“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.
Tag: write
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.
Wind Road
wind road
sandwich
lone bite
it’s raining miniature golf courses
it’s raining
miniature golf courses
and it’s pouring
on an old house
you’ve never
seen before and the way
it rains on it
is interesting
clouds are the racket
and tennis is everywhere
Less than Flowers
less than flowers. but more than the moon.
a few sad lights. in the darkness of joy.
To Say I am Finished
to say i am finished
that on the sudden
leaped grave canyons
of death neighing stars
to say i’ve begun
to say i took heed
without any reason
but i was here
only the ridiculous
will survive
Barbwire Sharks have Grammar Issues
The boat is boring. The roots
Of which are an unseen stone.
The boat saved our lives. Barbwire sharks have grammar
Issues.
The boat gave its skull. To a curriculum of throes, the adolescence
Of stars.
The boat sank into the hands of god.
And lifted up into dust.
The Mountain
the mountain is bigger than you
you are the mountain
the blue sky
and the moon
are trees with roots
the mountain is
more than you can count
and yet as it rains
the rubbish of sunset
is meet with the banter of stars
and still you listen
for mountains