It is a terrible thing
to believe in someone
who believes in nothing
but their own weakness
Just as it is a terrible
thing to believe in someone
who believes only in
your weakness
-2008
Thursday, January 1, 2009
Jodie's Lament
Be Careful,
Mother always said
There's a lot of cannibals out there,
and you do so want to be useful
dearest
Further, every day
a speck in the ocean
then white, then nothing
-2008
Mother always said
There's a lot of cannibals out there,
and you do so want to be useful
dearest
Further, every day
a speck in the ocean
then white, then nothing
-2008
The War of Frightened Children
It's not our fault it's not our our you I
toys keep breaking why weren't they made
to last and no one wants to play with
our broken toys no one wants to play and
If we keep hitting them and hitting them
and crying and crying sooner or later
mommy will notice and
come,
take us home.
-2008
toys keep breaking why weren't they made
to last and no one wants to play with
our broken toys no one wants to play and
If we keep hitting them and hitting them
and crying and crying sooner or later
mommy will notice and
come,
take us home.
-2008
Dave writes a letter to the ex
Woke up and for a moment
I thought you were lying
next to me. Reached out my
arm --- trying
to touch your face
as you slept, and
knocked over the lamp
giving myself a concussion.
I think it's time I get a cat,
babe.
-2008
I thought you were lying
next to me. Reached out my
arm --- trying
to touch your face
as you slept, and
knocked over the lamp
giving myself a concussion.
I think it's time I get a cat,
babe.
-2008
Harry and Patrick
Harry was a fisherman. When he wasn't out at sea in his little boat, he liked to sit on the little wooden stool up the path from his tiny house on the coast of the Isle of Man and smoke his pipe. It was a hard life, but a wonderful world, he often thought to himself. Out across the water, he could make out the faint swell of green that was Hibernia's distant shore.
That's funny, lad he thought as he sat and smoked, watching the waters turn red from the setting sun It almost sounds like music Then he realized the water was moving, not the way it should, lapping against the shore, but also from side to side.
"What the devil..?" he got out, rising to his feet, seeing for the first time that the surface of the water was boiling and writhing with a mass of snakes--dark snakes, black water snakes, thick green serpents and wurms of all kinds. He turned to the house to call back to his wife and then they broke from the water and onto the shore, writhing, coiling and sliding over him, knocking him down in their haste to be away and for a long moment he was covered in cool wet scales that dragged over him, drying themselves from the brine of the northern sea, and then they were gone, just a rustle in the grass. Only his breathing was harsh and laboured in his ears. He rolled over--the grass was flattened in both directions, as far as he could see. In the distance he could hear it rustling. He got to his hands and knees, looking shakily at the water. Nothing more rose from it. He looked back over his shoulder. The snakes had gone, pressing inland, further away from the isle, as if they were running. As if they were....
Still shaking, he got to his feet and began to head back to his hut, calling to his wife as he went.
****
Seven weeks later, Patrick was standing in a fair near Tara, preaching to the crowd about how all the beasts of the field and birds of the air served the lord. It was a beautiful, elegant sermon, and he was three-quarters of the way through when the rotten apple was hurled at the back of his head.
"That was for the bloody serpents, ya great ugly roman beastie!" someone at the back of the crowd yelled.
Three minutes later a crowd of fifty enraged Irishmen were chasing Harry back towards the coast of Hibernia.
-2008
That's funny, lad he thought as he sat and smoked, watching the waters turn red from the setting sun It almost sounds like music Then he realized the water was moving, not the way it should, lapping against the shore, but also from side to side.
"What the devil..?" he got out, rising to his feet, seeing for the first time that the surface of the water was boiling and writhing with a mass of snakes--dark snakes, black water snakes, thick green serpents and wurms of all kinds. He turned to the house to call back to his wife and then they broke from the water and onto the shore, writhing, coiling and sliding over him, knocking him down in their haste to be away and for a long moment he was covered in cool wet scales that dragged over him, drying themselves from the brine of the northern sea, and then they were gone, just a rustle in the grass. Only his breathing was harsh and laboured in his ears. He rolled over--the grass was flattened in both directions, as far as he could see. In the distance he could hear it rustling. He got to his hands and knees, looking shakily at the water. Nothing more rose from it. He looked back over his shoulder. The snakes had gone, pressing inland, further away from the isle, as if they were running. As if they were....
Still shaking, he got to his feet and began to head back to his hut, calling to his wife as he went.
****
Seven weeks later, Patrick was standing in a fair near Tara, preaching to the crowd about how all the beasts of the field and birds of the air served the lord. It was a beautiful, elegant sermon, and he was three-quarters of the way through when the rotten apple was hurled at the back of his head.
"That was for the bloody serpents, ya great ugly roman beastie!" someone at the back of the crowd yelled.
Three minutes later a crowd of fifty enraged Irishmen were chasing Harry back towards the coast of Hibernia.
-2008
Winter
When they finally broke through into the cave of golden quartz, they found Winter, suspended from the cavernous, geode-ridden ceiling in what looked like a cocoon of spun glass, eyes closed, resting, seemingly at peace. Their breath hung in the air before them. Their eyes watered and bled. Fingers, even wrapped warmly in mittens and gloves of fur and cloth, stung and burned in the chill, dry air. From one angle, Winter appeared to be an ancient man, terribly thin and bent like a gargoyle. From another, as you stepped further into the cave looking up, Winter appeared to be an enormous woman, all curve and chamber, asleep within her transparent boudoir. The men gathered around, slowly, fearfully, hands gripping their digging tools. They were hard men, and half-crazy from the task they had set themselves, but even so, the presence of a God was a fearful thing, and for what seemed the longest time they stood and looked up at Winter, afraid to speak, afraid to move, waiting for music, waiting for the ancient being to open an eye, or move, or acknowledge them, until the chill had settled into their bones and they grew tired and thought how good it would be to lie down for just a minute......
It was a man named Brendan Arthur, a red-bearded farmer who had lost his daughter two years ago in a snowstorm in November, a gentle girl who had loved music and animals. She had fled out to the barn when the blizzard struck, suddenly and without warning as late-Fall blizzards often do, fled to the barn to make sure the cows were alright, and had not made it back to the house. They found her the next day. She had always been headstrong, like her mother, her mother who had left Brendan, whey-faced and begging, four months later, in the Spring, as soon as she could realistically be out of that house that was like a grave to her.....
memories flashed through Brendan Arthur's mind, and with a low, angry roar that reverberated through the icy chamber, he stepped forward, lifted his pick-axe over his head with both hands and swung it upward at Winter's resting-place.
Two great, golden eyes snapped open in a transparent face just as the axe's point struck the flawless, rounded surface of the resting-chamber. No one had time to speak. No one had time to move. The glass shattered, with an echoing like a thousand tonnes of water being swept over a falls in Summer, and the cold wind caught the glass shards, with an angry buzzing sound, sending them spinning through the chamber, among the men who had been staring upward at their doom, at their prize, at Brendan Arthur's angry, disconsolate cry, and his upraised arms and his staring, agonizing, remembering eyes, stripping the meat from his bones, and the men next to him, and the men next to them, a hundred thousand tiny shards of angry, buzzing glass that left the room filled with a thick red mist that slowly settled, leaving only broken glass and the bones of men who had sought payment for what they believed had been an injustice done.
It is a bad thing for a man to kill a god.
That is why the great snowfall has lasted three full seasons now, with no letting up in sight.
For Winter has lost its body, thanks to one act of human folly, and now roams, freely and enraged, through the lands of men and women. A restless Winter, howling and angry in the long night, raging at the indignity of having its resting place found, found and trespassed against ....
