autumn's rain hisses

(08/23/10 14:19:16) ezOP Reply Quote More My Recent Posts	against the white roof across the open back yards of the trailer park today i ran my car into a tree. i was only trying to get you to understand the nature of impact words that won't stop hitting below the self esteem your head bumped against the glass, cracked it. the energy released seems to have knocked  some calm into the situation. the art of the controlled accident comes to one after many lessons. the rain sounds like wind thru the psalms slides against the tips of aluminum and tar roofs, shivers off oak leaves, rivulets and runnels like a drop on a broken  windshield collecting  cousins for flood. what if i said i wanted to come within inches of that tree and misjudged because of the properties of your tears. how dying might be a scarey alternative you never really thought about. put on your seatbelt next time. you're gambling, little losses morph into big ones through one variable. (*&&\\ shadow grows thicker, less evil looking with the additional fur.she still carries the look of the wild thing that will only be housebroken if she can piss where you do. her mother always has a vacant yellow eyed stare, convivial in its lack of attention. stroke me, she suggests with her tail and a stretch. )(** wind blows the door left ajar because the weather is fallesque, cruel summer sun covered by maine's sweet gray. do you love me is this week's internal drama and do you think any future with each other is doomed is the constant. when you hold me with both arms, give back what you must be feeling from me. but no. i fool myself. you see a harridan, close the fuckin door it's hot out there i can't air condition florida, i don't know how to be less snarlish about stupidity. i might be snarling at myself for this morning's mini episode but honestly when you say no one's been there for you, no one cares, no one helps i get so helpless with frustration i don't think wisely. maybe you inherited that from me. oh  love. the way it uses whatever you offer up concupisence of the selfish  sacrifice the rain , a lover's breath in my ear,against my neck.  sooossssuurrrrrrssssssssssssssuuussuur ation. i don't care i guess that you're always leaving who really stays anyway. just let these love lee waves keep rising, high as a storm surge in august's seas.

the milky way of touch screens

we the fervent watchers
in purest white vestments
stapped into cockpits
rotated by satellites
offer over all geographical points
ritual sacrifices
that are sent and re-sent
through the milky way of touch screens


--mm noverilli


you collect in black flocks
in the first two pews, a watering
hole in justice's jungle.

the ties are different, scallopped
around necks thick, necks thin.

heads of all different sizes, feathers
preened and brylcreamed. you know
the rituals and priests  intimately, gather
on the golf courses exchanging golden
strokes for calves. .

at the altar, the dark priest delivers
offers, rules on redress and grievance.
the spoils were baked backstage
all that's left is the presentation and green
splattered platter. the victims

await on hard benches, sighing, trying
to read augurs from the synecdoches
parading in adjudication and flying
folders in a metal cart, skinny keys

to futures bright or dark. the chorus
repeats itself, you pay homage
to the clerk, whose head is a flatscreen
whose hands are a printer, it's time


for a break, she's getting much thinner
a quick infusion of dollars for dash
you  feed in  frenzy on
a constellation of cash.

this mess so deep

i've been collecting again, stacks
of receipts, statements, poems on
the back of paper towels, like

alley washed out, cadillac under carriage
house, i wonder if i'll meet you here or
at the place at the end of this street
when we're eighty, if we make it.

i can feel you but it makes no difference
your town, my town it's show tunes & nathan plus
fifty summer pounds, the art gig fell thru,
the next prototype is being formed
and no one in this place reminds me of you

it's four a m

well, not quite. i think about a song
to cover, some romantic notion
about everlast or missing you, maybe.

but why should i. as she said to me the other nite
well you know, there's lots of love in your life
anyway. which is true. romance is a flower. plucked,
it behaves as such. the cats, o the cats what to do
about them?  and you, so young and lost, a baby
in tow. in two or three where will you be?

the romance of roses. yellow like your hair
when you wanted to live with me forever.

the cat scratches her way out the door
she's evil. i wonder if you could tame her
as you can't tame the wild lost heart of your lover.

there's just not enough love in the world.


























