pomes last week

haiku, the new black
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u can chase me all
over i light lee land with
butter fly's brand


dandelion tea
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the mouse slips off
the chair and into the kitchen.
beady red eye looks balefully
of course, bale full ee
up at the ceiling. the sun
is out and i'm in a dim room
waiting for a poem
so i can go purchase some dining
room chairs at good will.


i've been looking for core
all morning. looked in the appleshed.
not there. in the door without walls.
absent. in a yeti's footprint. void. all
void. let me wisp thru the window
just now so we can meet in south
cafe in a tumble of air and spike.

poem o! poem. where do you sleep
today? a brookish cuve, the veil
of eden? the temple cave of the first
matriarch of hamurabi? spiral phi
and tempest on tornado edge
then over with mr thompson, methmaker
to the stars? o pull your shadows
up by bootilicious petticoats, just
in the next town over. we've come

on this wind, to let you know,
just blow and lift your million
arms into this one uncrunched seed, and be.




session lesson
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from the old jeery days
something trammels the incubus'
presence of perfection.


we have our taboo chancery,
electronic snake gobbling up
bits and bytes for the webmaster.

but ever the sharp butcher we
need no rationale to become devout
pockmarks on a thin modulated nexxus.

it's this which holds us, even now, blithe as a mosaic
manuscript. listen, they sold us the feasable.
didn't mention the unbecoming.shards.

now on this plane, we're left to unsnarl
the billowy yo-yo; take a chance on the maroon
displays; titilate a bluenose into sensory distortion

or become thin, jaded planking on a wacky
triteness, devoid of ink, bitter about our process
instead of in sync with the profound renegades, disarming.




eidetic
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if memory would serve
your face still burnt
in my head, your eyes
seared on my brown
out pocket.




the thing
become flat
and unresponsive



clear and warm as glass
when called.

tin oxide glaze
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there's a lot to for
gettting. but when you push
enough into you, it eventually all
comes out.

you hold ghosts of all your lovers
at night until they wink out like rads
on a cesium spectrum.

smoke is one way. smog is better.
water thickening like dried red blood.
when the constiuency is viscous enough
everything stops flowing.


u write, i'ma go blow ppl up, but first
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let's roll a joint. crush
the bud between thumb and fingers
till it flakes into resinous crumbs
and bits of stem, seeds heavy to the bottom
of the tray. discard the chaff and scoop
with handy business card into the folded 1.0.
welcome to my city.



the ez check advance pay free money order
counter is busy on friday night. she watches him from
the car, twisted monster plays a weekend mix
on the jam station. ahead of him is a large black woman
in a red and white polyester print dress under short
denim jacket. red strap shoes. they both wait for the thin
blonde in jeans and belly shirt to finish with the one clerk
at the window. and wait. meanwhile chico and DeVonne
house into line, all low khakis and plaid boxers while
quick behind is mike, thick with a couple years off
the football team and a couple on the construction crew.

a three day stubble on the face
of the latino man in the window ad. a young blonde woman
occupies the poster next to it. tax refund anticipation
loans blare in christmas red and green above the heads
of the waiting. some of the men look up, blankly.
flourescents seep into their closed eyes.

on the huge metal legs of the business name signage holder
at eye level with the drivers of cars and suvs
like a lottery, beckoning} green diamonds with gold
dollar signs. it's night, but not dark. across the streetsix lanes of metal plated electrons
passing thru barely survivalbe pedestrian holes/and a concrete medium

is the shell station, and beside it a hardees.
behind both is the deja vu adult botique the biggest
and first of the strip club/sex toy/porn shops that salt
drew park like the romans did manasas.
or whatever.
you know the hood i'm talkin bout. on the other end
of this desert is the community college and an abestos
abandonned teaching hospital replete with haunted
apartments which glow even on moonless nights
with the reflections of the city around it. blank windows
silence any thought of squatting. he's looking

for a place to live for a little while just till she can let him
back in. but he's broke, again. and his job situation
is spotty. no one likes a gypsy anymore. might be a code
word for terrorist. anarchist. a li'l jihadite in training.
he's cashing the last of his money. when it goes

fuck his dad better come through. that's all he knows.
or it's back to the streets for a couple nights, then
the hospital all lit up in white, after
he unties the necktie from his arm
lets the smooth fire flow into his veins.


torn out like pages
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there is electric guitar
with jasmine scent, or the honey
blossom of fresh air

and in this small space
there was some measure of comfort
the meeting on sunday morning
ritual of the pipe, communion
of sedition. the ballast of smoke
and shadows.

rage is misunderstood, judas.
out of your control, the sun
moves over water, refracted
onto the underside of leaves
or the branches and twigs frosting
in their absence.

it goes like this:
shannon and palatine meet
at the car wash. instant zing.
she calls him pal. he calls her shan.
they smoke crack after the last towel
wipes the final windsheild of the day.
hold each other on a bare
mattress. they smoke weed.
there comes a pregnancy
and life is sacred and scarey
enought to quit the weed.
but crack, well,
you know how that infant is.
it howls at them both. pal picks
it up first. his lungs fill with joy.
he passes to shan. she is fogged hormonal
twitches the tit. inhales.














take five.


hawk a spot in the sky
yesterday/ that was so long
ago. the curve of wing
over updraft , sudden dive
bottom falling
out














90



in the discussion of suicide
god is present. if judas had known
if he had believed
then he would have become the lamb
throat cut and draining.
to be thus used
and then despised. let's just say
the four chairs i got from the pile
of abandoned garage sale items
outside the target colllection center
meant for salvation
army actually did go to charity.
the pieces of silver bought a publix prepaid
brown grocery bag full of thanksgiving dinner.
there are many altars to feed.















i don't actually think too often of heaven
it's an abstract concept at best this offer
of eternity. harps and virgins. grapes, family
a feeling of belonging. olive branches.
shouldn't that be what's happening here?

we all agreed there must be some
zooming in and changing of perspecitive
a rotation virtual and photoshopped
into reality. then we begged the coming
of aliens or apophis 99452.






we often wondered
what was it went on the disconnected reaches
of his autism? drop the box of toothpicks
and he knows the exact number before they hit the floor
how slow must time move
inside that universe.
imagine the difficulty of communicating
in any language other than the mathematical.
















()()




gasoline. go. newspaper fountains.
triangle change. three day eye. greedline
on the ansible freak. if i could just have
one silent moment. if i could be sheltered
and engaged at the same time.
if i could curl in a porcupine snarl
and jut all of it out. all. of. it.
tis one of the words the knights who say
who say
snarl audioslave guitar. after burn dawn.
dried rose petals ground to grease
under the feet of living. there are too many
people in my mother's house. take this space.
my creator. gave me life
show me how to live.
stop whining she sez. faggid about it.
just feed the ducks.