-2008
It was a man named Brendan Arthur, a red-bearded farmer who had lost his daughter two years ago in a snowstorm in November, a gentle girl who had loved music and animals. She had fled out to the barn when the blizzard struck, suddenly and without warning as late-Fall blizzards often do, fled to the barn to make sure the cows were alright, and had not made it back to the house. They found her the next day. She had always been headstrong, like her mother, her mother who had left Brendan, whey-faced and begging, four months later, in the Spring, as soon as she could realistically be out of that house that was like a grave to her.....
memories flashed through Brendan Arthur's mind, and with a low, angry roar that reverberated through the icy chamber, he stepped forward, lifted his pick-axe over his head with both hands and swung it upward at Winter's resting-place.
Two great, golden eyes snapped open in a transparent face just as the axe's point struck the flawless, rounded surface of the resting-chamber. No one had time to speak. No one had time to move. The glass shattered, with an echoing like a thousand tonnes of water being swept over a falls in Summer, and the cold wind caught the glass shards, with an angry buzzing sound, sending them spinning through the chamber, among the men who had been staring upward at their doom, at their prize, at Brendan Arthur's angry, disconsolate cry, and his upraised arms and his staring, agonizing, remembering eyes, stripping the meat from his bones, and the men next to him, and the men next to them, a hundred thousand tiny shards of angry, buzzing glass that left the room filled with a thick red mist that slowly settled, leaving only broken glass and the bones of men who had sought payment for what they believed had been an injustice done.
It is a bad thing for a man to kill a god.
That is why the great snowfall has lasted three full seasons now, with no letting up in sight.
For Winter has lost its body, thanks to one act of human folly, and now roams, freely and enraged, through the lands of men and women. A restless Winter, howling and angry in the long night, raging at the indignity of having its resting place found, found and trespassed against ....
-2008
Sunday, June 1, 2008
The Beggar's Lovesong
I still have the sores you left in my mouth
and when I bite down, your kisses still linger.
-2008
and when I bite down, your kisses still linger.
-2008
Anemone
Blackness - Still velvet all around but
for a white diamond that could be a face -
The weight of people pressed in from all
sides. This is too much this is no air left
to breathe - just hot stink and other people's
noise - and knees and elbows brushing you
like eyelashes, the roar of the crowd trapping
you in their echo - it takes a village, babydoll
it takes a village.
Writhing plants at the bottom of the ocean,
never needing to come up for air.
-2008
Plan B
I panicked
when the bombs went off
I should have hugged your
close like a skeleton
instead of charging inward
towards red brick
shelter
animal instinct no excuse
like a deer, I bolted
and perhaps
there was nothing I could
have done
but I needed to try
to find out
(hadn't exercised these muscles)
(in too long)
And now the world is boiling
grey and full
of steam
I loved you and I love you and I do
And you know, I'm sure
Even I don't know what to
All that time I wasted
when things were green
smoke and ash
and broken bones
My lady of darkness
My world is a cracked and painted vase
an empty jar, filled with echoes
(they dragged you by the hair, why did they drag you?)
I say this is power
to grow into these words
(lazy and slow, your portrait
forever lodged inside my)
this is power
to have this attention
silent, hushed
a chorus of ghosts
on every word
this is power
to serve as cautionary
for children who
will never be
I drink love like water
I spit love like a curse
Because no one else is
left to
I don't know if it's power
But I let you
slide into the storm
slack and listening
to the world burn
distracted
by the flash
I could not blame you
could not compete
with the poison
could not sing
(funny how the dust
leaves your mouth
when all is ash)
I could not blame you
And I will crawl
across this dust and
mud and charcoal
if need be
twisting like a snake
spit the smoke
between my teeth
and cling to you
like a dried and burning
skeleton, whisper
i love you
at long last
cling like an infant
an old man and a lover
and watch the dust
that used to be a world
long before us
here at the breaking
red wet muscle
in the lasted world
will be torn out
and thrown down
if it can be
found for you
and carried
like dreamsmoke
my love.
All the lies
have been burned
away
And now
I need your scars
to make me
whole.
-2008
when the bombs went off
I should have hugged your
close like a skeleton
instead of charging inward
towards red brick
shelter
animal instinct no excuse
like a deer, I bolted
and perhaps
there was nothing I could
have done
but I needed to try
to find out
(hadn't exercised these muscles)
(in too long)
And now the world is boiling
grey and full
of steam
I loved you and I love you and I do
And you know, I'm sure
Even I don't know what to
All that time I wasted
when things were green
smoke and ash
and broken bones
My lady of darkness
My world is a cracked and painted vase
an empty jar, filled with echoes
(they dragged you by the hair, why did they drag you?)
I say this is power
to grow into these words
(lazy and slow, your portrait
forever lodged inside my)
this is power
to have this attention
silent, hushed
a chorus of ghosts
on every word
this is power
to serve as cautionary
for children who
will never be
I drink love like water
I spit love like a curse
Because no one else is
left to
I don't know if it's power
But I let you
slide into the storm
slack and listening
to the world burn
distracted
by the flash
I could not blame you
could not compete
with the poison
could not sing
(funny how the dust
leaves your mouth
when all is ash)
I could not blame you
And I will crawl
across this dust and
mud and charcoal
if need be
twisting like a snake
spit the smoke
between my teeth
and cling to you
like a dried and burning
skeleton, whisper
i love you
at long last
cling like an infant
an old man and a lover
and watch the dust
that used to be a world
long before us
here at the breaking
red wet muscle
in the lasted world
will be torn out
and thrown down
if it can be
found for you
and carried
like dreamsmoke
my love.
All the lies
have been burned
away
And now
I need your scars
to make me
whole.
-2008
Monday, December 31, 2007
Soma
I.
Your fingers taste like blueberries,
your smile, like sugarcane in Summer
and this warmth that radiates from within,
will get me through
these waking hours
'till next we meet.
II.
I will
break the
fingers
of the
Gods
one by one
like old dead
branches
until they
let us go
you and I.
III.
Every day we shake ourselves to pieces
and have the chance to be born again
Grey-eyed burning children of the stars.
-2007
Your fingers taste like blueberries,
your smile, like sugarcane in Summer
and this warmth that radiates from within,
will get me through
these waking hours
'till next we meet.
II.
I will
break the
fingers
of the
Gods
one by one
like old dead
branches
until they
let us go
you and I.
III.
Every day we shake ourselves to pieces
and have the chance to be born again
Grey-eyed burning children of the stars.
-2007
LifeBlocking
I have a mask
of polished steel
that keeps the world
from burning.
Some people, like phantom limbs
ache because of the value they give
to the space where they remain forever
unattached.
I was never fast enough
to compete with the drugs
the church, the 9 to 5
the hand on your shoulder
the grin in your eyes, the
hey you give me meaning
hey you make me wanna-
Dark and windswept, luminous
and when I open my mouth to
say I love - when I
open my mouth to say I think-
all the words they turn to snakes
falling
twisting
And her face a blank white screen
there's no story to be told here
no miracles.
Blake was a lunatic- Keats a pasty worm
who died on the run from everything that
loved him, bloody bubbles obscuring his
greatful smile.
Let me tell you right now, son:
Your dreams, any dreams,
are not worth having.
They only lead to cold gray bathwater,
circling the drain.
We're all locked in.
Maybe if I was miserable
Alone
Maybe if I was
together, I could be-
There never was a party
there never was a story
all that was in the box,
in the end, was a complaint.
I've slept enough--It's time to tell
exactly what I know
(I've as much right
as any other monkey)
I am sorry for the past.
