without you

sour grapes. these droopy days are like
guarantors for my insecurity, my insurance.
they'll pay me back, slowly, in red eyes
goose-pimples, unnamed medications
they'll bail me out even as i cling to that
last hope, that inside kind of peace
i want to win, i do. i want to be the king and the court jester.

"try looking underneath this printer."
this room has been left unstaffed, unstocked
since time immemorial and all i want
is to plant a seed, watch roots crack through
the computers, desks, people. i wish
this room would yield something, for once.
wrong numbers, wrong names. i want to feel all of this beautiful numbness.

radioscopy

up here in the north, the rains sweep us down
"don't go downhill
in this weather," caution four angry parents
the basement is flooded and the food has gone bad.
we're used to burrowing in, but
the ruptured light of december is far gone, far off.
i used to drive a volkswagon.
empty leather seats, wide-open plains
down south, the storms are like caesar,
the skies aphrodite.
scaramouche (the car) died in kansas
and i pushed him all the way to the carribbean
before realizing that all i held was a ghost.
there are more important things than cars, but i
can't name many of them.
i have left my singing rains and my sea-sky south
the center of the u.s. of a
and in the west i have found liquor and love to my heart's content.
but every once in a while, i think of you
and every day i wonder when i will wake up
safe in new england
safe in tennessee
safe in bed, and safe from you.

kickflip

the vagaries of time, of me
falling into place one by three
piano keys and broken meters
alone on a dance floor
drowned in a theater
silhouetted prose all clinging to my face
this underground raucous
these worn-out clothes
a place in time, a time in place

we were talking about parapets and guns
when the world changed
deep greens and shallow puns
but we never really knew.

climb on board

do you know what it's like to see yourself
standing in line at the County Community Kitchen
knobs for elbows, hopeful eyes, all dreams
wisps of disillusion hanging so close to your pupils
that they blur out entirely, become
background oppression, the kind that sticks
itself into your best dreams and gives clues to
psychiatrists and mind readers alike
and all the while, you walk and walk and walk
until suddenly you understand
this is the desert, there is no point b.
this is your future.

no, i didn't think you knew.

anywhere

i dreamt of rolling waters, unbelievable
glances of bright white. diamonds in the sea.
summer held its sinewy hand to my forehead
and i was feverish, fake
condemned to fantasies and failures
autumn left me wishing for evergreens,
people that did not shed their skin
or their minds.

one day a year ago will be today.
will i still see clocks?
once, i was frozen in time.

fake tales of the monarchical restructuring of wonderland

sidelined mutinies do not stop seething.
feet pressed against the floor
hands in pockets
deep breaths, meditative rage all
balled up in backs and shoulders
waiting for a flight to come
wishing to the absent ether
that someday i might board.
i am immutable in my ways, as poison is in its purpose.
shell-shocked protesters,
didn't know what they were doing
you can stumble into a corner
and still have no clue
what the walls are made of.
my walls are of concrete and sanskrit
very few can discern
just how dead the writing on the wall is
how impenetrable they might seem.
it takes two windows to force a draft.

how to be an atheist

ask something of the great beyond

bivouac

i landed on my teeth
splintered greys and the tattered cover
of a textbook, one last epitaph
to a job well tried
these angles are almost too much to bear.
the coiling frame of an empty cup
so much is hidden
i'm practically schrodinger's cat
the brief accent of a wistful memory
leaps up, latches on. it's too late, herr memory
it's too late.

seeing stars

these peregrine eyes
staring calmly, lightening the
deep haze from which i roll
they are syringes and syrups
from every wall and every window
anesthetizing, aesthetic
prodding me on.
these unbound eyes.
these soulful eyes.
i've never been so in love with a stranger.

this musculature
the pulsing heat of living,
a breathing home and celibate arms
they could drag me to the
precipice and i would do the rest
the light looks more like shadows
the shadows like light.
this simple body.
this dangerous body.
who is it that keeps me up at night?

you are not my enemy. you are also not my friend.
you are a chapter, blank and full.

sway

in the woods, trees are bending
narrow waters siphon tales
captured secrets, cities burned
some things cannot be reforged.
in the deep yellow of spring
the leaves are still falling
everything falls if given the chance
in the summer, you never really know
shallow blues all litter the street
swallowed news in the summer heat
and then, a year from now
dry reds and humming browns

but there is no foresight
just patterns in the dark.

wonderer

don't fight.

sudden slowdown and we're moving at
half-speed, half-mast
even the coroner looks scared this time

oh, ophelia. we meet again.

so every silent heartbeat
ranks on the richter scale these days
every saline plea puts me back a year
sometimes i get the sense of a
frictionless universe

punching bags were made for punching.
ironically.

the estranged life

absalom blew smoke in my face.

i woke up cold, sweaty and weak
where am i? gulf coast waves
wash guilt from the ground below
a cup of mile-high miracle slides my way
i push it away
no dreams in wonderland tonight.

the red queen kissed my hand.

there are lipstick stains on my collar
i wonder where i've been? ten-thousand
years is not enough, i'm searching
for words that you don't know

we're so, so late.

you taught me to read.
how could anything i say make sense?

piers and polyphony

i'm hoarding erasers, rubbing away the
days that didn't fit. questions
like needles sliding down my knees
stick to the floor at my feet
the rain on the roof sounds like
marbles on concrete
i feel like washing every headstone twice
before i drive and drive away

in this new world
there are no men, there are no ghosts
the peaceful empty cities
los angeles, you look so beautiful without your face

as i was

enjoy your day, you've earned it
coast to coast i always lose
my summer earnings are slipping through
since you left my side, i've only
just begun to feel awake and alone.
this fucking four-year dream is almost done.

every poem, every song, an altar to your name
i wish i could change the world
i'll change my name instead
birth certificates were made to be burned
bank accounts emptied
and minds put to waste
i hope you enjoy your fucking day.

sinking

he was arabian, they said.
cut-off shirts and leather eyes
and god, he tried to tone it down
somehow the heat of life
always caught him off-guard
the silvery blues kept dragging him
back with the tide.

he has no religion, no friends.
he has no parents.
no worries.
every night, his pores gasp
to take in the night, to let out the acid
some days he can't see a thing until midnight.
some days he sees too much
(but it's not a problem, just a fact
another wink or another thumbtack)
everyone always knows when he's mad
but not when he's not

on the day that he found out
trees were their normal green, for once.

sometimes spring is when you fall in.

this country, this hotter than hot
this world, these dreams
this sinking feeling keeps keeping me up all night
and every day is another spring.