something i really need to learn

it was the first fire in what seemed like
years, and suddenly
embers, ashes and hydrants
all burst, all bloomed
no escape no exit no need
nobody no names no
and yet yes
there are so many chain reactions these days
it's hard to keep track
sometimes i think i'm having a gut reaction
but other times i know
and when i am boiled down to
bones and dumped into
some metaphorical stew in some
metaphorical kitchen
to feed some metaphorical
child that has fallen metaphorically
ill
when all that happens
it's hard not to see the truth
through all these eyes

signs in the sand

i would like my life to be cinematic
we all would
hints, closure, white-hot
teeth upon teeth and skin and bones
and reality closing in
but never stopping
not now. not ever.

i would like for you to win
that sounds generous
that sounds wrong.
sometimes all i need is a god
and to be seventeen again
or twenty-five and walking on a windmill.

i would like to leave this town behind.
but houses cannot move and
i've never been great at real-estate.

suffocation (marshmallows)

good luck, kid.

more accepted

at last, free from this pesky bloggerface.

sonnet 148

tomorrow the temperature is supposed to rise
and you are bronzing, rusting
beneath my eyes. next to diamonds
you are dust. and believe me
all the sweat and sulfur and noise
doesn't hide you
from my 20/20 hindsight.
cheap boxed chardonnay, left
behind from last night's
smiles. down in the cellar
the real thing sits
and smiles
and gets better
and better
and older.

gridlocked

we were welding semaphores and seasons
entire wardrobes dancing to the blues
haiti sank beneath the rubble
these days, i don't know what to do

adam pointed me towards the serpent.
and i, i vomited up
every last bit of that apple
but i still tasted metal between my
fillings and i still felt
blood beneath my nails.
adam pointed me towards the serpent
and the serpent, he gave me
one hell of a shit-eating grin
and nothing else.

there is a pitch for every kind of tear.

28 cop cars, and i am amazed

it did not rain in new york city.
sometimes i want to stuff you into
my sleeves, ball you up and store you
with mothballs, craters in your
eyes. sometimes i want to
shove you down my throat. sometimes
i think i have. there's a lump there.
i have landmarks, now, big and glass
strangled in scar-tissue
(but healing fast)
and i have fingernails, too.
that's important as well.
the world is this strange, phallic
disgrace but i can't help
it if i am not disturbed.
inkwells gather in my eyes
it's like my irises want to well up
well out, turn large and scared and victorious
all at once
because i know
i know.
for once the trees are made of solid wood
no more of these ceramic visions
terracotta dreams
i am seeing in nine dimensions
and i don't even know it.
today the sun peeked out,
if only for a minute.
today, you slunk inside your
ten-billion-watt home and watched
your childhood slip into
"kleenex! windex! condoms!"
oh, what a world.
today, it did not rain.