improv for Roget's International, sixth edition; 12212010723

languish                                              there's a willful poem

pine                                              once written

droop                                              cast up from some growth

flag                                              cracking the dry soil despite

wilt                                              itself it is no organic spice

fade                                              emerging jointed death

wither                                              crows from source

diminish                                              rolling like the shadow beside

dry up                                              a pitted pinless hand grenade

retrograde                                              and it's no wonderful loud thing

languish                                              the poem whittles

pine                                              into grain which it's dull-eyed author cannot

droop                                              a declarative statement breaches the water 

flag                                              at the top of its arc flattens out — pin-straight

wilt                                              a moment and just a moment a clearing

fade                                              of the mind — wipes white the wash

wither                                              horizon weak and sight from where

diminish                                               every illness wills its end 

dry up                                              though many good things never began

retrograde                                              under gaze of mind's accomplished rend.

[improv for sarah, 12192010927] or [rudhira okha cardame; blood, gauche and light on glass, 3 x 4"]

there are the old tropes

the reaper swinging his grim scowl

a distant, longing victim

chained to posts and deep mercy

vultures contemplating victimhood

their flapping contrapositives 

their lack of teeth does not them lack

but to snuff the fire, the impulse toward flame

even in the prolonged suffering of birth

ignites in a quick jerk and flags between

breaths. they're abundant and filthy

proud deniers, dirty foxhole diggers 

want what they want and what do they want.

split infinity

The woman is above me and her body chants
Colloid mane washes across my face
Honey drips, undresses, digs her heels into my tongue
My fingers buried in her unexpected softness, trace
adipose at the shoulders, pure white grace
the bell of silence struck and sung
but colorless, maybe real never rung.

...

[posted:12012010-edit1:12032010]
[edit2:12042010-edit3:12052010]
[edit4:12092010-edit5:12192010]

(i just can't fiddle with the diction
anymore it's time to move on.)

untitled 112720102142, draft

on eight purple post-it notes
i sketch the sure sound of my heel
striking the rug / yr scampering heartbeat escapes
and climbs beside my eye, into my ears
fills my lungs. i'll try to keep my cup
far enough from, i have proven ruin
so i'm unable to promise this spill.

...

[posted 11272010 - revised 11302010]

untitled 101120101104

sour, profitless things
cat hair, drifting clumps of dog
when my lover wakes soft and unwashed
she tosses my cover to the floor

she partitions, in other words.

brushes her teeth, applies a mask
washes her face then anoints the map
like a slippery film, guaranteeing breath
when miles from the unmade mess she
strikes a flint and sparks the slick veneer

pain makes her proud.

it's fine to walk to slivers
of yellow and pockets of red
to market, bank and cafe, never pointing
the bally of tourists on its way

"the snake oil," whispers each wryly visitor
"tames her violet scarring;" now toils
she sniffs her way uptown
such thick lids and eyes quick to boil

"she gets around."

and then, at night,
wish out the light and reapply her face,
place each piece beside each piece
precisely where each piece belongs

she partitions the pain that makes her proud
she gets around, for me she got around
stands up, looks up at her feet, the visitors
in this crowd help keep the scarring down.

Improv for My Pet Ostrich

yr wide eyes would know beyond this here doorframe
if yr head was yr only; yesterday the sky is clear and blue
each cloud throws blocks; blocking, each cloud spins across
a definite line, parallel yet flagging above the horizon
like a thread, loosed from the loose hem hanging off
the shoulder of an expensive navy jacket,that you'll
never ever see.

nah, you miss it completely.

Ars G., 110420101035

At the top of the stair
As sure as the outreached hand
Is collared and wet
Cold to the freckle on his wrist
He's sure Laughter is half down the stair
And that apparition fingering the doorbell
Would serve cause better completely ignored.

rough draft, 102820101655

i know or do not know you
beside the heft of your legs
& knit-black stockings; i do not
need nor save need in the glut,
the choking overabundance(: starts
the pulse feather, quick scrape
over the hall of tongue; cough
rich with purpose, the body, harmony
a wallet full between my legs; cough
again a selfish exhaling as if
peering through a mirror through a mirror)
of gastric detail.

Staring palms
accepting
his comfort
fingers
reddening the thigh
flesh
on flesh.

Only

I can only think about the coldness
Of the green water, how the initial
Shock makes the skin alive with purpose
How I demand to be alive.

untitled 10152010410