lenz in ricken pain

lenz in ricken pain

perhaps she enjoys the burn
this is why she returns , returns
and throws herself into the fire.

the fire doesn't want to burn
it just wants to feed.. cannot
help its nature.

she wishes it would burn out
so  she could wear his ashes
on her brow. that's now.

and then a thing she's wrangled
for herself. an understanding of transformation's
neccesary smoke giver. the offering
refused over and over from an indifferent god.

still: the match
the fuel
the beautiful flames.

the poet is loose

i have meditated on what, specifically
i am looking for in a man.
sparks. wind in my veins, fire.

it hasn't happened often
enough, you can tell with a kiss

i like eyes. eyes
can catch you   make you
fall simultaneously

dark pools
bright waves
skies


so but what
about the rest is there more?

behind the eyes lies
mind; inside, soul.

he must have a soul.


broken bleeding wounded snarling
passionate living joyful laughing
he must not be perfect he must not be
captain of the football team, the one cheer
leaders want  the one who has been given
 too much to understand sacrifice. he will break
himself over time, wrongheaded
pebble in the stream.  he will be gonzo
journalism and worker bee.


he will eat philosophy with wry bread
he will love without fear he will belong to me
and i will belong to him and we will lie
together to the rest of the world and tell them
we are busy, yes busy but lying
 in a hammock, doing nothing
but exploring the stars together.

well o well o well

do ya love me like you know you ought to do


lol. what an idiot i am.

why

does it hurt so much this morning?
i wish i'd stop remembering that dream...

last of the time wars

you say there is no such
thing as time, there is only now.
 exasperated, i throw a daisy
into the air. it falls, slave
to gravity. you say love isn't mortal

so i wanna know, how did yours die
like that?  you retrieve   the daisy
from the floor, ask me where love goes
if it dies, take a bite of yellow
and swallow. i say it doesn't go

anywhere, just sometimes we can see
it cuz the conditions are right-- 
auroras in the night sky, when
the elements which are available
 align  in the right place at the right

 time. but since time is a construct
 and has no reality we only need now
to hold   auroras in our memory, like
 this photograph in black and white
 when you were younger, just

a gleam in your daddy's eye,   you were
on your way to here, to now, riding lust
and desire into this plane of existence
in order to  conjure love out of magnetism
and bits of stardust one more time

scalded ice

	i forgot almost how it could be dangerous to be you. given the requisite paranoia i can measure the heat generated by saline drips , unpursued veins the healing clitoral pulse under your lips, spinning dryer, warm from the towel. if i tell you i believe in well, anything, but let's say poetry, still, could you laugh in that ironic way and punch the go button one more time?

blue songs for october poem

*Y(^

















^(**()


















*(

















(*(******

5 minute poem

it takes a lot out of you
well me
to face up to reality
let dreams run the gamut
only when i sleep.

but you know, it's only hope
that toxinated by product

i'd like an emotional neutron bomb
where the radioactivity would either kill
my love or make it the walking dead.

oh wait. that's what you were.
if you were a man.













()*



don't think twice is on
my netbook. i'm learning it in case
we ever get up on the stage
at the same time.

friday's   moon could mean
spotlite fade or you bring
someone new to the table.

if i let you hang around long enough
will you also find an inevitable blade?
and if so, how much more blood
will i be capable of losing without a
kleenex infusion? eh, wtf. it's all about
shutting the windows down now anyway.

five exercises in monet

1)

i held you tonite
to keep you
from screaming tho
you kept making
that sound.

like crickets in a manhole
and wind through the first time
we ever , so we ever
all those firsts.


when need was satisfied
how we fell
into each others eyes
looking for voice and chance.






2)
you will be desolate
as november in maine when she leaves
as she leaves like fallen dishes
washed in the shower where water is hot.


i understand you're working for some
exuberant release, ground is
too close to farming. i keep going on
and you do too, like kites caught
in an atrium, looking for freedom
or something to anchor it to.



you can think i'm talking to you
i probably am. if i knew you once.