I am sorry for the present.
I am sorry for the future.
Peel apart my side
Reach in,
and draw out fire.
-2007
Who is John Updike?
The record's stuck and ski
and ski and ipping
little rabbit gotta
tell me what you
can imagine.
Immortality is
fine, baby
(for immortals)
and Immorality
is fine
for the rest
of us.
These yellow teeth
smiling in my forehead.
Let's us walk and shake
and whistle like wolves
celebrating past
mysteries.
Now:
Skinned, like dead rabbits.
-2007
Bartleby
There is no myth, that's what they say
No choice to blame for broken days
nothing invariable, nothing inviolate
this is how you pull it all apart:
After all - chance led us down the mountain
into a lesser world.
I was programmed to fear God
and I was programmed to fear song
and I was programmed to fear
Like cockroaches in daylight
the old doubts all vanish
slipping down the bell curve
There is no right, but
Our explosions are golden
theirs are silver and there
is no right but the noise
we make when we hit the ground
-2007
Sunday, October 21, 2007
Dust
Stone Forests Spreading
Breaking new ground
every time you cut off
a limb you can always
regrow it (you've got)
time you've got lots
of spikes and spires
Here in the Jungle
Fingers pressed to
each cold blossom
you can tell yourself
you are just one
snowflake in an
avalanche
just one insect
in a hive so you
don't have to feel
responsible
so you don't
bleed
all over
perfect
white
flowers
-2007
Breaking new ground
every time you cut off
a limb you can always
regrow it (you've got)
time you've got lots
of spikes and spires
Here in the Jungle
Fingers pressed to
each cold blossom
you can tell yourself
you are just one
snowflake in an
avalanche
just one insect
in a hive so you
don't have to feel
responsible
so you don't
bleed
all over
perfect
white
flowers
-2007
Saturday, October 13, 2007
Babbet
We all run
like ants
in the sand
like children
racing towards
the welcoming
roar of a
waterfall.
We all run
eager to please
the gods.
-2007
like ants
in the sand
like children
racing towards
the welcoming
roar of a
waterfall.
We all run
eager to please
the gods.
-2007
Ant Lion
Like a tremor,
deep in the earth
these fears, spiral
down and disappear.
You could watch
forever.
The sun is down
and the sand is
cool and we are
all brothers here
We are all
what we are
supposed to
be--
This is how
you paint yourself
red and stand
still, waiting for
a hundred years.
-2007
deep in the earth
these fears, spiral
down and disappear.
You could watch
forever.
The sun is down
and the sand is
cool and we are
all brothers here
We are all
what we are
supposed to
be--
This is how
you paint yourself
red and stand
still, waiting for
a hundred years.
-2007
Monday, October 8, 2007
Anniversary
Sleep.
Cut me away. The fat
the gristle, the bone
and hanging skin, all
the flake and foam and
waste drained into the
soil.
Just keep the words
close to your heart.
That's all I ask. Let
the questions linger
like secrets dancing
behind closed eyelids
as you
-2007
Cut me away. The fat
the gristle, the bone
and hanging skin, all
the flake and foam and
waste drained into the
soil.
Just keep the words
close to your heart.
That's all I ask. Let
the questions linger
like secrets dancing
behind closed eyelids
as you
-2007
Autumn
There is a house
of green and red
branches far away
that we all come
home to, curled
like woodsmoke
curled like old
cats purring in
our sleep as
knotted muscles
twitch with the
effort of joy
chasing treasure
we can never taste
in our dreams as
we lie, tarnished
and faded, breathing
shallowly, smiling
and warmed by the
fire at the heart
of the forest
-2007
of green and red
branches far away
that we all come
home to, curled
like woodsmoke
curled like old
cats purring in
our sleep as
knotted muscles
twitch with the
effort of joy
chasing treasure
we can never taste
in our dreams as
we lie, tarnished
and faded, breathing
shallowly, smiling
and warmed by the
fire at the heart
of the forest
-2007
Friday, September 7, 2007
Golden Years
No one remembers where you've gone.
Everybody's too busy to think and
these woods are so deep and soft.
It would be for the best to sit here
and let the moss grow
like any race-
some people take steroids
and some people just can't
keep up.
Discretion is the better part
of valor, after all, and the
meek shall, the meek shall,
the meek shall inherit
the earth
long after
nobody else
wants it.
-2007
Everybody's too busy to think and
these woods are so deep and soft.
It would be for the best to sit here
and let the moss grow
like any race-
some people take steroids
and some people just can't
keep up.
Discretion is the better part
of valor, after all, and the
meek shall, the meek shall,
the meek shall inherit
the earth
long after
nobody else
wants it.
-2007
Narcissus
He sits in the same spot, everyday
waiting-
It's been years and he's still there.
Someday, she'll come back, he knows
and he wants to be there. He'll buy
a coffee, and she'll get some tea
and everything will be alright again.
The lines on his face, reflected
in the windowlight, don't they
make him look just a little more?
-2007
waiting-
It's been years and he's still there.
Someday, she'll come back, he knows
and he wants to be there. He'll buy
a coffee, and she'll get some tea
and everything will be alright again.
The lines on his face, reflected
in the windowlight, don't they
make him look just a little more?
-2007
21
These secrets-- midnight rainstorms
snow falling in August, red waters
petrified wood. All the things you
dream about when no-one's watching.
We always kill the goose who lays
the golden eggs, you know that. So
what would you rather have? gratitude
or your life?
-2007
snow falling in August, red waters
petrified wood. All the things you
dream about when no-one's watching.
We always kill the goose who lays
the golden eggs, you know that. So
what would you rather have? gratitude
or your life?
-2007
Wednesday, September 5, 2007
There's one in every town
Finally found your car, after all this time
Off the road, right before the river's bend
half-hidden by the willow branches someone'd
left covering the windshield, surrounded by
green and brown. I climbed in, sat, tried
to smell you in the upholstery, but couldn't.
Someone (was it you?) had snapped off the key
in the ignition and I couldn't do anything
but leave it there. There was nothing in the
glove compartment, no note, no maps, the
little plastic elephant I kept for luck was
gone, too. I sat for hours, trying to imagine
you driving off the road, parking under the
leaves, but couldn't. Failure of imagination,
I guess, and all those warm nights we spent.
We don't have money, but we have each other
was the last thing you said, driving away. I
watched you crest that hill, already waiting
for your return-- We have each other
The sky was red, and the crickets were singing.
-2007
Off the road, right before the river's bend
half-hidden by the willow branches someone'd
left covering the windshield, surrounded by
green and brown. I climbed in, sat, tried
to smell you in the upholstery, but couldn't.
Someone (was it you?) had snapped off the key
in the ignition and I couldn't do anything
but leave it there. There was nothing in the
glove compartment, no note, no maps, the
little plastic elephant I kept for luck was
gone, too. I sat for hours, trying to imagine
you driving off the road, parking under the
leaves, but couldn't. Failure of imagination,
I guess, and all those warm nights we spent.
We don't have money, but we have each other
was the last thing you said, driving away. I
watched you crest that hill, already waiting
for your return-- We have each other
The sky was red, and the crickets were singing.
-2007
Sunday, August 12, 2007
Not Drowing, but Waving
I had the dream again my dear,
the other night----somewhere
you've never been, but you know
like that; We were on some perfect
beach, beneath a burning glass you
were in the water I on shore
doing something instantly forgotten
of immeasurable importance in my chair
while you splashed and waved into the
water falling backward suddenly
arms above your head, called for help
in the dream I thought it was a joke
laughed and returned your wave until
you slipped beneath the broken crystal
surface ripples stopped
As I raced into the water (I couldn't feel
that chill around my calves--not in dreams)
splashing about in wet undersea sand
for you there was no one there only
handfuls of wet dirt that I muddied
the water with grasping blindly.
