30 September 2009


He is not as he seems
bright dependable
he is

Selfish full of youthful glee humor
maybe shards of projection
his darkness is real you

See this clearly
all the sand pushed
around like a retaining wall

Quick fire cut off
erasing everything
while the child dreams

Of future
failures sees

Sour embarrassing color
sun dashes behind a cloud
listens for an amber tongue

He knows its true knows its true
Knows someone brings something
if you wait for that perfect wave

Knows the satisfying knock
that looses the trophy out of your
into his tiny pink hands sparkling

Over the long eventually repeating
line each passing minute
a new angle for admiration

Until the quiet night
the heavy heave
moon sick with labor

In the salty light
on his hands & knees
maybe laughing

With his shoulders
bright, dependable
full of youthful glee.

26 September 2009

For K

Where hides the walk's invasive math he died
now there dead
nothing in focus he forges on
rallying for the market farsighted
feathers nod deeply know what he knows
there each should remain
though bite by bite dim eyes
follow a weathered path from the crawling sun
ten of them at least to share, share
what they found that Crow could spare.

25 September 2009

Untamed Fig

Pulled flat like confectioners' sugar
settled by a light low wind one leg kicks
over the futon's shoulder
drops beside yr prophesy like a body
beneath the stars
you lured in crickets laughing
they're home under the untamed fig
all night you refuse his sweet song
but pluck and pluck and smiling pluck.

23 September 2009

For My Daughter

Imperfect mythologies
swallow studied now bitter
sweet waves from where

Gone missing Dante's crunch
no accounting footprints in ash or
Chaucer his village

Proletariat and idiots beating
rice paddies thigh high
water syrupy with snakes

Jain my daughter
her child Maude
just fallen

Out of style again
in a chrome stroller
Jain of no command

Wishes many things
misses her father
will she know

The Jews cover their heads
the rich eclipse their eyes
I wore a circle on a chain

Rippling musculature black
rivers crashbang cheekbones
I wore a circle on a chain

Broadcast 9mm DAO
isolation blue hirsute
sea moss a society of

& afloat on a slither
bullets ripple unrung
what wild purple figs

Everything is out of sequence
i have made the world this way for

Are my
my god

Daughter gone now lost
to her own precious only
biology etymology tautology

History Grand Daughter
no traceable sniff no sugar
the R from 53rd Street to White Hall

My own enjambment bored
beating endstops.

22 September 2009

waiting room #1 / blah blah panic

Waiting Room #1

transfixed by me-ness
the uniformity of actualization

"Represent us! Dance our dance!
These here our potholes
Need your attention, now!
You may ignore the other
(he is
(she is
Not our handicap, nor is
Spread upon our 12-grain bread
Hand us that knife, and be prompt!"


There's no reason to panic
keep yr heart, bottle
& ball yr fists, now what to do but
explode, uncoil, strike
venom on this child's tongue

Do not panic, do not
it's more like a bite
now-then curl up,
let the screaming circulate
none of the smallest will survive.

demoralize, train song

i always begin with i
keep off immortalize
slow hands in the dark
red eyes type a mouse
quivering mouth, i don't
want to begin with, i
what is on your teeth?
where might i go today? i
know how to get there.

the shoes with the weathered stitch
i do not want to immortalize you, i
let the sand swallow you, the sand
must forget you, move on now, to where
yr new black hat round rolling rocks
underfoot whimpering glass from the sea

a nagging, louder, louder louder
second hand, Bach rising from the dark
the senses' curtain falling into the bay

i crave, i crave, i
crawl, i demand i
immortalize only i

15 September 2009

Ms. Dog

Key is justify nothing &
I've learned from living here
Harden yourself but don't
Be bull-headed, I know poetry
& my art will spit in yr face

Surprise! It's poison! Or
It drips. Either accomplishes
My task: I know pantoum,
Villanelle, sonnet-sad phrases
I know Ms. Dog, blood running
From her fingertips, jumped
To her death to save her art
Which is not my art.

