the juilliard poems 10/12/09

"Alice Tully Hall," (untimed)

here is future

foghorns and exhaust and

our best and brightest lined up

to dance

to sing

to scream from this tallest stair

in twelve months only ghosts

will sit on the second-to-last step

of the stairs at tully hall.

"Admissions," (11:35)

bing, bing, bing

more nerve than i can count,

inmore than one way

the future is gray and

orange and kind of plush

oh, and less than one percent

anthropologically speaking,

i'm fucked.

"Argument," (10 minutes earlier)

i got distracted by gay rights

and suddenly your diatribe

on the future was eggs and cream,

whipped and

inconsequential like the

objective reality i'm trying so hard to refute. but yes,

i can see myself on either side

of the desk

or poster, or fence.

and that's what's scary.

"post-everything," (3:00 pm)

i can give you several million reasons why this train wreck

we called a life should sink below

divide the dividends until 

there's nothing left but smoke,

ashtrays, betrayals and sighs

and you can't give me one why

i should survive. why is

all the world in deadly accord?

the tray

why do we keep memories
stored in boxes with dust
degrading cellulose that seems to encapsulate
all of these firings of all of these neurons
which somehow all add up to
love, betrayal, joy, tears, pasts and
the futures we no longer have?
why, when the earth is so large
is a little box (or a big one)
so
understandable, relatable, normal
but a man sitting alone doing nothing thinking nothing wanting nothing
is hard to grasp?

yogi's toes

i'm learning, i know.
i'm learning to grow.

deep digs and ivory smiles
like roots, i stretch for miles.

your hands, your seeds
pull me inward, up like trees.

i know, i'm learning
i stretch for miles
up like trees
like roots, your hands
pull me inward
deep digs, ivory smiles
i'm learning to grow.

forgetters

there are beaches, in the emptiness
pipe organs for our loyalty
rivers for our spirit
there is us, in the emptiness
proud and irreverent
us, sitting on mountains of words
and swimming in the cool green waters
the music riveting upwards and ever louder
in absence, in presence, samsara, my friend
let me hug you close in the void
let me play alongside
propel myself
expel this red, this burn
scream hymns to moons
whether or not they are full
in the emptiness there is all of this
it dances before my eyes
it longs
stretches
grasps strangely and strongly
for you, friend.
one soul. standing on the shore
a silhouette
undone by the nothingness.

rollicking apocalyptic journey through ashtanga

the end of things
gradually and careeningly, i'm hearing
trains where there are none, massive crashes
the steam and the rage and the crackle
a fireplace beside me in my
big, glass house. the ghosts of
mass transportation stalking me in my
sleep. oh, sleep.
i know a girl doesn't remember a thing
stolen, petrified like wood
put away somewhere and never retrieved
in the morning, emptiness
so,

the beginning of things all sudden
sharp and beautiful
like water not from a spout
trains again, coming and going and coming
i swear the don't know my name
they never call out to me like in the movies
"you, sir! last call! all aboard!"
the glare and flicker of the fire
threatens to burn
it's burning already
it isn't fire if it isn't burning

words, words, words. and so on. ad nauseum. three thousand more.

come again no more

aaaee

YOuuaRE

in(ME)ANim

at

e

:

a poeM,

alsO A scream

scram

a slow mope

uNreQUITEdSL

a

ndEr

Where?

under where

HAHah take ME

fOR exAMPLE

i am not

ee

CUMmings

roof access;visitors

that is what dark spaces are for
soft ones, redemptive ones with their alabaster
on one side, and on the other: hope
shadowy places that obscure
your alice-down-the-rabbit-hole eyes
your searching, roving whimsies.

this is what the nights are for, the good ones
soft, shadowy kisses. punctuated by the glimmer of a smile
in the corner of your mouth.