Poet’s Style

Tattoos:
 
A lawn chair
On the forearm,
 
On the shoulder the
Metaphysics
Of river birds,
 
Melody for a toy piano
Near the ankle.
 
Clothes:
 
The attire is simple and cut
To fit,
 
No shoes
But the idea of shoes.
 
Metaphysics:
 
No breath but air.
 
Meaning:
 
The real is put aside
Like a bell on the ground,
 
Like a trampoline at night,
 
Sleeves pulled up at the moon,
Distance for a logo.
 
Appetite:
 
Hunger like a table crowded with empty bowls.
 
Metaphysics II:
 
The cosmos on the lips,
I breath in theology through nostrils,
 
Pull its lint out of my belly button.
 
In conclusion:
 
The idea was to
 
Fly a kite, after hitching a ride,
 
To somewhere, somewhere, somewhere,
 
Sticking around long enough to see
 
Dusk pushing a shopping cart downhill.
 
Coda:
 
it’s getting late              the science fiction of apple blossoms         
--------------------   x    -------------------------------------------------     =   
     tree tops                               cursive shoes
 
How the volume of time
Specializes in words
Out of our reach.

Squeezing Cosmic Folds into the Joints of Neurons

“Truce,” said the wind.
 
“Never!” declared a psychological
Pear,
 
“I am the table and the chair.”
 
But you insist,
 
Do shapes have addresses? 
Can they be reached
By letter?
 
What if there is an emergency
Of lines
 
And geometry is busy
Can’t be reached
By post?
 
What if I am asked by wind
If there is truth in the wind?
 
You say that,
 
The
Wind
Carries a stone fist.
 
And a broken leg
For a tattoo.
 
That darkness has no wires.
No boxes. No caves.
No under the bed.
No above the stars.
It is as shirtless as a penny.
It grows with the grass.
It offers a chance
To look around.
It picks up the rain into the
Ground.
 
But I remember most
 
The seams
Of asteroids
 
In the darkness.

Future City

Even wore. I found pieces 
Of the moon under my pillow.
 
In my city you could be arrested
For breaking the moon.
 
There are few of us left.
I draw wings on the old walls.
 
I will never tell them.
I write about pieces of the
 
Moon on paper with lead.
Memorize 864,000. It is
 
The diameter of the sun
In miles. Even worse.
 
The pieces are gone. Rumor
Has it I never found them.
 
That I don’t even know what
Wings are.
 
I’ll never tell them.
 
Silent like a falsetto
In a parking lot of album covers.
 
And if this poem had a sharpie
Spell up the trestles
 
With the forgotten the names of every flower
How they haw and look at the sky
 
And, like me, never tell what they see.

What is Form but Prompting You to Turn the Page?

I know that you are tired of hearing me talk. And you say, I am tired of hearing you talk. I nod and say, the table leans a little. But that’s it.

Poems should lean a little. And cats should cry at the door to come in. Saturn whistles like a dump truck. A poet puts up graffiti in a city less tangible than the threadbare guts of being alive . Our fingers fidget like a can opener in a cloud.

Please don’t take this poem seriously, almost every letter is out of place, it’s a miracle it’s legible, and vastly improbable any of it is true.

Anyway, it’s a love poem

At night, there is a man whistling for his dog. Not even the crickets reply. Which is terrifying.

I open the window and look out. I too don’t hear the man.

Rain Water

A reflection
In the rain water.
 
Is
The banter of something. In the
Sentiment of somewhere else.
 
This is true.
A reflection is the sentiment of somewhere else.
Pretending to be something near.
 
Gave me your hand.
So I can trace the serial numbers of your favorite poems.
 
The umbrella
Is a reflection in the rain.
Standing there with its hands on its head.
 
Let swim the daft fractals.
Tie tight the headbands of angels.
 
A reflection is 
 
A four handed polonaise
On a two-legged piano.
 
The fire from a star in a spring tree.
 
We
Who importune
With joy.

Snippets of Gas Giants on Their Sleeves

At first, it was not silence. Silence compared to what?

It was a string of stones. Older than the sun.

The antics of moving water. H₂O is susceptible to gravity. Aren’t we all?

At first, the eyes of god were darkness. Darkness compared to what?

Walk with me. The insects have snippets of gas giants on their sleeves.

A feral afternoon lost in the hills. Or across from you in the city lot. Looking back at you.

A feeling bereft of soles. And feet like antlers of light. As the angels neigh.

Home Schooling

1.

The philosophy of horizons,
Specifically, the chapters on distance,

Is the zoology of time.

2.

The Minotaur
Are obstacles

In dreams. Like folded
Paper you have to unfolded.

Except that you are terrified.
And you haven’t learned

It’s pointless to retreat,
Even more so to be eaten.

4.

You can accompany
All the volume of spacetime

Always, where ever you go

Because it has stripes
Like a tiger.

5.

The shoes of the sea have stars up to their knees.