And this philosophy, A slang Of light through the pane, A metaphysical slip Of the noon. The Void Approximately where, Is a belly flop Holding a broken guitar. It won’t stay long. It did not evolve to stay long.
The undetermined Self Is divine vagrancy ~ We had it all wrong, It’s not one counting up to infinity, It’s infinity counting up to one.
What is The policy concerning time travel in this poem? Who knows? Sneezing is no easy matter, Neither are the stars. The wrest is summer rain From summer rain. ~ All this Light, Yet it was At first Darkness, No hands On the wheel, Yielding The Blueprints. ~ Sometimes the ephemeral Almost poses, The dream rattles its antlers, At the curb A puzzled moon In the rainwater.
What if it was just The two of us You by the window Me across from you There is nothing man-made About the sun ~ There are angels in Our blood Home-schooled On chaos Without saying A word ~ One could Hold one’s breath Till their hands taste The moon’s dust Share between us The few bent Coins of wayward vending Machines
What a mess Of books and solitude On the floor On the shelves The endless walks ~ Pockets of asteroids And feet like late afternoons Would I agree to draw Up a flight plan? ~ I buried my whiskers In the first light Of the universe Railroad lines for shoelaces ~ Ready to get a move on A smile no different from direction
Fall fall fall fall fall, Like fathom feathers, Like Jupiter eyes, Till at the end of the self, The alphabet gives up the ghost, And in this dust New spectacles Breathe in the firsts Of perception Again. Again The doubling of cells, The doubling down of wiring, And at most The winning of confusion, From this Somehow Real steps. ~ Mischievous infinitesimals Chide the ego. All sound rests on no sound. What is the price of being particular That can but be halved? But go on. You must. Endorse your leg muscles. Your poetic anxiety. Chide back.
The Score- A note in the third measure Begins to move backward in time. Would it have been better to begin with Illegible sonnets? The Tower- A subtle maybe Of dusk On the lips Has yet to land And never will. The self settles in like a pencil In a toaster, Tipping between worlds, Ideas and sounds, Wearing only the ideas of shoes Before breakfast. Blue- A ribbon Prized By ghosts, Like the taste of an apple Or the sound of a garbage truck, Possibly the memory of the sea. Salary- I make What a ghost Makes In an empty hallway. No Answers- Can laughter make the trees Turn white, said the moon? It can, questioned the sea, With a cadence only Moonlight could sustain While gurgling cannonballs. In a Time of Sad- The sea and the heart Share one memory, Clouds hardly notice The speed of light.
The Blight of Poetry- Like a pulled tooth Chapped lips and a hole in The sole A tee shirt The reads Add Verse Double crossing hexameters (Whatever those are) And me Baffled hair Writing it all down For Walt- The sea Is all of our names Without being any of them. My Favorite Novel- On the chalk board Two dimensional windmills And Quixote With a barber’s bowl For wings Film Critic- Kung Fu Hustle Is the true spiritual Sequel of the Matrix Lollygagging- Electromagnetic fields To stand in. And then there’s mass. No to be Confused with weight. What was said Spoke of beginnings, The cowlick birds Holler on the strings of gravity. A Stone on a Pillow- You establish it is Windy By opening a window By solving some math problems In a notebook Feeding the birds By the look of the city roofs And no matter how far you walk
A bowl filled with letters or a bowl filled with numbers, which is less Organized? ~ Frayed stars Are in style The universe for pockets. ~ I was looking forward to the time off. I wasn't going to write. Or read. I would smoke a joint and watch Buckaroo Bonzai. ~ The light reflected by the earth is less organized. Then when it left The sun. Same for the moon. The boiling pot is order. ~ Bureaucracy Paperwork We Stole- The paperwork we found, we burned it, it was mostly poetry. You said we should write down afterwards how we remember it. And the ghosts, they too had names. Remember them. ~ Send a SASE. Do not include an address. Put it into a bottle. Fold it into a plane. I know where to look for it. I have a knack For lost places.
You sit Here and invest in the part of you That has no beginning. Eyes fixed on the wooden Fireflies. A deserted city for a headband. Shoulders like Heisenberg's uncertainty Principle. The to-do list of dusk in the air. Which you have always taken seriously. And a tattoo Of wings put on the bottom of the feet. The Void for what it is, the thread count of Existence. You think, Did the universe inflate, superfluous Of compass, all in one go of it? Behind you the sky, Not knowing how many Keys make an accordion, Shoulders the long way Home. This is clear. As it is uneven, and croaked like meaning. Like a portrait. What the words have to do with this, Is an emergency.