Back by Editorial Demand

re-imagine these flowers as a million stalks of gold,
what all we could do with them then,
see yourself plucking them, holding them,
casting golden light under your chin,

re-imagine these rutted and dirt bland trees as immovable concrete stems,
what a brilliant throne to lay your bones to rest in,
feel the soul of levy washed in lions mane, laugh like Buddha,
outlined in pale blue acid rain,

          sniff along
     perforated edges
                         wax seals
                 knives dipped in ink
letters opened
          before the cut

re-examine your connection to the neighbor next door,
in each window on each floor, down the same column,
the same blue globes, on the same angles,
showing the same western hemispheres,

re-examine the bloody corpse of the stick-up man,
as the bullet ripped his stinking life to shreds,
and founding fathers safe in their tombs unmoved,
little, if any, price was paid,

powdered insignias
     match the warped floor boards
no kidding
       17c per squared inch
              on the mausoleum score board
there's rain predicted
      for the 8th
                 and oh the bodies of the sinner
they'll be caked in yellow
       and red

there
      one question on
   the scrolling
           screen of the damned
will be hotly debated
     over stiff hearts
                      hollow limb

remarkable mania
37 bullet holes in the horse drawn car
stabbed in the back
left for dead
forgotten her name
stayed in bed

it is with callous misregard that I plot the evening news
one lazy ass fuck one intership muck 101 keys to choose from
plotp plot plip pap down
the anti-biography is next paid for by commericial sponsored rubberbands
a kind hard plastic worm on old war parchment jams

re-iterate what the war room knows
there were always villains operating within in the state
they were all looking to get rich, shoot the score
out the veins of the wrists that cared,

re-iterate what is willingness to remain,
in the hills the brown wood ghosttowns fall without sounds,
there no tax man can hear or there
and the redrawn districts mount for the god of war

and submit
           their only recently
     possessed
souls
            to audit.

The word as punctuation

seems like it's quick time to hit the punctuation heat map
novels without words for sentences fit with morse code
trap doors in the 70 thousand character variety
each line is a breath
breadth of space in line demarcated by the edge
everything within in blank colorless space
without is blank colorless space again hands on topographical error speech
fill in the gaps of memory release
plugged into television cable screens
converted letters to image momentary pleasures
adrift in past along seas of gray frayed remains on page
no stops on the line no unused place
without air
Go on
it is written
breathe deep

In This Time

in all this time
     I've not written one divine line,
     I've sown not one bountiful field,

I will leave for my child
     a vast unreadable work,
     a collection of journals for the fire,

I am slowly starving to death
     most of what I eat is digitally prescribed

in all this time
     I've built up the cancer particles that will kill me
     I've worked in boxes called offices on rows called floors

I will leave for my child
     Crippling debt and a decayed philosophy
     old bones of the oldest man alive

I am slowly starved to death
     by the long lines of the loudest bank

In all this time
     our trees have grown and been cut down
     I have grown and been cut down

I will leave our children
     the future of the human race
     to do with as they please

I am slowly starving to death
     of my own and rightful accord

I am slowly becoming death
     which I will embody for all but an instant

I am become death
     of the poem and the world

I am death
     everlasting in nothingness

I death
     am a phantom in a dream that never was

I
     is meaningless in the void

Grief

seminal line

               dropped dripped streak

on thought paper spread

               crumbling fluid analysis

barbaric nomad

               emphasis on phallic features

sparing dreams 

               felt fallen erected

on sparse landscapes

               mind body endorsed 

enriched condolences 

               pouring white souls

grieving

Word Wrap Ruby

like children
play with words
teal red purple
words eek and
dribble on white
off-white scratch
paper who and how
whole all while with
writ howling ever
after into distant
vistas far away
expanse fields
gray maroon melt
under foreign star
no claim like sun
star seer setting
somehow at sunset
on ancient unknown
planetoid, how many
of our earth days gone?
not many and years aren't
translated correctly
there's decimal point
differences unmatched
in Poor Richard's almanac
book on white rapids
twist turn and tear
and fall fall like
spinning spinwheel jenny
gettin' there, going where
restless restless whining
drunk and hollow
ruby like thought through
a wine glass colors
the world.

At odds with the ending

I see the same image
like over again--my screen--
too bright--and like no-where--
I right click for the synonym,
child, this hellhole isn't word--
won't give you anything--won't
matter--won't fix the--

unfinished sentences I have
left in my wake--

I hang poems on the walls,
watch them fade in the sun--

pass them by,
write your name on the
blue stream-lines

claim them as yours

they'd be better off--

For me

All of five minutes
left no sound in hallway no sound
not looking up at monitor no
white lights no go afternoon
in darkness now it's night
outside, outside where I'm shackled
indoors where I'm caged,
stuff the pastries in the drawer
momma won't see, momma won't hear

the collapse, prolapse
lights spark on more work
on the anal enema cure
more vomit for the clarinet player
more meals for the worms
reinforced concrete shit--

what do those sounds want
from me? How can I pay them in
song?

I am an awful singer and
awful giver--

I feel the November chill selfishly--
the Halloween whistle in
the lightened hall
isn't as scary as it would have been
with the lights out

I steal all that memory for myself

Windows

I see them drop dead.
from their perch. Yeah the one
right beneath me. it's digusting.
just right there. splat. their
insides must have burst. I guess. I can't see it
and I don't have to clean it. but still.
they should think about it
before they go off and do it. just dropping.
dropping dead like that. like flies out in
the open. Bam. Gone.