothing! i
am
not a
nuke!
go live your own violence!'

--a few shuffling feet, some unoccupied seats,
some duck duck goose, some buffer, she's all
alone back there three rows removed
from re-situated shuttle geography; pariah

'it doesn't want him!'

--who?

'you can't do that to my green children!

--same voice answers?

'say good bye to your career!'

'no i will not!'

--begins to harden

'i said get out of my life!'

--one body speaking

'i'm not talking anymore'

Piss on Trash; I came over here to say this

wobble to the subway doors
     automatic
           before they'll close
you bridge the gap
     stagger on

at your worn heels
     buttoned up
                leather belted
seriously bent
          anger scowled
anger thrust through plexiglass
     into heart of train

regardless

the metal wheel
the metal monster
                              pulls away

If I could make you out in the crowd passing
I would

at length of edge
       off track
                      he quickly turns
veers from departed train
      cuts toward me
throws his hand
            into the past
what was
                 looking into the corner
                                  under escalator
                          by the train mapped
                                  the totem pillar

'that guy!'

'he pissed right there!'

I'm his only audience I am humanity I am made to see
shown the wet lines growing between the tile

'he squatted down and pissed! he pissed!'

passes me too close
      inches from glowing globe
shiny sweated
            nearly brushes my nose

'fuck is wrong with people?'
       
                       all the veins
clenched indignation
         I respond with blank smile
paper weight

'fuck is wrong with people?'
     one last bit of wisdom before he goes.

Friday, April 7, 2017

[REDACTED CHAPTER]

it happened that I awoke one morning & the air was solid.

I heaved. I gulped it down. down. into my lungs. like sludge.
like gak. i pressed it into each crevice. nook. against each membrane.

forced it glip gluk glak back out into the space that was no longer
between me & it & my body the floor the wall the sky out there
beyond the wall the wall paper thin wall not wall not paper not
thin not wall not sky no me no lung it will all return to normal
if this is not the right normal this is the realization no air felt air
moving in time moving in place there this is the real this is truth
slowing down becoming visible growing tight around the edges
filling in cementing the cracks abrasions anomalies abnormalities  

there. the mass of everything. everything that was the slow down.
frozen frame. looped image. moved without volition without
acceleration. too still. still frame photo entropy yielding--

i wanted to vomit would have given anything to vomit made to 
vomit but my insides were not my inside was outside was sky was wall
was thick flat like air every corner of me was without & within was
groaning reaching before beyond it

reached out. i reached out. through the flat space. 2d. through the frame.
i was within. for. from. the blue light. the computer screen. my hand.
against it. already. the splinter. bleed light. i had not moved. not within.
i was part of it. without.

death searing end no air no lungs no time no movement no further no 
me no again no beginning no end all one it oneness one thing one being
one flat we are all we have we are nothing different one end one start
one solid friction fiction state glit glat glup glow

once was space life compulsion to breathe 
reason once there was space motion once
there was life once
there was once there
once there was there was once
there was there there--

Tagged

Big Dog Diedie

--sat here long ago
burned cigarette on this cushion
here--

a hole in things

yellow mold--a feat
long remembered--
low underground

black tips of permanent markers
two hands time around which
in the middle--stops

tag a name.

Thursday, April 6, 2017

storm cloud over dakota badlands

storm cloud over dakota badlands

i recall them now as through another's memory

border x border squared

heavy edged

600 pixels tall

when i stood beneath their belly
who was i?

was it me there unable to grasp the sadness of the past?
what these miles would bring?

longing
even as i went forward
there where more memories behind me

these things that were once for the future
faded

endless in their becoming
they no longer exist

storm cloud over dakota badlands

there are few eyes left to remember them

there are few moments left that are more than
just tomorrow
that are real

soon they will be confused
with other days other memories

the road will sink into nothing

the storm rages
washes the graves
cleanses the bones
polishes the mud

drowns the dust.

Monday, April 3, 2017

Won't be reconciled

Everyday
with coffee.

it was strange you had
no recollection of me.

when years later
i saw you,
you made no effort to say,
'shit, it's been years, man!'

maybe it's that you
slept almost the entire time,
waking abruptly and shuffling to class.

i wonder, maybe, i had changed
more than i'd thought, becoming
unrecognizable, and
now, it's always going to be strange,

that last awkward memory,
the finality of it,
knowing that you have died.

Friday, March 31, 2017

Poster USA

lil' ruddy face.
flush checks          doe eyed.
shock of blond hair     scout cap.
american child     androgynous
complexion.

uncle sam sleeve     cufflinked.
imperial hand     slapped over lil' mouth.
deep red hand.
thick red hand     red white & blue.
open palmed     roughly
size of your child's skull
written--

--not whispered--not
spoken--not said--

hard black font     bold capital letters

SILENCE MEANS SECURITY.