(I had my glasses off, couldn't see
a thing).
Then I awoke, to find out while asleep,
I'd walled myself up inside a room of red brick.
-2007
the other night----somewhere
you've never been, but you know
like that; We were on some perfect
beach, beneath a burning glass you
were in the water I on shore
doing something instantly forgotten
of immeasurable importance in my chair
while you splashed and waved into the
water falling backward suddenly
arms above your head, called for help
in the dream I thought it was a joke
laughed and returned your wave until
you slipped beneath the broken crystal
surface ripples stopped
As I raced into the water (I couldn't feel
that chill around my calves--not in dreams)
splashing about in wet undersea sand
for you there was no one there only
handfuls of wet dirt that I muddied
the water with grasping blindly.
(I had my glasses off, couldn't see
a thing).
Then I awoke, to find out while asleep,
I'd walled myself up inside a room of red brick.
-2007
Cold Comfort
but,
I still have a piece of the moon,
every now and then I take it out
hold it in my hand, cool and hard
until the skin blisters---
I remember what
it was like to
watch it dance
even if I can't
speak the words.
You can't see the sky, these days
-2007
Tuesday, August 7, 2007
Snivelisation
El Paco die Epson salts
die habbera habba
nicht war mes amis
de sal sal sol
ora soley doll
vobiscum cum laude
like smoke, sticking to your shirt
you can still hear the shrieking
of the pigs, when they fell. Now
where you gonna run to?
no rock to hide here, just dust
(justice) cactus juice dripping
down your chin
from howling at the moon
from eating
Let's eat out tonight, honeybee
Let's just--greatest hits
kicking up dust in the desert
Like a GMC doing donuts on your
front lawn. Back when you had
a green thumb.
Fingers bloody, digging cracked
brickwork out of white sand.
*
The man in the grey cubicle
had even white eyes, no pupil
no iris.
said
"We'll take it under advisement."
said
"A professional atmosphere is the mark of civilisation."
said
"...." liquid fat spilling from his mouth
said
"Call me an ambulance!"
said
"RAAAAAAAAYYYYYYYYYYYYYUGHHHHHHHH"
said
"oh mother, I'm dying."
stink pulled up into the vents by the A/C
as the glistening crud piled up on his desk
terrible liquid noises in his throat
as he flopped, face-down, into it.
Before the receptionist could give CPR
the office's shock-proof windowglass
burst inwards
turkey vulture swooping
alighting on his lard-spattered skull
"THIS IS WHERE YOU SHALL BUILD YOUR CITY."
pulling off his left ear after it croaked out.
The office drones looked at each other,
shrugged, and went to gather the bricks.
*
Policeman with a cup of coffee:
"I'm getting too old for this."
And with a sigh, turned in his notice
and went to off to learn Mandarin,
start a new career.
*
You know you're the only sane one left
the others went out the window with the pigs
fingers in your throat, digging, pulling
tearing that slime away from your flesh
*
All the fillings in his teeth exploded,
lighting up the night sky for miles around.
The desert runs in all directions now,
sand spilling to the street below
twenty stories down.
"You can see it from space."
he muttered
and died happy.
*
Time is a dressmaker specializing in alterations.
-Faith Baldwin.
-2007
die habbera habba
nicht war mes amis
de sal sal sol
ora soley doll
vobiscum cum laude
like smoke, sticking to your shirt
you can still hear the shrieking
of the pigs, when they fell. Now
where you gonna run to?
no rock to hide here, just dust
(justice) cactus juice dripping
down your chin
from howling at the moon
from eating
Let's eat out tonight, honeybee
Let's just--greatest hits
kicking up dust in the desert
Like a GMC doing donuts on your
front lawn. Back when you had
a green thumb.
Fingers bloody, digging cracked
brickwork out of white sand.
*
The man in the grey cubicle
had even white eyes, no pupil
no iris.
said
"We'll take it under advisement."
said
"A professional atmosphere is the mark of civilisation."
said
"...." liquid fat spilling from his mouth
said
"Call me an ambulance!"
said
"RAAAAAAAAYYYYYYYYYYYYYUGHHHHHHHH"
said
"oh mother, I'm dying."
stink pulled up into the vents by the A/C
as the glistening crud piled up on his desk
terrible liquid noises in his throat
as he flopped, face-down, into it.
Before the receptionist could give CPR
the office's shock-proof windowglass
burst inwards
turkey vulture swooping
alighting on his lard-spattered skull
"THIS IS WHERE YOU SHALL BUILD YOUR CITY."
pulling off his left ear after it croaked out.
The office drones looked at each other,
shrugged, and went to gather the bricks.
*
Policeman with a cup of coffee:
"I'm getting too old for this."
And with a sigh, turned in his notice
and went to off to learn Mandarin,
start a new career.
*
You know you're the only sane one left
the others went out the window with the pigs
fingers in your throat, digging, pulling
tearing that slime away from your flesh
*
All the fillings in his teeth exploded,
lighting up the night sky for miles around.
The desert runs in all directions now,
sand spilling to the street below
twenty stories down.
"You can see it from space."
he muttered
and died happy.
*
Time is a dressmaker specializing in alterations.
-Faith Baldwin.
-2007
The Compass
North
This is what metal is made of, like broken
glass pressed between your teeth and still
smiling. This is your ascension to floor 9
This is your bad dream from which nobody
Heaven and Earth stop and tremble at the
at the sound of singing - at the sound of
waking. Your children cannot see the moon
but you can and you can taste fresh steak
on your tongue even if your fingernails are
red are cracked and when did this happen?
The silver doors slide open, the music stops
you can see for miles steel forest you can
see
West
We rub the red ash into our faces down here
like we're making masks, like blowing smoke
building towers just by dirtying our nails.
There are no walls and there is no roof, no
floor, just the cracked earth underfoot and
if you're careful, you could cut yourself.
Wearing crimson feathers wearing plastic beads
spinning clockwise, feet stomp, hands clap
leaving smudges on nut-brown arms and chests
you could leave the world if you dance this
way. You could turn to the right and fall
upwards, gone like a broken bit of cloud
fly
South
Now you can trace the lines in your face
like it was the trunk of an ancient tree
curved and knotted. So you know the years
are there, but you don't remember them.
Nothing inside or out, all there is is
you and you are all there is (maybe).
As small as the world, and somehow empty
you don't wear your teeth anymore --
standing in front of the sink touching
blackened gums, treestumps, waiting for
the truth within to shine through. You
are finally God and soon you will
hatch
East
Tomorrow's children today, why fight outside
when you can wait another thousand years
to be born (red and screaming, making fists)
to be real (polished chrome, veins of glass)
climbing upwards burning ladders into the
night. Forever and a day we never could move
never could get these pins out of our bodies
get around them and turn the page, never could
but we know (some things should never be said
outright, speaking them limits them forever)
if we know nothing else, we know to burn the
book
and make the world anew.
-2007
This is what metal is made of, like broken
glass pressed between your teeth and still
smiling. This is your ascension to floor 9
This is your bad dream from which nobody
Heaven and Earth stop and tremble at the
at the sound of singing - at the sound of
waking. Your children cannot see the moon
but you can and you can taste fresh steak
on your tongue even if your fingernails are
red are cracked and when did this happen?
The silver doors slide open, the music stops
you can see for miles steel forest you can
see
West
We rub the red ash into our faces down here
like we're making masks, like blowing smoke
building towers just by dirtying our nails.
