writing

On the Arm

Bob, , 13 Comments

The tattoo of the church bell and the passing train. I hear both, in the fields, just before the rain. The moon has polka dot breath, but I imagine the city lights under my fingernails.

There is a feather on the ground. A lampshade in the sky. I walk up to a lamppost, it is night. I write on the lamppost. In marker: Where are you?

The elopement of city features. The facades of houses, the stature of downtown buildings. The silence of fountains that don’t work. The few pennies for the graffiti flowers, and the inter-dimensional coordinates for solitary meandering.

Walking: Industrial Malaise: Yet the Cosmos is Everywhere

Bob, , 16 Comments 
In the ankles 
Of lonely walks, in the upward held collar of coat,
In the unpressed trousers
Of earth and wind, in the vacuum of chance, in the
Defeated, the weary, the plagiarized origami of angels,

~

It started small:
The hallucination of gas giants,
The dexterous poetry of the late twenty-fourth century,
The refusal to retreat into the priority of self. 

Tangled up with time, void ready,
Alive to the heather of electromagnetic fuzz.

~

The city curls in on itself
And you with it.

Going forward, 
There will be lines and metaphors,

But no words.

~

Like a stack of bricks
A few years into
Laying on the ground,

Like the waffle maker
You hate to clean,

Speech is playing the odds.

Pursued by a Phony Deity

Bob, , 10 Comments 
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.

An Allowance of Thistle Moon

Bob, , 6 Comments 
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

Saturday

Bob, , 6 Comments 
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

What Next?

Bob, , 6 Comments 
I clear my throat
Of everything
But chance 

~

T-Shirt-

I walk 

A pit stained poesy
Wide-eyed
Like a collapsing building
  
~

The Sky-

Where oboes
Go to die

A dating game
For unreal lips 

~

The steps you take are both thunder
And remembering

Each gesture is beyond the mirror

As for the present
If you have not already 

Skip the words
Wait and make shadows in the rain

Jukebox Cinema

Bob, , 12 Comments 
Poem- 

A nifty sliver
Breathless
As a cocoon.

Swift as a stalled
Carousel
Decades in the making.

Folding and folding
Uncreaseable wings.

~

In these wrists
Ephemeral soles,
Witches on broomsticks,
And the plumbing I stole
From the drowning poet.


Poem-

Numbers, undoffed 
Of cardinality, 
Yet stand attention,
This is the road, ever forsaken
Of sequence, forsaken and bright
As the endless dark that never
Begins.

~

Words 
Before the stars could speak.

The shadows of lost diameters
Measureless now
Like childhood moons.

And what space they dreamed,
Commanded, played,
In the ageless circumference,

Amongst the sleepless paradoxes.

~

These are my last words. I want to end the sounds of words. 

Just for today.

And walk 
With the tattoos of evolution.