little boy

off

where pain shifts like the ping
of engine

the sound of
                  a thousand cats puking

I

perched on a tree branch
outside your mind

      a mountain top
is flat

if you sleep upon it

think about it

the sky is a blanket of dewdrops
that are vast stars
                               of the void

and you are cold in your sleep
so I cover you with my dreams

wondering

what will you look like in
20 years        I can't even imagine
what you will look like   tomorrow

when I am an afterthought of time

when I peer down from the
blank clouds
that are the deep black
ground

eyes

ivy white and homeless

trying to catch a glimpse
of your mind

no matter how often
we disappear

forever

my little boy

the problem will not go away

it was a nothing vote
banned in the crosshairs
of permit relations
no dance license

sensationalized official releases
running smoothly thru news boxes
heavily sedated radio waves
convulsing on the street
under the lights of the iron sweeps

no eyed glasses
lined up outside
     blue rats in military formation
formal head gear
broken lifeless teeth

they hung their smiles
from lightposts died out
gleaming like triggers
gun pushers drugged engines

no widely released lineage
steeped in rotting cords
clueless memorialized slime

full of shit

cafe table hustle

against the table
the rain like nickles
from some lost pocket
fall
discolored and
useless
to the cold silver
speckled ground

under the tables
the spiders born in
back of taxis
new york to holbrook
arizona
never knowing their fathers
ask their mothers
how often in their lives
will they have to
watch the sky fall

and the answer unfolds over the
endless flooded grate

until they move the tables away
darling
until they put the tables away

a murder of lost consciousness

a murder of lost consciousness
eclectic turn back torture

any evening after that

where to find her? in london/
like a missing person

with fact. many to go over

no bags, electronic bags no return ticket

wake up immediately. shock. constipation.

search the computer for drowned bodies
no nothing band playing no attendance

without a trace

an unknown smile with intercom
information linked to blood posting

fire chamber no monday. no money

www close your eyes Tom for a rough translation

who was the question the man asked

at the police station online

a triple phone internet of data
led to untimely death

December 1st 2008

a game of russian roulette/ painted walls
out of her mind magenta. high on conspiracy numbers

in fact. buried. original ideas

sleeping heads on the couch

so quickly did you leave. a death. a birth a homicide

poor post-it notes IV

unattended bodies
feel the crawl of each imagined tick

arms outstretched in ready embrace

the minute horror of the lawn
backyard--the unenviable loss of
time--

the growing up of space--forgetfulness
--the slowing of pace--

dying.

poor post-it notes III

the old wood that rots in the garage

what are our priorities? leaning into t
the unknown

I borrow a hat     it catches on my thinning
hair

attention span--lifeline--unphoned
ear--youthful mind

I leave what I've brought in honor of
the trash can

poor post-it notes II

stretch like the pale ghost before me

darken my sad child's brown eyes

narrow in thinning periscopic lament
your great unknowable self

become once again the implausible dream

poor post-it notes I

outline the sun
with red cliffs
sand in my lungs
great gobs of dust
float across the gravel road
--america--you forget me
abstain me--I am lost for words
for you--you endless gray cloud
you endless gray arrow
of the heart you endless idea
west

Things to do before Breakfast

pick up the alarm &
eat it     the sun comes up
for breakfast     &
the morning is like a mother's
kiss

a smile can altered forever
the face of the woman    & has
i love     i have a right eye stuck

a cm out of time     we must
learn what new things are
on your mind     if so

                       death is not nearly
as pale as the moment that births
life.

The babe

The lost lay beads of smoking tears

a gift they grant is the suffering of life
their smile swell

Waking up to take care of crying babe

I'm on stairs leaning against the wall holding him, teetering

unsure how I got here

not on the stair

I am a father.

Waking in bed paralyzed

to next coming twenty years

a black shroud
shaped as sinister as newborn
skull

head hung on limp rooted neck
stands at the doorway

as an arch
lurched

leaning slightly like to burp

his future falling toward
me

I could not move to escape.

the unreliable forge/ an easy bake oven

the cake is finished when electrified. wine toasts
over inky coals
                          from which is used to write names.
were they to find the remnants of the book
rats would drown in the crumbs. eat gray pages.
make the clouds look like sky starting at the last
edges.
            burnt to gradient images left
in church phases. the cross of stainless
steel. stained glass partitions.
the cake is edible when digested as is
the masses. the physical equation of
remorse. ending in remittance. the seven foot
thick ocean of icing.
                                  the terror of sand
as the waves of sugar hit the shore. the deafening
bluster of wind chimes.     the binding washing
out the ill heated oven. heaving
heaving retching. rewarding the starved and
the sated.

the perfect me

know that
                 there's a mannequin in my chair

those waxy kind of thoughts
those waxy kind of cheeks

involuntarily replacing me

the shrouded cathedral
                                     draped over melting plastic
resembles my rib cage

the cracked marble
the discolored ivory

the pearl pretending eyes
                                         i no longer have to
eat

he's cultivated all the refuse
                                             hidden it away

inside of me
i can be opened by magic

a can opener
is magic

something soft stabbed into my
intestines
                while I watch for vanished lines

without knees I will walk into
forever places
                       hung with hallowed lights

they will preach florescent

the meals will be of sawdust stars
the wall dreary old cement

I will paint them with the graffiti equivalent
to the years of my life
                                    I will be of plastic casings

a body to sell

until we are washed out
until we are formed into shiny islands
in a retching, gelatinous, blue sea

made up of stuff

in this carton
     all the same everythings
always     right      side           up

even the dead things. are left
standing
                laughing     crying

stuff & worried about. their
internal processes

especially their bowels. they were
in focus
              like the growing face of mold
rotted and dotting the exterior limits

similarly afflicted with life. heavily
magnified by
                        our continued
and numerous     failures

chewed upon by the already
gnarled cardboard of their

existence. at all corners the sun fell
like sunday morning drunks. pretending

the terror of monday's work. the terror
of the battle shaking the last infinitesimal
chill from the air
                            from out this carton. the cool
glass breaks. the long unintelligible

road.

Accident

(they) were playing
(they were) not for what will
   be
(they were shattered)
they were red blood
they were before the (stop)
(they were) could not be were they
   to slow down
(they) were broken into living
   pieces
they were (not to) make it out
   alive
(they) were to be spun from the
   wheel
they were to be (removed)
   forever
they were to be not even
   (remembered)
the were to be not even
   (mourned)
they crossed back as ever
   into grinding machine
(they were torn apart)
   by flattening engines
they were never to (be)
   again
(they were a mere moment
   from death's crushing weight)
they were never to grasp
   that (feeling)
they were made meaningless
   by time's threads

rain drips

*
each blur drops from sky
reflected in its obscurity
the last day
*

*
a puddle to the past
threatens to boils over its edge
memories like sandbags
struggle defiantly in its wake
*

*
a trail turns off the rocky peak
taking with it the lives
seeking to challenge its fragile
immortality
*