Monday, July 31, 2017

every light a mystery

she calls  says i'm scared
an operation for cancer
is not a thing you can dismiss as much
wine as  you can drink
 it lingers, lint on black
you brush and pick even run
a tool over it pieces cling
and you look like a fool
and i say it doesn't matter
as long as you don't wear black
she's like huh? and i'm like lint
doesn't really show on anything else
not the same way in fact if you wear
a rainbow they're  droplets of water
and if you wear red, swiss dots so
listen it's just the cats i mean i'm sure
i'll do fine
 but there's chemo i hear
i'll be tired i'm not
a napper but i laid down today
and slept for two hours
when tired sleep i murmur you've been
running and working round the clock
since the diagnosis yes, so
i i've hired someone to take care of them,
my sister can't, she's so flighty, i think
 it's dementia
they have such different needs
 she's a nurse and i always
 thought i'd have to take care of her but
 surprise, just like
swimming and kissing and running
 away from home it looks like
 i'm going to have to go first

Saturday, July 15, 2017

haze of late

i can't wear my glasses
they're bent and foggy
it's morning and i'm writing
in the dark
things move more slowly now
as time spins by
my snag in the river

tiles go up five at a time
intermittent sporadic finish
to a bath i long to take
a bowel movement that never comes
until the final breath.

these days i wonder how i'll die
entubed or crushed drowned  maybe gun
fire tornado in my sleep orgasmically throat slit
terrorist from the sky carbomb airless goodbyes
then i let it go.

i wrote a ditty today about a kitty
and posted it on the ello it seems
to fit the mood big wide swaths of color
chunky clunky lines someone looks
over your shoulder and you leap

he told me i don't understand why
you don't write earlier and i just laughed
a cynical snortish monster
then closed the book write
he said but the mood was gone
i slept towards the bottom of the bed
and forgave him the next morning
because after all what am i doing
with it but therapy but thinking
out loud but passing tick tocks
to the next now
it never comes

i don't even have memories
to fall back on everything exorcised
on the altar of forgiveforget
so many whips and broken chains
every backwards glance salt in my eye
every dream dashed or ignored or replaced
by survival and what am i bitching
my god i wasn't born in somalia i didn't have
obstacles to overcome a famine to endure
a god to worship a tyrant to kill i
had a relatively easy life with small daily
strifes thousands of cuts maybe a huge
personal loss or two too early beheadings
when needed but with a dull
blade so the mess yeeah i hadda clean up
also daily repairs so maintenance seems to be
my thing tho i always wanted to be
 a librarian so i could smell books each
morning in a light filled quiet hush.

Saturday, July 01, 2017

noon storm

water pulls water
wind rushes sand up the boardwalk
2 kites surf tension tethered
to a line of flight

 dune gritty tears,
sea oat lashes aflutter

an old couple walk slowly against
the coming storm, back to their car
under a pelican quincunx

a motorboat skims the sandbar
heading back for cover.
i love it when it rains on the beach at noon.

day interuptus, the water cools. an eye of blue
peeks through the dark circle. no thunder
or  towed billboard whine
 just the crackling palmettos
dry stalk speech
 broken shells against the surf
and a boat's  coke bottle thrum
over a jaded gulf.

and at evening, a dolphin
 surfaces, fin a black
 silhouette menacing, sharkish
 until the dive. killer fish
 swim in a straight line
 they breath water.
 i assure you, it's a dolphin,
look for it come up again
 to the left of the sun sword
 dividing the water .

but i should do bills.
 they don't go away just
 because it's vacation.
the ocean keeps rolling in.

the dunes have settled
 in for a nap under
 a blanket sprinkled
by  cooling clouds.

Thursday, June 22, 2017


had to turn it off the peeping
into bits of stories embedded
planted in my head blooming
 red flowers under gunfire.

it's not so much the stories they wash off with hot water and soap. it's the sounds that won't stop, even late at night.high pitched nicotine stains. rabid teeth. choleric rock fisted monuments. the moon slices my abdomen, wailing ants escape. sarin gas sings soliloquies from a  vape. i keephearng his face, the one i won't listen to, disintegrating like a flock of geese come hunting season.

Wednesday, June 14, 2017

scurrilous inuendows

she  hears tranny like it's a  gang rape
he wears tranny like a badge
somehow we all gotta fit in this space
a spectrum's all we have.

when the clothing feels wrong
is it wrong to change it?
what else is skin but color and size?
and if
 there's power in word
it must be we  who gave it
there's nothing else to keep it alive.

Thursday, June 08, 2017

the deconfliction line

Russia sent
 the regime of proxy aircraft
 and special ops.

 attacking  an accidental confrontation
 mitigates the danger.

 Russia swallowed
took a step that  could not legally expand.

 mission creep emerges
 on the opposite side
 worried that it looks
too much like
 a de facto.  imperial

bilateral military-to-military is real,
even with the deconfliction channel  open.

Friday, May 26, 2017

suck on these shades

it's morning in america they'd say
big blinding westbound sun strikes
your eye and it's a four hour backup
on the howard franklin. late for work again.
shoulda bought them raybans or work
in the other direction.

speaking of weather, i stayed in
while glaciers rained over
the southeast, while
 the north sun's corolla
spun magnetics into aurorae
yellow and blue as the bruise on my thigh.

it's an odd fact, all things are connected
all fish in school turn simultaneously
birds in flock land in the same tree
i get high and you see in me
dark matter the ocean in we

odd because we don't know
that we know, sitting in caves
singing plato and watts and ebony faves
off key and white bready
on key and quite heady
hosannahs that bring us here with a wave.