Self

first
sound out
the words

begin with

g-r-a-v-i-t-y

the tulips of a gas
giant

next
parenthesis
everything

(th(e t)ul(ips) of (a) gas)
g)ia(nt

and mostly
last

the idea of the self
just as meaning
really is less
meaning

a grasshopper
on a
concrete whisper

Red Lips

Baffled like the parchment sun

And if hell is a hula-hoop

This evening has the hips for you

It better this way

A heart of almost

Keeps one steady

Crumpled up like a basement door

The seasons are the friction of motion

And if I had to guess

Life is red lips

The nomination of significance

space age

In the spaces between words some find a footing on. Of silence there is no getting one’s head around.

So let them cashier us let them muddle thoughts and beg our wants but never our soil will not ring with the footfalls of clumsy angels.

The hot night of the hot hotel of the mouth.

Because I quit this tenement of capital.

philosophy

before something is real
it looks up into the sky

the weather report from 11 years ago
tattooed on my leg
is 20 years old

before something is real
it leaks god

our sun is a star of
1,000
000,000
000,000
000,000 stars

religion is a mosh pit
a deliberate humanism

at the diner, the waiter asked,
does the sea on stern knees
catch its fish by hand?

This is the way to lose

By the seams of our nativities

The sea is an inchworm and myopic

The sea is an easy song, too easy, and too complicated for god

And this is how we succeed

Same as before

By a muddled preference for breath

Or the magma of gravity crawling into the bones

Till at a standstill, silence stoops for a hug

And even our dull eyes can tell the difference

Three Fragments

Will your life be too smooth
When it’s over
Or the rough of happiness
Caught in the throat
On your expiration date

Death
Achieves its aesthetic success
Marvels the audience
Till they too are on their feet
Whispering to stars

Make use of what you peruse
Aim was made to be wrestled
If not
For the whirlwind in your heart
The sky would not be round

Fat butterfly, obese moon,
Skinny highway,

Hardly the moon
Picks up the light
And doesn’t go home,

If the clouds would
Show me
An arson of flip flops,

The house is a liar
Of rain,

The color of a new
Chair fills the grave,

Concerning the dreams of leaves
The shadows on the sidewalks
Took to rowing boats