Plea

They want what we don't have,

deep within the ground
where the sun dies a brilliant yellow-orange-purple,
blinding eyes
covered by elbows and hands
torn and old,

the dust is the skin
brown and tasteless
burning off in opaque tired rays
like a parched army navigating
dried rivers and mortal wounds;

I have nothing left.

Behind the fruit salad a simple meaningful love

I'm translating directions

and you laugh

like they're all a jumbled unpaved road,

or you hear and can't understand, 

static sentences thrown together

from the seat of my car,

silent understanding

draped across that bay bridge

curving up into the sky

like a horseshoe buried in the sand,

and the sky is raspberry fire

breathing and burning and pop,

leaving the sweet smell of fruit and salty oxygen

heavy weaving behind your eyes,

sweet almond dark eyes,

bending the rail toward me

in the shallows with waves twisting over,

through the final verse of a late-afternoon song 

and a just empty bottle of nameless pink wine, 

we find our way in the sweet/sour dawn.

Cross

Don't wait up for me
I've already found the bridge I want,
though, to tell the truth,
it keeps walking away.

there's a noise, better leave the house

She will run away and hide,

let your footsteps trace the distance
ever-wide running distance

out of sight.

to blind eyes and familiar quips,
with pupils too dilated to witness the race
seared on empty soft streets,
like some kind of coquettish mattress
drawing-

Snap

and with a snap something snaps 
like really snaps

ears bleed
into
focus reality,
some fantasies are disrupted
through the pious clouds
of denial and uneasy laughter,

ringing out into the street
at the crosswalks with the blind un-hearing,
and you lie witness to birth and death.

Good Morning 2010

You'll dance with me
because we recede farther
and farther into the past
each year,
drunk on the seconds that feed
and bloat the minutes that steal youth
from under our noses,

the nights blink into the day
drawing creases across our faces,
haggard and sleep walking sleep
through the sunlit porch,
kids running at your heels,
dogs, cats, breakfast, bacon,
digitized news fritzing in and fritzing out
stained with milk and lucky charms,

god damned machines and man
and god damn worthless one-note trees,
planted eons ago,
hard flesh unused and coddled,
protected except for the Vegans that tear them down
and feed on their souls,
merciless and gravid with self-loving,

white and smooth they devour the past
and welcomes us to the
featureless futures.