There are no walls and there is no roof, no
floor, just the cracked earth underfoot and
if you're careful, you could cut yourself.
Wearing crimson feathers wearing plastic beads
spinning clockwise, feet stomp, hands clap
leaving smudges on nut-brown arms and chests
you could leave the world if you dance this
way. You could turn to the right and fall
upwards, gone like a broken bit of cloud
fly
South
Now you can trace the lines in your face
like it was the trunk of an ancient tree
curved and knotted. So you know the years
are there, but you don't remember them.
Nothing inside or out, all there is is
you and you are all there is (maybe).
As small as the world, and somehow empty
you don't wear your teeth anymore --
standing in front of the sink touching
blackened gums, treestumps, waiting for
the truth within to shine through. You
are finally God and soon you will
hatch
East
Tomorrow's children today, why fight outside
when you can wait another thousand years
to be born (red and screaming, making fists)
to be real (polished chrome, veins of glass)
climbing upwards burning ladders into the
night. Forever and a day we never could move
never could get these pins out of our bodies
get around them and turn the page, never could
but we know (some things should never be said
outright, speaking them limits them forever)
if we know nothing else, we know to burn the
book
and make the world anew.
-2007
Monday, August 6, 2007
Hube's Song
I was an heiress in a former life.
The liberals aren't going to like that---
The liberals aren't going to like--
rows of lime green eyes, unblinking
taking in all the sights and sounds
the great slumbling slumbering mound
lost and lazy never got to babylon
taking in the dervish whirling
spinning spin spin, blue and bubbling
soul fighting to escape his throat
like a great white worm, bucking and
swelling inch by inch
fighting for freedom
dangling heavy and low
swinging to the studio floor
like some huge distended tongue
forcing itself from cracked
and bloody lips
cracked and red
Red dye #2. Now our sponsor.
Healthy autism no. 99 and he's
screaming on the cameras
he's screaming and I am screaming
and we woke up screaming
benzedrine benzedrine benzedrine
the name of god is benzedrine
and oh god on my lips and on my teeth
and on my tongue and I can still taste
you I can still remember the smell
of the fresh cut grass of the hay
and oh god of the benzedrine I can
no matter what I do no matter what I take
no matter where I stick myself with
pins or pray or swear or scream or
claw at the silence with my black and
bloody claws no matter what no matter
I cannot turn it off I cannot turn it off
oh god oh god I cannot turn it off
why won't you turn it off why won't you
Promises are made to be broken.
Like water on a dying man's lips
Like the mountains of the moon
far above the forests of the night
the tower of garbage and smoke
far above everywhereland, Inc.
These streets you recognize from a hundred
TV shows, filled with apes and imps
and shumbling corpses
walking barefoot/feet stained with the
spilled coffee grounds and leaking gasoline
the bottles and the needles and the broken glass
painting skin red planting seeds of plastic and
in human flesh like a tree grows in brooklyn
monkey smiles and monkey shines and bared teeth
all bared teeth and stinking everywhere
we always save the ego for last
so rich and tasty
and slumped like a broken puppet
in the beginning was the word but no words
no words this is the end of words and
this is the end of walking
and you can't add sand to a broken
hourglass no matter
what commands
piled high with
broken bones and
barbed wire, piled
high with burning
tires and unable
to move the legs
don't work fumbling
reaching around
to the hole in my
back someone took
my batteries
replaced them
with teeth, old
and yellow
rattling like a
dying whisper
rattling like
a graveyard
smile like
a monkey's
knowing eye
in the mountains
of the moon
No one deserves what's coming
No one deserves it
and we have become
no one
we have
one.
- 2007
The liberals aren't going to like that---
The liberals aren't going to like--
rows of lime green eyes, unblinking
taking in all the sights and sounds
the great slumbling slumbering mound
lost and lazy never got to babylon
taking in the dervish whirling
spinning spin spin, blue and bubbling
soul fighting to escape his throat
like a great white worm, bucking and
swelling inch by inch
fighting for freedom
dangling heavy and low
swinging to the studio floor
like some huge distended tongue
forcing itself from cracked
and bloody lips
cracked and red
Red dye #2. Now our sponsor.
Healthy autism no. 99 and he's
screaming on the cameras
he's screaming and I am screaming
and we woke up screaming
benzedrine benzedrine benzedrine
the name of god is benzedrine
and oh god on my lips and on my teeth
and on my tongue and I can still taste
you I can still remember the smell
of the fresh cut grass of the hay
and oh god of the benzedrine I can
no matter what I do no matter what I take
no matter where I stick myself with
pins or pray or swear or scream or
claw at the silence with my black and
bloody claws no matter what no matter
I cannot turn it off I cannot turn it off
oh god oh god I cannot turn it off
why won't you turn it off why won't you
Promises are made to be broken.
Like water on a dying man's lips
Like the mountains of the moon
far above the forests of the night
the tower of garbage and smoke
far above everywhereland, Inc.
These streets you recognize from a hundred
TV shows, filled with apes and imps
and shumbling corpses
walking barefoot/feet stained with the
spilled coffee grounds and leaking gasoline
the bottles and the needles and the broken glass
painting skin red planting seeds of plastic and
in human flesh like a tree grows in brooklyn
monkey smiles and monkey shines and bared teeth
all bared teeth and stinking everywhere
we always save the ego for last
so rich and tasty
and slumped like a broken puppet
in the beginning was the word but no words
no words this is the end of words and
this is the end of walking
and you can't add sand to a broken
hourglass no matter
what commands
piled high with
broken bones and
barbed wire, piled
high with burning
tires and unable
to move the legs
don't work fumbling
reaching around
to the hole in my
back someone took
my batteries
replaced them
with teeth, old
and yellow
rattling like a
dying whisper
rattling like
a graveyard
smile like
a monkey's
knowing eye
in the mountains
of the moon
No one deserves what's coming
No one deserves it
and we have become
no one
we have
one.
- 2007
The shoes of the whale.....
For Charles Mingus.
i.
In the dream, it is larger than the world
mottled hide hardening as it breaks the surface
a sound like kindling popping as flesh turns to wood
snapping into a thousand pieces as it rises, free
(in front of you showing itself) at last
and the sand under your feet is seething
not dust or mud, but worms—writhing, all around you
left or right--in both directions, until the world becomes a smudge
‘tween blue on blue and vanishes. And you can’t run can’t run
on worms or cracking wood above you the great beast splintering
and it’s all gone wrong the secret.
ii.
If you believe me when I tell you
That none of that time was wasted
Then we’ve already won. I forget
Who it was that said it, but the
Bastards need to be lucky a thousand
Times. We only need to be lucky
Once.
We have the Baka on our side. The Baka
And the Mayans and the Easter Islanders
And the Boddhavistas and the Franciscans.
Who do they have on their side?
Ronald McDonald going down in a hail of spears,
A black-shafted arrow jutting out of the greasepaint around
One beady black eye (like a doll’s eye, he said. Lifeless).
iii.
You cast your net under the drift of the Southern winds, and you wait.
Sometimes you lose the bait, and sometimes you keep it. Sometimes
You catch something, but sometimes you don’t. The sun dances past.
High above in the distance is something that may be a smudge of cloud
Or a puff of smoke, or a trick of the light,
falling past the blue, never stopping.
Circling and returning. It’s good to check in.
All sorts of things wash up on this beach.
