Light steadies the ankles. Darkness readies the knees.
Darkness is a box of pins. Light the ghosts of future stars.
Light sounds out words, creates space. Darkness kneads.
Darkness is the immanence of distance and the ongoing retrieval of it.
Light stitches bones into the soul. Light is the darkness when you blink.
The wind is cheap poems through barbwire parasols.
But what are the footfalls of electromagnetic touchdowns?
Infinity
Walks on
Tip toes
Sometimes
For now.
~
If you have access to
Another universe
Collect mirrors.
Put each poem in your mouth.
But don’t be a liar.
~
The exact present
Is
Subatomic.
Probability before pattern.
And so,
In winter make ghosts,
In spring play in the mud.
I write poems like a disguise.
I bicycle and I am genius at washing
The dishes.
My favorite science fiction movie
The spider
Out grows the house,
You find out in middle age you have an imaginary friend,
The city
Birds are one big computer.
~
So much of writing
Is conjuring something to do.
Standing aside
Exhaling into a paper bag.
Till it grows like a startled child
In the wind like a crack in the sidewalk.
It’s springtime between the stars.
Into the calligraphy
Of anti-skyscrapers
Called verse.
~
In the city field, headlong on the rails, a few spray painted
Stars on the passing train.
Each finger of the moon rattles like a windy day.
~
Opaque like a
Snap of the fingers
Arranged for guitar
Duo
The ghosts in your hair
Have misplaced their x-rays
Branded by
A bicycle moon
That began as an apple blossom.
Cells divide, stars turn.
The imprint is
Cosmic.
We are as close to the infinitesimal as we are to the infinite,
Till we are cathedrals of memory, empty when empty, but never gone.
Walking home,
A celestial roughness around
The eyes.
~
If I have bothered to note a bird
Or two on a power line, some flowers
In a vacant lot for flowering, I have
Done so heedlessly and without regard
For the safety of those around me.
All fate is disorder.
This works in this way,
In the fourth dimension
A coin would only have one side.
Science fiction puddles
Whodunit tattoos
Old pants
Pathos
Coffee grinder
~
To sit quietly
And remember
The shadows of the heart.
A sea above the stars.
Till you are nothing more
Than a memory yourself.
You are at sea
And above
The stars.
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
To the difference
Of who you are
And who you are not
To perturb the air The moon In gallant horseplay Seems to be as still as a chimney. Though it has no use for ladders. The kites on Mars Are as blue as the sea. But don’t let depression garble you yet. There is the melancholy of the heart To broach this night of shoulders And elbows. The poem can be Black as a match head, Vigilante as applesauce, A wink in the thunder, A thud on the daisies, An illumination Flipped On its side Kicking at balloons, Like an aria Penniless in the cinema, Feral in the garage chewing on the rake. Wish me luck.
*This is an older poem, I changed some of the lines and a new title.
Late summer, Soon the sun turns Pensive like an elbow, As faraway As a Diplodocus. And yet, What persistence Walks as open As perchance? I sweep for miles These unlikely roads.
naïve haircuts 