so you


hijack the title i jacked from you
and jack jacks the whole poem
like billy sez, we are all thieves
just some of us don't mind rewriting
other peoples lives.

i'm by the window, the blue trailer outback still looks
slightly off kilter. if i make my lines shorter
does that mean my poems are longer?



don't even go there.










*



she pretends to want
and i cultivate goldfish
memory invasions like a big python
that shows its precursors
to the cops. condiments of hello
what are we doing here
again
?








if we cut to the chase
then what will the hunt be?

just be in the forest when bambi is
and you'll see what i mean.



if i say i'm not going to call
till christmas, do
you open
the package
anyway?









ok ok
i'll stop sitting on your style.





























****************************************************************************************










the screen door performs
slamming in the breeze
like an exclamation
i forgot to remove.


time for a little substance abuse.



my backyard is mix of sand and brittle grass.
frost last week, the dry season, careless ness.
i ventured there to see if the jew came for his property.
he did. i still have the chops because the smell of rotting meat
did not appeal to my sense of aesthetics. i don't know whether to eat them
with the four hundred dollah bottle of jack or let them both
sit in stasis till the rains begin again.


i was not anti semite. it's just a descriptor, valid, what i can't
say the black man's black?. he has the nose
to prove it. also his shekles, it's ok. substitutes for real life
are common in the suburbs. you ask
should i call should i call should i?

fuck do i know about it?
excitement is its own best enemy.






















but come on. getting inside
is the bloggy way. i guess you don't want
to be associated with anything nouveau n stuff
but sadly, remember jack, how ftbt was buried
on the shelves in that library you used to put books
lackadaisically away la la la lifted more out
than in, left them on tables for observation
of the tipping point. and the photon dissolved--
a calorie now in your head. how ftbt and the daily
real reality personal writing of the now defunct sandboxes
in all the rotarian message boards///cc/////////.... but sadly
how once again you
were at the forefront of a movement
you left
before the crowd
gobbled it up, tiring of the mask
before it ate you whole. failing
into poetry
over and over again



some version of yourself from way back
come to hack your way
thru the fresh jungle sprung up
around you unstoppably delicious












*













ok so. in the movie
which come ON
someone's gotta write them what's
the matter with exporting every facet
of how to become human in a post
god is dead social scene. humor,
black, essential. the raucus revisionary dripping
carmine laughter and curtains made of razor /step
thru my little darling, put on the riding hood
you have not seen this story before.










*(*)(&



a large bird, perhaps raven perhaps
hawk just flew low over the offcenter eyes of the blue trailor
behind me. in this position, my chair by the window affords
me a view of a lint filled sky, on the edge of summer. sun , when
it breaks thru the clouds of the west, is oblique on the palm
outside, infused with your long pale hair, coquina's watercolor
a shell that held, but no longer holds anything but its own carapice.

the bird flew in a direct line toward my window so that when it raised
its neck to clear the roof, i saw its underbelly, the flat airstrike of target
combined with freedom. this body can't wander in the air.
and i always wonder why not?


does this make me naive?



















)(*&&&\






think about what they say about harnessing the universe.
the weak and strong gravitational forces. the calorie of time
which allows matter to exist rests in .
the fluctuation
of something that does not exist
according to the koi i spoke to
just the other night. water he cried
and i was like what? you're a fish.

so is it the fluctuation or the fish or is it both.


acorn after acorn drops on an alumininum roof.
there are plenty in my neighborhood. the bird
passed long ago and only heralded the coming sunset.


on the long drive thanksgiving evening




i had a dream this morning
that my bonus was cut by 5/8ths.



i thought about how that would be devastating
to my future plans.

but that's only if plans
are written in stone
or on a legally biding contractual document
which can result in repossession
(as in you dear grantee
were never the actual possessor)
of said portion of your life
by zarathustra in a monocle
holding multicolored money
and the deed to park place.












()***






i'd put in pictures n stuff
but i don't
want to be
lashing . the drum circle goes
rain or shine, but i don't have
a drum. sadly. across the universe


is on at ten. the day shortens by lengthening into
things i have not again accomplished. i want to take care
of myself lately. part of that is reveling in my own filth.
this is not a good role model for a young man.
there are three in my living room, needing sustenence.
i am the mother. this is my job. i am not the writer
nor the artist i am called back to substance
by the slam of a door, skateboard ticking
acorn falling cuz the boys are throwing them
onto the rooftops of town.

i think
i wouldn't miss this
if i could move
from this spot.