Eels that glisten and hiss their dying breaths,
Tying themselves in knots to prevent their heads
From being torn away
Bones of great birds, species you could never catalogue
Picked clean by the fish and the currents. Bottles, filled
With model ships, with endless letters, white and yellow
And neatly lined parchment, adorned with stickers, with
Happy faces, with notes that say PLEASE READ. Bottles
With maps, and green mist that seethes and hisses and
Whines like a baby, asking to be left out.
Once, there was a waterlogged robot that rattled and sparked
And made a noise like a broken dishwasher for three days
Before it stopped. Once there was a small man wearing a grey suit
Who stared at you, bug-eyed, before exclaiming ‘This isn’t my stop!’
And diving back into the currents.
Summer could last for years and you wouldn’t ever
Need to leave.
IV.
Far below, in the black underneath the blue
Song still echoes between fading giants
Falling, singing each to each. Water falls
Upwards, here, spilling into the cool blue waves
Above
And climbing higher to rich purple
And then the black and cold white flame
All around, forever and amen
Caught up and spun hubward
On the winds of an ancient
Echoing void.
Heaven is
Heaven is
Learning how to fly.
-2007
i.
In the dream, it is larger than the world
mottled hide hardening as it breaks the surface
a sound like kindling popping as flesh turns to wood
snapping into a thousand pieces as it rises, free
(in front of you showing itself) at last
and the sand under your feet is seething
not dust or mud, but worms—writhing, all around you
left or right--in both directions, until the world becomes a smudge
‘tween blue on blue and vanishes. And you can’t run can’t run
on worms or cracking wood above you the great beast splintering
and it’s all gone wrong the secret.
ii.
If you believe me when I tell you
That none of that time was wasted
Then we’ve already won. I forget
Who it was that said it, but the
Bastards need to be lucky a thousand
Times. We only need to be lucky
Once.
We have the Baka on our side. The Baka
And the Mayans and the Easter Islanders
And the Boddhavistas and the Franciscans.
Who do they have on their side?
Ronald McDonald going down in a hail of spears,
A black-shafted arrow jutting out of the greasepaint around
One beady black eye (like a doll’s eye, he said. Lifeless).
iii.
You cast your net under the drift of the Southern winds, and you wait.
Sometimes you lose the bait, and sometimes you keep it. Sometimes
You catch something, but sometimes you don’t. The sun dances past.
High above in the distance is something that may be a smudge of cloud
Or a puff of smoke, or a trick of the light,
falling past the blue, never stopping.
Circling and returning. It’s good to check in.
All sorts of things wash up on this beach.
Eels that glisten and hiss their dying breaths,
Tying themselves in knots to prevent their heads
From being torn away
Bones of great birds, species you could never catalogue
Picked clean by the fish and the currents. Bottles, filled
With model ships, with endless letters, white and yellow
And neatly lined parchment, adorned with stickers, with
Happy faces, with notes that say PLEASE READ. Bottles
With maps, and green mist that seethes and hisses and
Whines like a baby, asking to be left out.
Once, there was a waterlogged robot that rattled and sparked
And made a noise like a broken dishwasher for three days
Before it stopped. Once there was a small man wearing a grey suit
Who stared at you, bug-eyed, before exclaiming ‘This isn’t my stop!’
And diving back into the currents.
Summer could last for years and you wouldn’t ever
Need to leave.
IV.
Far below, in the black underneath the blue
Song still echoes between fading giants
Falling, singing each to each. Water falls
Upwards, here, spilling into the cool blue waves
Above
And climbing higher to rich purple
And then the black and cold white flame
All around, forever and amen
Caught up and spun hubward
On the winds of an ancient
Echoing void.
Heaven is
Heaven is
Learning how to fly.
-2007
Down Gear
Go Slow
Slow Down
Here
The ice melts
The mud rises
to trap our jagged steel chariots
for a thousand years and a day.
For I am a thoughtless
Child and these clothes I wear
This real, this tin and iron crown
is all the vehicle that I need.
The North Wind kisses
the stones that rise
from your skin, leaving
jagged wounds in the crust.
-2007
Slow Down
Here
The ice melts
The mud rises
to trap our jagged steel chariots
for a thousand years and a day.
For I am a thoughtless
Child and these clothes I wear
This real, this tin and iron crown
is all the vehicle that I need.
The North Wind kisses
the stones that rise
from your skin, leaving
jagged wounds in the crust.
-2007
Oregon
The stars above are a net;
Silver in purple.
From this mountain
(This land is your land-)
you can feel all the land
stretched out like velvet,
towns scattered like dice.
(This land is my land-)
somehow itching, like new teeth
growing out from your mouth.
Soon: the sun will be rising
in the East. The wind up here
is cold but the light will
keep you warm and you could paint
and paint and paint forever
on this canvas.
-2007
Silver in purple.
From this mountain
(This land is your land-)
you can feel all the land
stretched out like velvet,
towns scattered like dice.
(This land is my land-)
somehow itching, like new teeth
growing out from your mouth.
Soon: the sun will be rising
in the East. The wind up here
is cold but the light will
keep you warm and you could paint
and paint and paint forever
on this canvas.
-2007
Wednesday, July 25, 2007
Empty Nest
Traffic was just picking up
and the sun was in your eyes
moving towards the shade so
at first you thought it was
a leaf, blown out from under
the car's bumper as it sped past
small and brown with a broken
back, wings splayed out against
the pavement, legs useless
tiny black eyes blinking at you
as it tried to figure out where
the sky had gone, why it was
lying
on the burning asphalt
and you walk on, stop, look around
other pedestrians walking past
eyes shielded, ears plugged
and there could be time to
take your hat off to run
down and scoop it up off
the street, but.
You don't move, nobody
until a sleek silver car
shoots past, tires going
goes straight over the bird's
spine, crushing it into
the roadway
shapeless rag
This is how we change the world.
'Are not two sparrows sold for a farthing? and one of them shall not fall on the ground without your Father knowing. But the very hairs of your head are all numbered. Fear ye not therefore, ye are of more value than many sparrows.'
-Matthew 10:29-31, KJV.
-2007
and the sun was in your eyes
moving towards the shade so
at first you thought it was
a leaf, blown out from under
the car's bumper as it sped past
small and brown with a broken
back, wings splayed out against
the pavement, legs useless
tiny black eyes blinking at you
as it tried to figure out where
the sky had gone, why it was
lying
on the burning asphalt
and you walk on, stop, look around
other pedestrians walking past
eyes shielded, ears plugged
and there could be time to
take your hat off to run
down and scoop it up off
the street, but.
You don't move, nobody
until a sleek silver car
shoots past, tires going
goes straight over the bird's
spine, crushing it into
the roadway
shapeless rag
This is how we change the world.
'Are not two sparrows sold for a farthing? and one of them shall not fall on the ground without your Father knowing. But the very hairs of your head are all numbered. Fear ye not therefore, ye are of more value than many sparrows.'
-Matthew 10:29-31, KJV.
-2007
Monday, July 16, 2007
Jacob's Harbour
They are wearing gold and silver masks of laughter
The best grass in the world
is three feet up from the rocks
that jut from that black stream
against the night shore. There
is room enough for all your ghosts
(and there are so damn many)
down here. All these years and
the stars haven't changed, just
dimmed a little, watching sadly
from between the leaves of that
big willow overhead--the moon's
still there.
All the boats, lying in their beds
around you, here in Jacob's Harbour
running fingers through the darkened
water to make soft music. Singing for
you and your silent passengers, singing
without words, too soft to hear when
you're awake.
The dusty skeletons underneath, crumbling:
you spread your hands and give it away
and give it away, and you hope. But not always.
Sometimes you're too quick, or too slow.
