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.

Make-Up

My teeth clenched and          shuddering
will
       break the      world.

Listen I have done all this     in my own words

on my dry     skin
is written not a single word

only faded scars
I had hoped would never          fade.

Having only memory

even that          imagined

I am left to invent greater, even more terrible, lies.

          a multitude & many

all of this being one
where I bite down
and the rain answers

oh

drowning this attempt at resuscitation

soak & prune thy skin

and replace

I am unworthy of truth

there are none
there is none
there is no
there are no
no
no
no no no
no

look into these scars for they will soon be gone
and no one
                  will remember them
                                                    always
                                   anyway
                                        after all
                                                         ever after.

Son

the many legged mile folding the road up,

tomorrow, that was my mistake, the first use of the word
is still with me
                         and without effort I recall,

I AM BOUNDLESS.

the cracks in the pavement think remarkable things,
grow greater,
                      only to fall apart,

I read aloud their last will and testament, forge my future
in their hand,
                      sign and date along the line

along the bottom.

Writ in Blu

fit between these covers
                                        blue ink
fine points of human life. many spills
make a line.
                    I am the only one who I was
at death. Does that mean the cycle repeats
or not? After death? or
                                      ever life?

This poem is the sunset.

                                        Until you catch
the clouds moaning      or the cars.
But that could have been the road. It just
goes.
          On--

without us
                  making those sad sounds into
periscope night skies.
                                    The orbs that are headlights
lead the masquerade.          

Thursday, March 23, 2017

Sign of the Dog

saw your sign glance by

          lost since last august
                           no update     on sad face dog

last seen exiting the front door of a house on prince st
                                       
                                         running east

Doesn't answer to his name/may run from stranger steps

another sign
             read ASSN.
             as ASIAN, hmmm.

you'd think maybe like     a bilingual school
                                          or history
                                                    could be?
as
ASSN. of Educators and Lecturers
ASSN. like an Association like an abbr.

     meaning
                    parking spots
for members meaning
                                     that was a sign
                                     for sure

warning for tow implicit throughout
explicitly measured out below

and other words of white on blue field

     like
            the first sign
blocks of text

the general gist
      is already          wearing thin
                         
                          two blocks past into tomorrow
     the dog
             beside     downward stare

what did it look like?
                                   the dog that's just a dog
were there any cars?
                                  parked in the lot?
educators?
          was there even a school?

how many     months
                             have been lost
          since august?

Friday, March 17, 2017

Current Issue

On back,
                man
they pour down fire
they pour up the smoke
they dig into the back for heavy lead
                underground
gorge on bedrock
chew iron spit steel
balk at untouchable things
they fuck it up,
                         man
they really fuck it up
searching for that next land
next swath of wood
next treasure trove

nobody think
ask the tortoise
how he feel,
                     man
nobody give a fuck
we boil the soup at whatever temp
them directions say
eat that shit up
stuff leftovers in plastic bags
fuck cares if they rot,
                                   man
you hear what they say?
nothing makes any god damn sense
all propaganda
you're trying to step off
who won't let you
we tell ya gotta go,
                                man
the back
how many years old?
we're nothing
if we don't keep on spending
then what?
using these gifts
resources left behind to what?
another body will burn them
what a waste,
                       man
think
all those starling beyond our grasp
more showing light every day
if we could only reach them
pull them into the below
wouldn't it be cushy then?
                                          man
wouldn't it be grand
don't they belong to us?
you and me?
                     man
already?

Monday, March 13, 2017

Alarms

thunder that shakes city street
is the risen crane's body
rain to keep the drills wet
burrowed under sewer grates

     'cross town with uber fare
     a pleasurable hell

you who would seek escape
I
grant
you

Three (3)
days Leave

Now! Go!

     find your "peace"

how many days have you paid?

what was the cost?

answer is silence
     silence is midnight when the subway is quiet
when the meter has rung

the morning cracks with the weight of alarm
     work begins when you breathe.

Created

She draws her finger at the edge
   
     flow goes the river          life flows

she forms the jagged shores     cleft

          crash comes the oceans

she rolls the dough west

     rise holy mountain

she drinks the waters of life

          dry the deserts     the salt sea

she kisses your mouth

     your lungs fill          gasp

she becomes the cloud

          that is blue     up     rain & snow

she became the green & mud

     for your feet     to walk     stand

she is the invisible miles

          in year & time          & distance

     you will walk

she was the space

          that circles back     forward

     forever

she will be the us that is     you

     that is child

               that is me

     that is always

that is ever

          that will be

Creator

offers the bottle up
     take it down
          to your lips
               the ruby red
on your neck
     the ruby river
          on your teeth
               the ruby mark
on your throat
     the ruby drink
          in your belly
               the ruby mountain
on your fingers
     the ruby life
          in your hands
               the ruby course

Creations

world bends on corner
     long the window wall
shadows provide cover
     make life dance for my hands
under me the bodies
     sealed in concrete holes
impaled with steel beams
     madness
raised up raised up
     the sky
it's full of them it's full
     towering above the earth
made rituals from space
     mad sigils from space
etched across the greatness
     tells the story of the start

Thursday, March 9, 2017

We have what we came for

waiting
waiting
waiting to pull the metal coffin
to its place
     and when
            when it returns
stacked atop with bodies
waiting 
waiting
waiting to push it back
to forget
where it has been
     only
     only where it left its remains
waiting 
waiting
waiting to retrieve
     more markings
     more corpses
     more legs
     more trees
a shriek on rolling wheel
     again it goes forth
     again there it is
     again
waiting
waiting
waiting always waiting
             countless eyes
                             hands
                             hearts
                             burial mounds
regurgitated
replayed
rewound
               waiting.

