Apartment talk

a guy screamed the other day,
at least I think it was a guy,
it sounded like a guy for sure,
well, he screamed and it was
like he was standing next to me,
it was so loud, so clear,
I wasn't sure if it came from the
hallway or from outside the window,
but you'd think they'd at least muffle
the sound somehow,
After the yell there was nothing,
just silence in both directions for
maybe 30 seconds, then I heard
doors opening, questions in the hall,
"did you hear that?" "what was that?"
"I don't know sounded like..."
a little while after that the doors closed
the silence returned, I sat on the couch
looking up at the ceiling, afternoon light
fading, and I couldn't get one particular
thought out of my head, I kept thinking,
"that's probably the first time those people
have ever talked to each other."

our new sheets

new room
same old place
facing south this time
watching Young Chow,
Crystal City's favorite go-go bar,
got a view of the Sev n' it
almost feels like home,
tho at home I never faced
anything but
pink sunsets over row home
horizons, mysterious
red blinking lights of the future,
alleys where American flags hid behind
diorama glass to reflect their image
on our window pane

now I got windows reflecting windows
in the dark condominium night, we're all wondering who can
see in but nobody looks outside
long enough to tell--is it the 28th already?
where have I gone? who can say--?

I can't remember the last place
I rested, how many years ago-- I'll
fall asleep standing up someday,
the Earth'll be my bed
my home
my end.

Saint

Time to scratch this magic
chipped pencil (sitting in for pen
that's shown up blue or red) at
window glossy, green weeds grown
around sunken roofs of row home houses,
little corner bars and sandwich shops,
Rusted black circular monstrosity
wavers and rises and laughs in far
to background blue sky, streaks
of white illusion conceivable depth,
the ozone layer, the magnetic field, the lie;

looting by the sun on my window perch
day-time whispers of afternoon scrawl;
how to know so fortunate a singing pigeon
tick-tapping on silver flap (the kind beholden to
dryer exhaust) he peaks listless--chiaroscuroed
in the alley, plaster cracked below,

monochromed hero of avenging distance
jester of outer space romantic fantasy,
truth in hand under tornado tsunami command;

lighting bridge barn doors on fire
like Brooklyn bridge Armageddon,
get to your feet and melting shoes,

It's all in Revelations,

my squinting affairs lil' wings--

apt. seeking

World's on a map
where am I going?
Out there--into the interweaving colors
walking distance needing a car,
yay' deserted, O' home without a HOME-
for, listenlook!- nay- I'm
me homeless by the
no place for thee,
into empty center.
folds.