Sometimes there's no-one there, and you catch
yourself--talking to your shadow! and flee
in embarrassment. This, after all, is just
real life. is just real life. Is just real.
And all the friends you've ever had are still
here with you, in your memories, watching
the moonshadow dance on the surface of the water
The Breeze carries you, forever:
All nights are the same; nights like these.
Like a river of stars running above the masts
of the boats, silent and abandoned, like all the
memories you hold to your chest, they don't
begrudge or do, they just rock, restful
on those waters of time. The air clinging to your
sleeves like a dusty velvet smoking-jacket
the willow, overhead, is whispering songs of
goodbye. Under its branches, you can nearly
make out all the space that has never been filled
and never will be and will walk beside you
loyal and faithful, as the corn ripens
and the full moon turns to orange and harvest.
Somewhere, your feet are echoing staccato
up the sidewalk. A porch railing clatters-
a doorbell rings.
"Is Chris there, please?"
-2007
The best grass in the world
is three feet up from the rocks
that jut from that black stream
against the night shore. There
is room enough for all your ghosts
(and there are so damn many)
down here. All these years and
the stars haven't changed, just
dimmed a little, watching sadly
from between the leaves of that
big willow overhead--the moon's
still there.
All the boats, lying in their beds
around you, here in Jacob's Harbour
running fingers through the darkened
water to make soft music. Singing for
you and your silent passengers, singing
without words, too soft to hear when
you're awake.
The dusty skeletons underneath, crumbling:
you spread your hands and give it away
and give it away, and you hope. But not always.
Sometimes you're too quick, or too slow.
Sometimes there's no-one there, and you catch
yourself--talking to your shadow! and flee
in embarrassment. This, after all, is just
real life. is just real life. Is just real.
And all the friends you've ever had are still
here with you, in your memories, watching
the moonshadow dance on the surface of the water
The Breeze carries you, forever:
All nights are the same; nights like these.
Like a river of stars running above the masts
of the boats, silent and abandoned, like all the
memories you hold to your chest, they don't
begrudge or do, they just rock, restful
on those waters of time. The air clinging to your
sleeves like a dusty velvet smoking-jacket
the willow, overhead, is whispering songs of
goodbye. Under its branches, you can nearly
make out all the space that has never been filled
and never will be and will walk beside you
loyal and faithful, as the corn ripens
and the full moon turns to orange and harvest.
Somewhere, your feet are echoing staccato
up the sidewalk. A porch railing clatters-
a doorbell rings.
"Is Chris there, please?"
-2007
Monday, May 21, 2007
The Sicilian
Lou Reed is on the radio
I have made my decision
This routine, dried/cracked
Potter’s wheel
Spinning in the empty hut
Fingers brown mud dried
Listen, and I will tell you:
Her kind were pulling the world together
While we were scuttling back and forth
Across the bog, skin red and raw from
The flies, under caked grey mud
making up the world as we went along
White sails in the endless blue
And golden forests in the night
You stay on this island,
Until there’s no more food
Because you’re smart enough
To know a good thing
when you see it.
Or because you’re crazy.
The sky above—a whole clear bowl that’s been upended
Dumped out on the world
Son, the old man said, you sure do talk a lot of garbage
On the first pass, you can barely bring yourself to talk about it.
All those marvelous words dried up in your throat.
Man plans, God laughs—if the Irish hadn’t come up with that one, they should have.
Like waves crashing against a rocky shore.
And you don’t realize, until laughter just
What’s slipped and fallen from your shoulders.
There is a word for this, dancing on your tongue
You could force it out, maybe
Or let it spill, accidentally
Or let it come in its own time
At it’s own pace
We are not children, you and I
Scarred skin and twisted sinew
And in us, we make the world anew
Listen, and I will tell you:
All roads lead to Rome.
But we’re heading to Palermo
Instead
Merlin himself couldn’t stay away from Nimue,
After all.
Her dark eyes.
Some things are best said without words.
But they’ll do in a pinch:
Winter’s first kiss: a crack in the ice
Splintering all around you
And suddenly—that flood
(through all the world, was it like this for Noah?)
Bursts forth, up and over
Taking the mud
And meat and bone
Stripping away everything
Built and ordered and expected
Until only the raw, beating muscle
Red and hungry, at your core, is left.
It is good, so very good, to have these fears
It is good, so very good, to be human.
On that green, eternal island
Sunlight brushing his forehead,
the old man yawns
and stretches,
Opens his eyes, blinks
Scratching and muttering
Took you long enough
Rolls over and goes back to sleep
A smile on his face
-2006
I have made my decision
This routine, dried/cracked
Potter’s wheel
Spinning in the empty hut
Fingers brown mud dried
Listen, and I will tell you:
Her kind were pulling the world together
While we were scuttling back and forth
Across the bog, skin red and raw from
The flies, under caked grey mud
making up the world as we went along
White sails in the endless blue
And golden forests in the night
You stay on this island,
Until there’s no more food
Because you’re smart enough
To know a good thing
when you see it.
Or because you’re crazy.
The sky above—a whole clear bowl that’s been upended
Dumped out on the world
Son, the old man said, you sure do talk a lot of garbage
On the first pass, you can barely bring yourself to talk about it.
All those marvelous words dried up in your throat.
Man plans, God laughs—if the Irish hadn’t come up with that one, they should have.
Like waves crashing against a rocky shore.
And you don’t realize, until laughter just
What’s slipped and fallen from your shoulders.
There is a word for this, dancing on your tongue
You could force it out, maybe
Or let it spill, accidentally
Or let it come in its own time
At it’s own pace
We are not children, you and I
Scarred skin and twisted sinew
And in us, we make the world anew
Listen, and I will tell you:
All roads lead to Rome.
But we’re heading to Palermo
Instead
Merlin himself couldn’t stay away from Nimue,
After all.
Her dark eyes.
Some things are best said without words.
But they’ll do in a pinch:
Winter’s first kiss: a crack in the ice
Splintering all around you
And suddenly—that flood
(through all the world, was it like this for Noah?)
Bursts forth, up and over
Taking the mud
And meat and bone
Stripping away everything
Built and ordered and expected
Until only the raw, beating muscle
Red and hungry, at your core, is left.
It is good, so very good, to have these fears
It is good, so very good, to be human.
On that green, eternal island
Sunlight brushing his forehead,
the old man yawns
and stretches,
Opens his eyes, blinks
Scratching and muttering
Took you long enough
Rolls over and goes back to sleep
A smile on his face
-2006
Friday, May 18, 2007
Breakwater
I fumbled; all the words came apart
and the silence held, waiting
to be broken.
The morning air was full of mist,
her eyes were full of mist.
We sat for hours,
trying to find the space
where the world ended.
-2006
and the silence held, waiting
to be broken.
The morning air was full of mist,
her eyes were full of mist.
We sat for hours,
trying to find the space
where the world ended.
-2006
November
Spinning:
Yellow dust of finger bones
black eyes painted on a wooden wall
muddy water dark and still
settling in a gunmetal washtub
this silence sits so heavy
outside they're dancing
pale naked flesh and
polished white antlers
spinning
but
you can't hear that music
all that registers is all
the things you could have
done,
echoing.
Every year ends in darkness
and the sound of broken wings
trying to beat.
-2006
Yellow dust of finger bones
black eyes painted on a wooden wall
muddy water dark and still
settling in a gunmetal washtub
this silence sits so heavy
outside they're dancing
pale naked flesh and
polished white antlers
spinning
but
you can't hear that music
all that registers is all
the things you could have
done,
echoing.
Every year ends in darkness
and the sound of broken wings
trying to beat.