*(&




time to scrutinize other landforms
pick a new orchid. why do i feel as if
i've done it all, a thousand times~

is this ennui or a d and c gone wrong
filthing up the hospital floor.
if i had a name for you...it would
be something like a jellyfish
or a creek high in the japanese mountains.
why japanese? because of hirohito.



iv xx

what would you do with a paypal account
a faded purple toyota and a ticket to minsk.
would you take a bottle of merlot along
for the ride? bankroll the slipping economy
on a nine to five vanishing scale?


so many questions. so little time.
better get busy. no rest for the wicked
money don't grow on trees i got bills to pay
i got mouths to feed aint nothin in this world for free....


love that song.




cinq)

why monet? he didn't do prints
prints do him. anyway, princes
princesses, armoured guards
i wasn't looking for a pacifier
but it'll do. i think grace made a
right turn on the boulevard of feathers
had a soft landing. silent, nebulousity
like the future you hold in your eyes.

for tasha

proof of global cooling

rene says make a fist
pump it, make a fist, ties
the rubber beneath the patient's
elbow, taps the top of the hand
inserts the iv port while dr marlie
stands beside the saline pump
munching pretzel snaps from the vending
machine. the patient's mouth waters
her eyes follow the doctor's nimble fingers
as they move from the bag to her mouth.
/can i help you/ doc asks nurse /sure
twist that off/ duty done the doc grabs
the red chart and lays it on the patient's
legs, begins to flip thru the test results
informing the patient between
crunches. the nurse inserts the saline
drip into the port, applies tape. dr marlie asks
the patient /do you have any questions?/ the patient
nods no. well, i'm ready when you are rene.
i'm about to administer the pre and we have
contacted dr rosh, he should be here soon
for the general. good! snaps marlie , with a british clip
and she wisks out the curtain, leaving a gap which
rene turns to close, smiling. / too funny. doc coming
into pre op with food. that cracks me up/ she says
to the patient, who smiles wanly , trying not to think
of food, or water or non sterile docs wielding scalpels.
rene inserts the liquid valium into the small plastic
tubing near the patient's arm, who watches the clear
liquid as it plunges from 20 cc to 10 cc to a new
set of curtains, and voices saying how are you feeling
do you have any pain? a bit of cramping? i'll get you some meds
for that. doctor marlie says/two units of plasma , i think that
will suffice/ then speaks to patient whose eyes are closed
but answers are forthcoming. no. no pain now. yes i'm cold.
hi i'm elizabeth, your post op nurse dear, can you open
your mouth for this , inserts the digital thermometer. when the beep
comes she says, you're cold, we're going to put the blower
on you. i have to piss says the patient. elizabeth
gets the bedpan, leaves the curtains closed. she says
the doctor wants 2 units of blood, stat, it's been twenty
minutes is that stat? the patient is gray as a corpse, core temp
dropping. elizabeth gives the bedpan to an orderly
drapes the blower's soft expandable tubing around the patient's
body, like police tape, from foot to head to foot, turns
on the switch and for the first time in weeks--
ever since cold fronts began moving in waves
across the midwest, snow for thanksgiving, snow for xmas,
snow for new years, and this morning frost brittling green lawns
freezing oranges--the patient is warm, falls asleep
in the arms of blanket fresh from a dr yer while blood
hangs from the iv station now, turning gray to pink as if skin
was a rogue icebe rg from antartica, doused with spume
from the pierced ozone.

tryin to de sake-fy

yellin at you
for what you can't help

you can try many paths to poetry
dark wooded, thru the blossoms, stony
steep, on an unmitigated beach,
flamenco on the rise.

it's not fair what i do to you
but it makes up for the past


la guitarre on the half shell
minarets in the distance mere reflections
in the passing sky scraper of
the tale told by an idiot.




there's drum outside, scant playering
and performance direction. the neglection
word on the radio, resurrection perfection.

we got the isms from a prism of hands
they split the light with a diamond you pulled
from your six gun.



you're in a different detergent zone.
comedy is black, pretty laughter
in the twitterscape. we need light
and granules of the thing that happens
when u fail at living alone.

trafffic patterns captured in a whorl, barcelona
castles, the bells of st. cecelia. forsaken for a kiss.
nothing you can own. give it up. you don't like me
on sake cuz the truths mix and grip.





the songs come clearly or slight.
music we could have made trickling
like a veil across the moon--gearing
into the space i
opened for us. too bad you
decide it's not time --clapping
stones in hercules passage
have a frequency that won't wait.
the little drums
remain nebulous as a secondhand.

remember analog? time smacked gently
into tomorrow morning where a new
interest is interested.

india is directly opposite
latitude wise. you ask for patience
maybe forgiveness or something like a path
into and out of where you are.

there's nothing i can do,for you
but i'd like you to understand my flesh
is a curdled ignition
and someone has the key.