Monday, January 24, 2011

quiet fictions

the last week we share
a bed, our favorite dining
rooms, a final jam with people
you still do not call friends.

i trip over the future
wad it up, throw it
in the trash.

we play cards
watch the daily shows
wash the dishes.

when we speak
it's to talk of small
pieces of the day, how's
the pink boa project,
what new faces of god did
you wear?

flights of fancy take wing
when we kiss. but

these are short stories, flash
fiction. a moment's diversion from
real life goodbyes.

Sunday, January 23, 2011

not even a thousand

stars would fill the distance
between us now.

lined up in thirteen constellations
across night's rim like a poem
collecting dusk.

fallacies and jealously they run
the dark matter's ridges, postulates
in search of a wand, pentagrams in need of a gong.

i am rhyming now as if enchanted
by a scorerer's tongue. demanded
scribblings on line from gods, aa bb cc d

so infantile, swallowed like the sea
by locusts of clouds....oh wait not,
wait now i'm just pissing into the ether.
sorry if you've followed me down

. one thing i'm glad for.
you rarely slept
with me so i don't have to get used
to doing it alone again.

it's just the other time of night
but i have writing and electric light.

Saturday, January 15, 2011

free radical bubbles

never ceases to amaze me
the things that amaze and confuse
publico americana. say a man
who looks like a new horror series hero
guns down six people. two of them are federal
officials. only one is an innocent lamb.

we get to know the names of these three
but the deaths of the others is a byline.
collateral damage.

am i insensitive to the violence, alone/
alone insensitive to frustrated bursts of the all aloneness?


cuz it really didn't surprise me.
what surprises me is how very few
and far between such incidences are
given the nature of society and the ground of being.

you say you believe it doesn't have to be this way.
i believe it too. maybe after the killing fields have collasped
we can try it differently.

all it takes is everyone on the same page

yes indeed. will you wait for them to catch up.
can you? time and its minions won't seem to let us.


my feet are cold
i have a miniature genie bottle
screwed onto my ear. i can't find
the stopper.

the oak glows golden browns, waxy greens, royal
purples. if i were a painter instead of a dilettante i would
know the shades: violet, plumbago, magenta, royal, lilac, rusk.
above, a blue that pierces the best of your eye
delivers it to mine.

i once told box that if i stopped writing poetry daily
just kill me. i have. no one has done me the favor so
i keep smoking. cigs and weed, crack cocaine.metha ampheta

i hyperbolize. the toilet's backed up into the bathtub
and the landlord's gonna back charge me. like, it's my fault
the septic tank won't drain? riiiight.

vertical blind snaps in the wind, rhythm of a small fuck.
yes, it's january and the window's open. not exactly odd.
not a sigh not a sign of blovine global warming exactly
just a nother piece of evidence that time is linear and causative.

you keep telling me i'm the cause, not the perception.
i keep wanting to be both. just call the plumber
and we can straighten out the details with augurs
pulled from the pipes.  bill the credit card an  economic
contribution. taxed and excised with societal obligation
and personal graft. in florida roses
must be grafted onto host roots.

this is why my grandmother's garden always failed
i hope to do better. bury the lime and gmo wheat.
this leaping is getting worse. follow me.


my feet are warm
sun continues to shine
on the porch, on the dried
grass of winter
heating earthskin and mine.

i walk the small perimeter
of my rented castle
lands picking up windblown coffee
filters, leftover tags, silver & gold
ribbons. note piles of dogshit dumped
on early morning walks. curb
your damn dogs people.


later and the sun wears a white veil.
are you coming tonight? 
i should work

he said he'd be my saturday nite guy...
does he have a reason why

no, no, i think
i will be at poetry after all.


i have a 20 dollah credit at pier one imports.
i love pier one. maybe i can import a date.



Wednesday, January 05, 2011

god speaks in traffic -lights and birds