Most, Anne included, do not make it
Over the ledge
Without a field of daffodils
Filled with cotton gloves
For real
The only thing
Worth dreams
Is brick
Over the river.

That's a wall, That's a bridge
A cigar can be a cigar
Anything at all can be a wall

Logic and ledges meet here, where
Ill-tipped teeth scoff at common parlance
Knocking fingers idolized in railcars
In hollow things floating down stream
The black kid beating the sugary silence with his lips.

Here the dream meets what it is not
And the wall is just a ledge


The flowers are yellow there and there
And there, but not

I don't remember anything rhyme
Where did, what did mother teach?
There is no reason to spit

May I call this afraid?
My back to the washed cave wall
Here there are no drawings or songs
Cities or falls, there are daffodils implied
Just inside the suns comport

The meaning of pastoral, ode wanders
That we unlearn
and that and that, that
Our heads swing wildly

Beasts beyond chalky thought
We emerge hot and fast, redouble
Our thousand eyes blast the horizon
Cracking, baked beasts
Ledgeless & so far from Anne, now
Mired in an hour of night
We dare not describe thick, scum-like

The river beside out home does not replenish
It is a bridge, it is a wall, it is a bridge
It is the many hands of a friend, it is
toe-to-heel, toe-to-heel, it is curling
about the bed we share, just once for an old friend
and then, head swinging wildly, shakes off a dream.

12 September 2009

Flowers 2 / Grasslove

Flowers 2

All the flowers are dead
What kind where they?
No matter now
The light is not quite right
They cannot live.


Slow reptilian slithering underfoot the dewey brush
Thrusting starward aspires to glove a wing pinch and twist
All must fall when love fed by wine makes a wish

Stealing from Macy's

JS is write teacher

to. Loosen up! That's it
Now, associate thought
with one day when i was
a kid i found a blue

dis. What really words
Can do how they patter
like rain in my hands, cool
become hottt drops in a real
panthers bound to catch

thr. Patterns of loss cracked
Something will dance where
the air gets in. I'm blind
from punishing my eyes image
the air get sin, rottten

tee. The best we can do
Eponymous, lasting handsome
hands fault line-e-eye closed
finally we feel what we want
drizzle detritus now that's loose!

I've Eaten Nothing

Where is our future
If you keep giving up
I brush the rock, new fingers
inhale, digest dirt under our bed
stop writing bad checks
brought my looking-glass to the bank
bounced the tiny yellow ball off every
wall ceiling floor in our progressively
larger black room
cut the crud from gummy sneaker soles
Every nut's cracked open now
I've eaten nothing to see
Breathless so long on the stage
under the cheap seats
at the Opera House (Which must orbit, it must!)
Catch packs of penguins trapped at the zoo
without the foggiest clue what to do
the chord in your eyes
humless and numb
the hammer hysterical abseil
willing so-willing among eyes
swept back
like patterns pattering like
"Everything will be okay, I promise," ... "Yes, I promise."

And then sound
brush over rock
steady breath
blue ink.

The Point

is that climbing a rock
will eventually put you at odds
with gravity, hand crushed inside
an infinitely loving mother's, you
reach a blood-shaped moment
where grinning fatality sticks and bops
the dry, prickly seed cowardice
rams down your throat, and without
justification but cold stretch toward
the nobler path. the attacking face.

The point
is to command advice
and shove it up your lover's ass.

03 September 2009


life here is the thing of target
anyone jumping to their death
off any appropriately high thing
must surely have a target imagine
the incongruous bull's eye our heart
splattered a bucket
of yellow dye
dropped from waist high
we know the thing must fall but we
hope to give rise like a poet panting
so we give our ambition aim
onto the new-sick stroller of a child
or we burst like a bird from wet clouds
full of grace hungry still for fish
fresh flesh
or flip a penny
the arc's mimic caught
momentarily like a feather in the wind
plummets bounces rolls
finally resting on its head
where it's safe at last
to close your eyes.