Stonewall

Bring on those eight hour days
that I will gladly sleep away
under the shade of brick and shingle,
when I'm hungry I'll venture out
to hunt my slumbering inanimate prey
designed to sate my appetite,
then return to the scent of trees,
flowers, cars and man,
a soft cushion
blown through thin wire,
awaiting the clumsy flight
of a domesticated insect
or the rumble of busy ignorant feet,
the world of dreams flows much easier
tastes much better,
when I am master and interloper the same,
when I step on legs and arms
stretching out
dizzily, haphazardly and
breath fire into the night.

BYOB

There's almost 12 minutes
for the sun to fall,
shatters like glass on the jagged
grassy meadow
green with failure,

some gigantic miniature
fragile ball shoveled to the brim
with molten light,
burning frost coated promises
of further eons and possible futures,

into the dizzying-distance
of unfurnished time,
close those eyes and...

wait...

wait for it to make its final descent,
with man following obedient,
into the unforeseen age of decisions,

uninspired.

walk close to the shore on those
soft rocks you love,
that break under foot,
with every crushingly unconscious step,
I'll reap the rewards
of your bloody bruises
ever wandering
over the seat and table cafe,
over the street,
under the blue and white
patterned umbrella,
blocking out the clouds.

Arlington Cemetery

I choose the long turn
on Sheridan,
without the fires and screams,
took the walking trail
coated in pebbles and solitude
to end up adjacent to the sandy marble pillars
of the house once owned by
Robert E. Lee,

I circumvent the Kennedy grave
to pay respect to a man,
who at the very gray-butternut-least
did not attempt to hide
what he fought for,

The sky clears hot and blue
over the unknown tomb,
stark and white
against the greenish manicured background,

History sits back
and lauds your achievements,

Ignorance is both
the romance of
North and South.

For

you carelessly
glance back
over your shoulder,
the dying embers of
sleepy sun rays
lighting miniature fires in your hair,
like the rolling expanse
of scattered army camps,

unafraid of the
dirt-sand wind gusting
from the west,
meant to end time;
a carnival travelling
some forgotten candyland dream
without-
color,

vibrating
the ground
in monotone fantasy-speak
echoes

once
twice
again,

a falsifying universal
accomplice,
taunting me in play,
flirting with laughter,
swirling around you,
behind you...

I won't walk out on the scene,
to sing and stay mute forever
through quiet-lasting-pseudo-time,

you blink,
I see it
eyelashes
and brown eyes
and the earth spinning
somewhere
to the lighthouse
that watches lovingly
over
the infinite
oceans.

Felicia I finished Hyperion! (Waves and Waves and Waves)

An interuption,

marking off black and red
lines,

we're all watching
the gears contorted supernatural
failure,

drawing oxygen around
itself and separated into piles,
the invisible rations for the lucky

like children watching a butterfly
car accident
spread its metal wings,
peeled off by tearing steel
and plastic at accelerated speed
conjoined by shattered glass
dreams of a yesterday
painted by tomorrow,

and they're off running
in some mad misdirection-direction,
bleeding like the autumn sky
at sunset light,

a pair of hands twisted
toward eachother
emigrated warmth
encircled by-

not a care in the world,
over here,
and watch me!
As he dives into the deep end
cerulean waves
silver peaked
happiness,

the ships sinking
grudge match,
floating and jetsam
both lighten the load
to nothing underneath our feet
but the sea
and your dreams.

Metro Center my Dream

It's difficult when uncaring you-
thrash my browning leaves to the grass
and-
they once fell so slow-
over and over again
playing it before my eyes in
cyclical slowmotion
on a wide angle lens-
you like the loss of perspective
or the stretching of it-
remember
we're not artists-
just insane losers in a world
steaming dry-vacuumed
with the rest-
dirt-life-love-hate
tucked under the rug
and spilling out of the corners
up against the wall
where there's this
faint-
sound that we ignore-
like the truth,
they call it forgiveness,
but its violet over the fading light
and shining on the now blackness
there in the balance
between concrete and happiness
without a home
mangled and terraformed, 
you say it's-
life.

It's in the title

Remember time over place
when she pulls you toward her
through the grandfather clock time
clanging stoically 1-2-3
4-over-5-hysterical-the end,

behind the wall
emanates the sound
where you can't-
sleep escape-
the laughter lock and key,
for us,
what's left--
at your door

an answer, easy-

Run away with me.

Thinning

She'll thin out the flock
and when shes done
a vanilla cream coffee
with steaming hot double helix
obscures the rabbit ears
gripped in her long cold fingers,

trailing off and on
like the dawn on a late summer morning
when the sun can't decide
if it's night
or day
and the trees lie awake
waiting to be left behind
through the fall,

the rug beneath her
is tracking a foreign substance
red mud and stained crimson
so dark its blacker than night
and made of life,

left wandering out
somewhere in the past-present
she finishes her job,
and before we part ways
she raises a hand
a glove
a weapon
a truth
and the last image we see are
the tiny drops of harmless blood on her shoes

Tomorrow and Tomorrow, look up in the sky, and save the day

I'll write this for you
before we go away and pretend to be adults,
before the world takes our souls
washes them and pretends they're new
or right,
I'll leave a message in here
that we can read and remember
but maybe never again fully understand,
when our memories are as clean as our eyes,
and the world is crumbling around us
in wonderful luminescent decay,
and you...
you can read this and wake me up
from pharmaceutical dreaming-non dreams
with tears that break the silent disorder
and right the past,
drowning our fading vision of
purple-hued loving futures.

Summer

we see the last survivor of a doomed world
hunched over and jagged legged
as waves turn ashore, dirty blonde hair
obscures her face and long white dress the same for too skinny legs,
draw back and repeat against the sharpie marker cut horizon,
the sea and the sky,
and little girls, running back and forth
against the challenging tides,
a seagull, the gods ocean sentry
looks on, aged eyes watching the moving
and immovable,
a wooden stake marks mans accomplishment
at finding the sea,
back and forth we struggle
with the sands and pride and salt-wind,
like a miner drawing forth from the earth,
hard hat and yellow muddy gloves
replaced by sunscreen and bathing suit,
we raise a multi-colored umbrella-flag on native shores,

you walk beside me shifting,
the ocean recedes before us
a school of dolphin trailing fish,
laying traps and playing ancient tricks,
somewhere.

the sea air is a memory
made real by the burn of the sun
and your skin against mine,
the sand left in our shoes,
a never was-always dream
somewhere,
counting backwards to
the end of the world.

For a Moment Just a Thought

We come full circle in the darkness
of a remembrance, beginning
somewhere ahead
at a table were I leave my poems,
wonderfully unfinished and decaying
in the after-light of fading summer days,
forgotten in passing we'll no doubt
wait for them, returning one-hundred fold
in a kind of blister wound of the brain,
coated in gold and light
burning unlikely bright in the night sky,
casting a shadow across our being
as beautiful as the sun.