Two Bodies

says,
     'have you gone west? all the way west?
west?'

she says, nothing,
     she says, comatose,

     'I have been ocean to ocean
seen the sea cuts the middle cuts
in between, cuts world in half,'

he says,
     not noticing, not seeing, her twitch
uncomfortable,

she, speaks,
     unheard of sentences,

she wrote once, before tomorrow, before all this
     'what an awful occurrence, an awful thing, an
awful poem, why?
     isn't there one story worth it to tell?'

he could make no sense of it, remorse,
     talking to himself,

she says,
     a jumble of wrath, moving lips,
uncaring,

'I am a great man.'
     he wrote, hoping it was true
making it so, by the great action
of pen, hoping she wouldn't laugh,
already vengeful, hating her,

'I said I enjoyed it. That it was good.
     What more do you want?'
she says, wondering why to care,
where to go next,

how to respond.

Thursday, March 30, 2017

That Day

The first alteration--
--after it--the change in line
in sky color--in tomorrow's dance
--in the color I've bled--when
  I'm of the earth in blue--
--in white heavy cloud
   when I'm under it--singing
--not in voice--vibration
when the ground is channel--
--bounce--right--there's nothing--
only forward--not time forward
--land sea mountain river canyon
   grass gorge river ocean eye forward--
--mind forward--might I call out
   shook with lightning--forge--ahead
   in the rest--everlasting next life
--calling--
gray river--
--grant life
   new--life--
currents--clear stream--
--a delta--the next alteration
   of--the filament--sundered
--the surface the me the you the
   above--the stars tree line etched
   upon its face in darkest silhouette
--the screaming violet night--
the blazing day remade--rebirth--
--un-sexed--clothed in green
   landscape--velvet--
--rocks split by cold seep
   the rushing spring late
--the ground swell--fire
   fire--
--fire--doesn't burn--
reforged--
--bound for next understanding
   wrapped written worn on
   western surge--
--the last alteration--

Tuesday, March 28, 2017

Fugitive

Here
          huddled in and blending
with coffee shop stools

four o clock is an hour before I should be free

windows play at being walls
everyone
                can look in
                upon my caged
                stare

(there are many operatives here)

         (Many from which to steer clear)
             (believe me)

glances they cast sidelong from lip
of coffee mug
                        mark my destination
place
time
name
character
MO

they remember my face
one I'm wearing today
pixelated
contour graphed on hand held meme

(they're out to get me)
(cliched)

out to wrestle from me
the feeling
                  that
                     I
                should
                    be
                   free

when sick one should be safely stowed away
(back home)

but you're here
              you're here
      you're here
               how come?

you care to explain this, young man [NAME]?

--they cinch the handcuffs on
              --do you care to explain they lock the cell
          --how that came to be? you incriminate yourself

All the beauty of grammar school

who is it could know me?
                 clothes melting away

what an effort to put into decorum

decorations are seasonally lost oblique--
statues?

      stride upon the cracked street system,

home and how many many godly rivers flow
                 invisibly
                                 under our feet

much life is buried under toe.

what a life for ants
                   the finite spiral down
                                        towards mathematical
conceit.

if we could only run the numbers of truth
for monetary gain
                               on the lam from the
cosmic bookie for all time

gamble with beautiful equations
as star ending constellations
hidden from our sight

pulled down to great earth
from the wretched heavens.

life of vols.

uneven, yellow gut, bound scuffed leather skin,
stretched to weaken, stuck with ancient glue,
chipped, dry, chipping;

                                      facing up to white tile
heaven, several infernal layers high;

                                                           beat to shit
by clumsy groping fingers, oil years, oil, years
oil, grease, ignored;

                                 edges fold, looking back,
locked in place, time, stance, break, spinal
snap, rest on floor, under shoes, weathered away,
running from, removed, broken home;

                                                               only the word
holds meaning, printer pressed, scanned and saved,
backed up, addressed, renamed, right on digital screen
tossed spent to metal cans, endless shape, or leaning
lost totems on dusty shelf.

Monday, March 27, 2017

Thinking I might not be here

Here i am
in front seat
foot upon wheel
knees bent
slouched

the windows of the two door cracked
wind worries by
rushed along by condo skyline

car double parked in

i find no reflection in the endless
glass house line

i watch for cars running through me or bodies or lines
maybe i'm no longer here?

maybe i'm immovable

maybe i'm the gray sky

maybe it's just sunday afternoon.