*(&97






sometimes who
you love isn't good
for you


sometimes you don't
love who is good
for you.

isn't that sad?



so why pay homage to such a goddess.
































)(*










i lost your dual entry journal
for the summer reading. of mice
and men. i forget reading that.
the lesson must have been too hard.


don't worry, though, i'll find it again.
buried somewhere in the skirts and shirts
on the floor. the aching bend to retrieve
the misplacements of a half moon.

i don't need booze to fuck up my life.
it comes ready made. so , you're moving home
sometime soon. when you've had enough
and when the last straw weaves itself into your pack.

i hope we get along better this time.
adults maybe. only room for one baby
in this house.

quiet enough for thunder to make its bed

we might , a tois,
share the cups all evening
good wine, strum guitar & she sings.


but it's upside down
gravity pulls the drink
from six lips. begin

in the Divine, grow
with love and support
in the end express through us. 


this flesh
this spirit
this god




just , u know
believe in  yourself
what we could be

but you don't want to you're
full of scimitars and samovars
cloisonne eggs,

six word poem

well, in retrospect, that was stupid.

the sun early on

joy is the sun, early on
emil cioran

rays of light thru eastern cumulous
like gypsy bands bearing banners
trade in the time of cholera
beneficence battling bitumin.


i remember strawberries
some country road, a river
want to say all
the things that would make you
lie to me some more. but only
for a second
chance at change. mine. something i might
depend upon, the arthroscopic anteriors
a slippage of disc and daily
dismissal of dismal, of all that isn't
bright as a buzzing hive of fire. have
a wonderful day we say to each other
kiss kiss tell tell, a burnt offering halved
by the parries and parties of druther.

but the day wears on, pleasure
drifts away , beams on smoggy air
even if the like is gone, love remains
elusive as a metaphor with a mission.

i miss you , i weep to myself in the car
then begin to bleed. you are with me
no less than you were before so why
do i feel your absence more now?

it is the moon the moon ! bays the dog
it's the freaking pull of the poles snarls the biker
you know i don't like dogs, why you put one
in every change of pace. to which she replies

what the fuck are you doing in my pome anyway
homeboy. you chose your own way to choose
it's not my fault you booze and lose and lose
i have my own release  by holding sway


middle aged palmy, a silent assent
to the dyptych of one on one as two
and more of you than can hold a truce
with ashes and foaming and rent.

oh now she's just going for the stupid rhyme.
face it, you're not anne sexton. and if you were
you'd be already dead. oh yeah . you might be.


i don't know. you've come to me in guises
that i meant to unravel but somehow left
whole in decay. the gun, the cat, the beginning of that.

i still haven't named you but you know what you are.
hiding your dwindle. pulling your billowy skirts
around your face. pissing on the night sky.
you make my tears a treason to sadness.


























*(&&








i don't understand why i'm satisfied
with your half man half wolf costume
but i guess my red hood's graying too.

i think of the thing we might have been
in different bodies or maybe different
beginnings. the call of the wild in sodiom
flakes and fourth dimension angles

which might, as i try to picture them
fracture like a diamond  to hypnotise
me into some revelation of grace wearing

time for lipstick. the way she kisses the rip
from a jet landing, or paints the floor
with juices from last night. whatever i'm sure

it's performance approved. a little tale to inhabit
so you don't have to let the knot in your esophagus
melt into tight fisted digestion. keeps ya skinny boy


and ready for the next toy. what does a man have
when he loses his drive? a hunt for zen, peace
with failure, a motive to survive? what about life?

what about living? i still think it's about the giving
but don't give it away if he don't appreciate it
right ms jones? right? make em pay. it's the economy stupid
it's caching and ka ching and making your way
to the mop and bucket for seven fifty an hour who the fuck
are you to think you should do betta than that?
huh?


the notion of downward mobility as a saving grace.
the parabolic paranoia that brought you to this place
jesus freaks and muju camps and bright white plastic cake.

i wonder where my weed went< i won't send this to you
because half of you is here and the other thirds
are scattered in a variety of email thrusts and parries
throughout contiguous reality  .