Dust

This
          here.
     This dust

Settles one atom at a time
     slowly to
          bury
what little past     remains
the
     sediment of
                         memory
left little
        by
       little
at the bottom end
                             of
                             thought.

Where were you when you remembered
      all
           those     little
                                 failures
suffering a multitude of fossilized
                                          layers
                                          below
those funny dying things
     shriveled up
            that made me     love
                                       the
                                       way
                                       I
                                       was
and you smile
at the
desert
           that has become     you
and you
       and
       I
and dust
              above     &     underneath

Compound

Against the walls
                             outside
     heat from those million miles
          falls flat on lifeless     concrete
shaped by the machine hand
                                              of man
     tucked within its belly
fed on artificial
     radioactive
          weaponized     light
the constricting
                          snake
             conscripted
by 3D blue print masks
     masquerading prisons
dropped on endless     maps
                    endless     hours
                     endless     pages

Wednesday, March 8, 2017

Rings

the bay was a bowl
of crystal waves
and golden sun,

we left footprints
in auburn sand
side by side,

we were the ocean,
the mountain, tree,
the sky,

far from home; far
from home, the
torea pango cried,

silent the stars rose
against the night,
the dark blue cape
of the world,

the southern moon
danced on the shore,
outlines your hair,

you reached
for my hand as
the day fell,

I held onto your heart,
you held mine.

Rebellious Sheep

un-sheared
hidden among the hills
batches of green earth
below the current rises
untouchable electric fences
whirl
all your flock is naked
there on the other side
each car to wind
the road's bend
an informant
a traitor
a Sheppard;

they won't take you alive.

Blue Pool

float in
the god's eye
clear pool
green lashes
old old
mountains

is it blue?

see the sky
wink back

up there
or down
here?

Re-Forested

checkered plots of
tree
deforested originals
reclaimed
by immigrant seed
towering
red woods
far far from home
tropical forests
grown
to the hum of saw
wait
to be cut
and sold whole blocks
gently removed
remodeled
patiently stewing
on one hundred years
the next
technological extravagance
cleared out
plowed
hills
re-planted
turned to gold

Splendor

in come the cruise ships
their many windowed hulls
lulling on jade seas
washing their decks on a
thousand water falling cliffs;

at milford sound;

if man has one great strength
it is to make the grand
small and commonplace
and the trivial
majestic and adored.

Tuesday, March 7, 2017

Carts

carts going out
     stacked of souls
taken to their shelves
     labeled
         cast in gold
flesh removed          first
     those little images
cute memetic          images
     buried within you
stitching          3D sewn
teased out
     & refilled     with
butter and lard
     opaque yellow orbs
float in milky         white
     bile
bodies staying put
     left where they can't      rot
kept from the earth
     caress
kept from returning
     to the floor
carts come back
     brass           metallic          empty
fitted into place
     chain-linked      isolated
                     showered     sprayed  
rinsed     dried

Friday, March 3, 2017

The Yolk of Conversion

beware man
the yoke is dripping
                                 see it
swept under welcome mats
and city sewer system grates
environmental protection stickers
rune frog carvings calked down
beginning to be forever
                                      the end
what's happening inside?
I'm out here
                    we're all out here
no worries it's not too cold
the weather is fine
                              I think
I felt it long ago that the memory
still aches and heats my bones
or is that the fire
                            ha
you can never tell well
what was I saying something
about well it's not important
otherwise
                I'd have remembered
it
it was you know where we were
just trace back the threads
pulling at the conversation
it could have been someone else
I tell the same stories all the time
did I tell you
                     this seems
like a blanket response it's not
I was saying something
you were standing right there
listening
               about the city
and the clouds and forever
starting right now
                              see
I thought so I'm forgetting myself
these days
                  isn't that strange
to remember you're forgetting yourself
spinning in circles at the door
that's when I recalled I'd asked you
about coming inside
and when
                 you broke
all the where was I yeah
you broke all the damn eggs
standing there throwing them
against the
                   wall
standing outside

Wednesday, March 1, 2017

Excuse me ma'am, behind you

Not only am I old
                             grown older
hunched over
             I'm ma'am
listing like an old ship
on ches'peake's bay
to be scuttled and shunted
& packed tightly
bonded
             removed for food
see my beard?
      what does that say?
any way?
       nothing I figure
just hair
                I move
I'll make way
I'm excused
I'm mis-id-ed
                       left rotten
on the booth
               bar stool
ambiguously
           I'm in the way