332 month heatwave

there's a kind of water
that shapes our   skin
despite salinity, nitrites or radioactivity.
it's a banjo solo dripping
off the edge of your nose,
a harmony remembered from
the heart of a vacancy sign.
let us  drink.

i took an old friend a liter
to share over biscuits in cab
on the way to the dark.
he was moving from one heartache
to the next and i was coming
home from west palm beach.
where afternoon rain is a tiger
and we are the rats in her paws.

on the left coast of a joke state
  the thermometer climbs every day
i croak  heard it through the grapevine with my ipod
undermybreath sing a saturday nite club hookup anthem
gettin hot in here.
 turn on a fan someone
yesterday it was
 cold but the
 moon's face
























*(**


what if i really am crazy? he worries

join the crowd baby, she giggles. he likes her to giggle. she likes to giggle. laugh  lines are better than frown lines. life has gotten heavier than she ever believed it could, if she could remember back to when it was a feather pillow she snuggled into. no, no back before that, beyond conscious memory.  a breast to cleave .



i dunno, she says. can we work with that?
are you smarter than the disease?
do you want a  life of pumpkin pie?

we are three quartters of the way into the boil
steam rises. we learn to cope. keep the floodgate open
put a couple of sandhill cranes sculptures in the reflecting pools.
build some walls. retreat and build again.
when you can see her, she can see you.
she wants to  turn up the heat  now. go ahead
she says, this ended sixteen years ago.
i hope the post gen knows what to do with
 the  flutes and the windmills

nodding heads
grey, weary, ready for a given breach.
le juenes en la kitchen spittin dro talk
everyone happy cuz it just be that way/


if the crop circles mean anything
we should know by the winter
which could be our last
above water
or
something
 iin the fourth dimension.
like,
what does that even mean?
















(*)*)***

im standing in the middle of the internet

trying to get a grip
on the ports opening
 in a swiss cheesy
security breach.

the cliche is tronnish
 so let's go with that.


there's tea, tasteless
no matter the flavor.
other items include chocolates
and sex workers. naturally.

working backword, i step carelessly
through matrices and clock speeds
that cluster like the glimpse of blue

above the alps that time we rode electric
bikes along the summer trek-- if the mountains
were lost data and your eyes , the skies.

nothing breaks irrevocably.
that's the beauty of virtual.
everything rerouts  on the reboot
till i'm standing on the outside of nothing

heart shaped key

a cross full of milagros , tiny weapons
nailed like christ to its silver.

all these symbols
look dangerous,
weapons used on saints
in the old days.

what would  an electric chair, a needle
 and a taser do for  a catechism?

three crimson dots
wander the  concrete looking
for the girl in red hair,
 under the silverado.

she's past time for confessions
and no patience for respect
but under the circumstances,
she emgerges, limping , uncowed
by the laser tags lining her breast
gleaming on the cross.

 the lunge and the blossoming
dark arise simultaneously
filling her first
 with wonder, then answers
only saints can understand.

this overwhelming feeling of omen,

tantalizing close, hammered into prehistoric patterns
is played out in real time phone calls
missed opportunities and sabotage
inflicted by chosen allies.

trying to underwrite it with pomegranate margaritas
isnt working out as planned.

mumble the serenity prayer
praying hardest for wisdom


if it isnt granted
ignorance is an adequate
 base state.

a sort of frond thing

love is a sort of frond thing
hanging on to spectral grief

--lisa gordon



slippage and falling.
stamen burst fringes/
the odd twenty in the tank.

give to get or parsed another way
pay it forward or rephrased
love in order to continue loving.

all those me's lined up
waiting for latin lessons.
the soup tonite is

 canned rattlesnakes  from
  the hurricane supply box.
the movie is in french.

savez vous porquoi il n'ya dro?
because your phone still works.
you're welcome

now i'm  a lizard in blue dream.
thanks for the still life moment
i'm not yet ready for discharge

despite that pretty waltz you're playing.
 it slides across the strings
shuffles on the drum, drips thru the bass

 into my veins, a shelter that can
keep us dry in the driving rain but rattles
away when the wind goes deep.