South Gate Rd. Sentences

Ivory totems on ivory hills left to feed the gods of war,
mourned by withered wreaths and crimson bows.

* * *

a word written in snow, or was it the way the sun revealed the grass?

* * * 

fenced in, thrown out,

          the land and debris of america;

buried and hidden from sight.

* * *

the snow is as flat and blue as the afternoon sky.

what was the world at the end of it, were the days the same for all.

quiet here in the dark,
and the snow,
beneath me,
and tho my window closed, I can sense it
as something cold,
vast,
unforgiving, as it stretches white
over miles, highways,
fields.

my cat won't talk to me.
he slinks under table
to lick at his fur
keeping me in the corner of one amber eye.

outside,
the streetlamps are golden
the light cast through my window,
is golden, there's no sound but no sound,
a heavy absence, a feeling to be gained
and lost. and found and
lost again.

my cat stalks ghosts
into the bedroom
breathes heavy, groans,
whines, implores me
to sleep.
but I am not ready to give up yet.

in the morning all this,
and most of all, everything
else will be gone.

At night you're not real

at night, in purple hued gold ribbons,
transformers play catch
atop telephone poles in
animated unrealities,
I imagine they say:

"these things you are writing are not unique
but they are life they are frozen sad bits
they are left to static belief they will be
forgotten long after you are dead."

possessed, I am, and feverish,
can't feel the air hissing and
shouting and knocking through
my window, against the soaking rain
the blinds rattling,

it's there, it's there--

my view is a painting on a backdrop
my fame will never come before old age

I am caught in a foolish race

and the sounds
the sounds
god, the sound,

I don't understand why I have to listen--

Columbia river pk. st. rd.

'ey kid these fingers work too

fast to worry about which comes 

first g or n or what thought makes sense

corner coffee shop

side of columbia pike

buses pull up at regular intervals

16H 16J 16X rundown 

character wait on saturday 

head for part-time shit-time jobs

at the other end of the pike

maybe skyline city whatever 

that is of where I don't know

Barista tells me his just

found some books and records

he'd lost, been lost for 15 years

that's a hole in the heart

too think to imagine--I think

of my copy of A Farewell to Arms--

still not sure where the damn things gone--

coffee breaks my reverie his triumph

spring wind wails woutside where

wallowing well I walk to the car can't

stomach the microwave mecca masterpiece

of Bob n' Edith's shit slop spectacular

calls itself home cooking in the atomic age,

tv dinner relative reality neon orange vomit cheese

masquerade. I can't even turn my head disdainful 

I just wretch, but the coffee helps the ice the blue sky damn

just fuck it and blow the red, no cops no yellow no light

I don't stop I don't give a fuck, I can't stand that rotten smell

coast on home sailor squid down the hill

tunnel under 395 cars swish silent saturday swell

I'm almost relieved at the stop, I take it in stride

bus' break sput sput swush psssssssssss

I'll be taking that gig come monday

either way the world ends--putz--I got a book 

waiting in this here mailbox, a cat at home,

coffee in hand--Now I wonder,

ya know, I'm thinking, just about 

what some of those lost book title were.

Listen, Listen

voices

from the street

invisible bodies

whisper
under half-moon
shadow
of three-pronged
tower
memorial

rustle of hands
objects
sounds on inside
of car
leather seats

door slams

engine turns

foot steps on concrete
creaking metal
door swings
car swings into gear

muted sounds
of the hallway
fading sounds
of tires crunching

now silence

for a moment

too short,
broken by roar
of plane

followed by another
and another

grumbling and shaking
the night--

These little rain drops

These
           little
rain
drops

pink flashes

break through
powder blue
clouds

hold onto
nightscape

indigo
edges

shadow

sunlit
reflections
in flourescent
sky

ruby blazing
crystal glare

awash
the globe
in scarlet
threads
memories

of the
morning

birds singing
radiators humming.

24 Gun Salute

through
the caramel colored
eye

sun streaked

paint stain
pulled across my
floor

trailing light

an amber bolt
of lightning splits
rainbow skies

shaking color

gun shots at
steady intervals
echo mourning dove cries

engines roar

memory of
steel and carbine
hearts of wood

carving death