Of August By the window, The wind Fills the room with The smell of rain. And the clever words of the poets Throw knives at the wall. And the taxi cabs are now fairy tales Washed ashore by UFOs. Frivolous fails when It is nothing at all, So, give us something, If only a broken August, when it Speaks at all. Darkness up On its hind legs welcomes you home. Of uncertain hands That hold the earth, Fold dreams into space. In the end, The poet works in lines, Not in what they mean.
writing
So it Seams
The tightrope artist is string theory. It could go either way, That’s what makes it a fact. ~ Even metaphysics gets shin splints. But infinity can never touch its toes. ~ In bed, I move the Curtain with my foot. The cat is on the porch roof, through A tear in the screen. Suddenly reality Surpasses my sense Of being. Blood samples were taken. The sun drank something of the moon. ~ And though it seams, It blisters with gold.
Walking: Industrial Malaise: Yet the Cosmos is Everywhere
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.
Distraction is the Quickest Way Home
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.
Flaneur
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.
Pursued by a Phony Deity
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
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
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?
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
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.
naïve haircuts 