you romp around my clouds:

you are a dancer
but my longing makes you
an elephant in pointes;
you’re so heavy you’re light
and to lift is to live

your shoulders could hold
no more than a dinner plate
but my life wants no other home
for in your eyes
I see the god of spine

and so ill be a competing lion
lyin’ in your waiting room
for your entrances and exits
and the glorious time in between

blue balled/on glory's teat

"... -s ball hit well...TO THE TRACK (!),
TO THE WALL (!)..."

the batted ball lands in a mitt
impotent as
uranium with ghandi


"...5 seconds to go.
...he crosses over.
FADE AWAY JUMPER..."

the ball loves to become
tremble on rupture
spinspinspinning
spinnin'round that rim:
it falls off the wagon
into a gray oblivion

_____________________


"...right on, right on."

"..."

"yeah, no one really gets that."

"..."

"..."

"...pedestal, dude."

"..., cynical bastard...
................................
..TO HOPEFUL ROMANTICISM!"

"give me a call."

days later and they
in localized catatonia
think of past glorious days
muttering,"End Trivia."

groping at the mirror
like an infant towards anything
or an
epiphanic horizon-hating helio:

i wonder why i
don't remember my dreams --
vacuous black snowflakes:
o, will i ever catch their nothingness?

these palpable privations tumble downward
visible only to my
unpryable third eye.
i don't look anymore,

but sometimes
some Me
somewhere
- I'm not in the loop -
will show home movies
of his dream realities
and remnants will reach this
cogito's city limits:
terrifyingly earnest and pure,
my breached forgetfulness
puts happiness on a milk carton

i want
to be
in the universe of possibility
between my shirt and body
where i'm not me
im becoming me

the hallway is Bright,
but an anviled feather.
it keeps you proud and right
but you're a horse wrapped in pleather

a gross abomination.
a stain.
sincerity? (pssh)
you're an atheist bishop

dogma the world 'round
the answer is money?
does a voice need money?
or just an open mind?

you can't break the mirror
so don't even try
you should hear your terror
as you lie, lie, lie.

the king's dead
but everyone's keen for the crown
the thrill fills your head
but you're just a clown

i hate pretension, you cry
but it's just a lie
a silly mask
one puts to mind like lips to flask

a douche by any other name
i wouldn't blame
but spitting in one's own face
deserves a special place

words, words, words, words
without action
you're a lord
with no army.

a whisper

everyone is
catering to everyone else,
losing their own needs,
leaving nobody's fulfilled

from the civic centers,
from the church,
and from the den,
come golden shower edicts

but justice and truth
hail from infinite mothers
tradition is a dirty word
a black, obscuring, deafening eye

a girl sauntered in a sea of sprinters,
but the mob ate her whole:
i lost sight of her
and so did she.

kickin' cans down an alley
with you in my mind
reminds of fall's false hope
ill never get to the end

because i start over
rehashing, drawing diagrams
performing vivisections on our hearts
but minds can't know other minds

there used to be a pharmacy round the corner
we once sat together at the counter and nervously sipped malts
but once might as well be zero
should be zero, should have left it to the bum's 8 ball

should we think about shoulds?
and coulds and why nots and what the fucks?
how else would ought become is?
change is not a four letter word

a decade later and the heat from your voice still warms
whenever i fall away.
memories that brought salty despair in my youth,
now sing soaring arias as i look over at your sleeping body.

Mud's Allure

he looked out the window,
chin on the ledge,
arms spread out, fingers interlocked, beneath.

his expression was advanced:
it pondered.

he looked out the window
at a girl with a book,
under a tree,
admiring a boy in the mud.

he squinted to see
what he could already.

there must be something missing

he sat underneath an adjacent tree,
book open and eyes to the page;
she never once looked over

except to say, "That's my favorite book."

Incomprehensible

the day the bombs fell
i was inside coloring

stay in the lines
stay in the lines
my mother called from the kitchen
but my ears were burning
from the fire engulfing our home

i could not put it on the fridge and i cannot understand why.

On Tragedy (Or Was It, Triumph?)

melted ice enveloping
it’s 95 outside
I’m wearing a poncho
in a glacial cavern

savage water smacks my face
I turn to see what’s gaining on me
and I’m a bug in a toilet
spinning round -------out of control
the invisible hand presses the lever again

One.

Two.

Three.

Four.

Eyes Open Wide (, Dear):
rapidly blinking,
darting into every crevice of previously negated space,
curating exhibits,
---------→funding studies on←----------
his [solitary] faith:
peoplelovehatereasoncommunityconsciousnessanevolutionaryedict

(he spits it out
like everyone else
he’s a marketer

illegitimate means in responsible hands;
brought to you by the ‘greater good’.)

Adventures in Gardening (Or, Experiments in Symbolism)

your laughter is a trumpet of approval
on my sorry, punctured soul
and echoes [] in unison []
with my own, miles away

your words flow like the Ganges
and [] deposit in my mind [] :
caressing, soothing, refining;
a sincerely philanthropic mindsmith

your hands conduct me
[] a train on its rails []
to a vaguely known
but long-worshipped destination

{there’s others!}
(they say)
I don’t see them…
but I must believe they exist
{(you’re too far to know)well(close enough to sense)}

but your mind alone
wears the crown
[] [[my mind alone]]needs yours []
(Necessary)---(and stifled)---burdens and demands

{(my mind paints a picture
stitched from the
[.] [.] [.] [.] [.]~41,086 moments-----
(~)25,393 one and a half second clips-----
embodying the time
[]
my eyes
and mind
have known yours(!)
[])[][][])}[][][][][][])}

[] [] [] [] [] [] [] [] [] [] [] [] [] [] [] [] [] [] [.] [.] [.] [.]
exclamation point.

blindfolded--i walk
around a knife store
--deserted and archaic
sometimes i dont know why i'm here

no.
many times i dont know why i'm here
[[[[all the time]]]]

it's a lonely trip
(no one's made it in years)

a butter knife would be
the refreshing, cool side of the pillow

anticipate once and limbs are lost
i'm here; i have no choice
but i can't reach out.

The Kids Don't Stand a Chance

the walls are closing in
but the brightest light shines:
the old crowd is leaving
and the kids are taking over.

I see her mouth and hands everywhere;
like a joker in the deck
it knows no boundaries
and finds a home with everyone.

I haven’t looked
and the walls are gone
there are new ones
but i can’t see what I don’t know exists.

she probably won’t be home for a while,
if ever,
but the door is unlocked
and I calmly sit, reading.