-2006
Shiva was a Carpenter
"Drug the righteous--
turn 'em loose on the degenerates!!"
'spitting mad
we drank this broken glass
fall down like screaming birds
and do it all again the next day
take it deep, take it deep
take that, god? take that god!
Heard that the end result
of enlightenment was
nothingness
so I skipped the
middle man
putting metal in my mouth
cordite stinging my nostrils
as I killed the buddha
On the edge of the canyon
buzzing nearer, everyday
ready to cull the herd
in their glass cathedrals.
Mayans with bleeding
nipples and dried sunflower
eyes watching from the top
of the plateau, passing
popcorn back and forth
from one lawn chair to
the next
Above the flames,
you could see the rainbow.
-2006
turn 'em loose on the degenerates!!"
'spitting mad
we drank this broken glass
fall down like screaming birds
and do it all again the next day
take it deep, take it deep
take that, god? take that god!
Heard that the end result
of enlightenment was
nothingness
so I skipped the
middle man
putting metal in my mouth
cordite stinging my nostrils
as I killed the buddha
On the edge of the canyon
buzzing nearer, everyday
ready to cull the herd
in their glass cathedrals.
Mayans with bleeding
nipples and dried sunflower
eyes watching from the top
of the plateau, passing
popcorn back and forth
from one lawn chair to
the next
Above the flames,
you could see the rainbow.
-2006
Remembrance Day
In daylight
All the silver rockets
turn to salt
caught by the wind
and scattered
far away.
Thank God, then
for the night
and the cracks
in the neon
where the starlight
slips through
for the werewolves and
wizards and little green men,
huddled around bonfires
for warmth and shelter.
Safety in numbers,
after all.
Support your veterans.
-2006
All the silver rockets
turn to salt
caught by the wind
and scattered
far away.
Thank God, then
for the night
and the cracks
in the neon
where the starlight
slips through
for the werewolves and
wizards and little green men,
huddled around bonfires
for warmth and shelter.
Safety in numbers,
after all.
Support your veterans.
-2006
Sunday, April 8, 2007
Hope Springs Eternal
I woke up, darling
and there was another
man in our bed
so I moved to the couch
(the polite thing to do)
-2006
Bobby at Play
If I hadn't worn those
faded
Black sweatpants, nothing
would have gone down
Andy Ji with a smirk and
a jerk--hand casually
humiliating me
(Up and down so easy)
so I threw a punch
and why not? First one
I'd ever tossed--
--first time for everything
is what they tell you--
--slow and clumsy
as it left the nest.
Glancing
Andy's skull, too damn round.
dark eyes surprised, not angry
(I wasn't dangerous enough to be angry,
and anyway, I was angry enough for both of us)
0-10 in fifteen seconds.
One-two-three strong fists
cracking against my skull
making it rattle as my head rocked
back, jaw cracking and burning
like it had just been thrown
on the fire.
I swung slow, swung wide
not used to fighting, I can still remember
thinking it's not fair I can't hit him
not fair as he drifted under the
frantic arc of my arm and drove his fist
into my kidneys like a mountaineer driving in
a piton, and climbing that mountain
split open and bleeding hard my nerve endings
were telling me, lucky how they lied.
Then the bell went off, saving me the humiliation
of an audience, kids streaming back towards the doors
good clean dependable children as I stumbled
and fell backward to the grass, Andy walking off
like nothing had happened.
Grade Six is a funny year, isn't it?
If I hadn't worn those sweatpants.
He is murmuring, eyes empty and calm, lips pale,
winding her stocking around his fist. Under the skin,
the knuckles tremble - a hard white grin, ready
to break through the frail flesh that hides them.
come to bed, she replies wearily
come to bed In the shadows, her lips are
red, her eyes the colour of bruises underwater.
-2006
faded
Black sweatpants, nothing
would have gone down
Andy Ji with a smirk and
a jerk--hand casually
humiliating me
(Up and down so easy)
so I threw a punch
and why not? First one
I'd ever tossed--
--first time for everything
is what they tell you--
--slow and clumsy
as it left the nest.
Glancing
Andy's skull, too damn round.
dark eyes surprised, not angry
(I wasn't dangerous enough to be angry,
and anyway, I was angry enough for both of us)
0-10 in fifteen seconds.
One-two-three strong fists
cracking against my skull
making it rattle as my head rocked
back, jaw cracking and burning
like it had just been thrown
on the fire.
I swung slow, swung wide
not used to fighting, I can still remember
thinking it's not fair I can't hit him
not fair as he drifted under the
frantic arc of my arm and drove his fist
into my kidneys like a mountaineer driving in
a piton, and climbing that mountain
split open and bleeding hard my nerve endings
were telling me, lucky how they lied.
Then the bell went off, saving me the humiliation
of an audience, kids streaming back towards the doors
good clean dependable children as I stumbled
and fell backward to the grass, Andy walking off
like nothing had happened.
Grade Six is a funny year, isn't it?
If I hadn't worn those sweatpants.
He is murmuring, eyes empty and calm, lips pale,
winding her stocking around his fist. Under the skin,
the knuckles tremble - a hard white grin, ready
to break through the frail flesh that hides them.
come to bed, she replies wearily
come to bed In the shadows, her lips are
red, her eyes the colour of bruises underwater.
-2006
For Lila
There was a dream
of watching you
I couldn't shake
That song would not
leave my head
I had a nightmare once
when I was younger
about a man whose eyes
were sewn shut, breaking
his own ribs one by one
with bolt-cutters, crooning
Look in their eyes, ma
and you'll see me.
I woke up shivering
Like last night-I slept early
and woke, bleary with confusion
in the darkness, thinking
Her letters, they're gone!
I had to claw my drawer open,
pull out stacks of old unsorted papers
file through them, to be sure
I didn't read them
(I never do)
just put them back
on top of the pile
and lay down once more
assured that you really had
existed, that I hadn't invented
the dark pools of your eyes
the soft lines of your limbs
in the moonlight, the way
your mouth curled against mine
when we smiled
And we used to smile so often.
There was a dream
of watching you
I had the other night
that lingered,
still and perfect
hiding between time's scars
It kept me warm
when the sun was setting.
-2006
of watching you
I couldn't shake
That song would not
leave my head
I had a nightmare once
when I was younger
about a man whose eyes
were sewn shut, breaking
his own ribs one by one
with bolt-cutters, crooning
Look in their eyes, ma
and you'll see me.
I woke up shivering
Like last night-I slept early
and woke, bleary with confusion
in the darkness, thinking
Her letters, they're gone!
I had to claw my drawer open,
pull out stacks of old unsorted papers
file through them, to be sure
I didn't read them
(I never do)
just put them back
on top of the pile
and lay down once more
assured that you really had
existed, that I hadn't invented
the dark pools of your eyes
the soft lines of your limbs
in the moonlight, the way
your mouth curled against mine
when we smiled
And we used to smile so often.
There was a dream
of watching you
I had the other night
that lingered,
still and perfect
hiding between time's scars
It kept me warm
when the sun was setting.
-2006
Angry Purple
Purple rot Purple rags
Purple lines in the meat
of your calves criss-crossed
like an infected spiderweb
with dying insects thrashing
trapped by your skin
(in time) like amber.
Fine black hairs bristling
as another one's sucked dry
and another one's sucked dry
Everyone sheds dead flesh, after all.
Meat and skin. In the morning, rising and shining
your bed behind you, wet and seething
with a thousand eggs, like jewels
in the rays of the morning sun
Ready to love you. Unconditionally.
Unconditionally.
-2006
Purple lines in the meat
of your calves criss-crossed
like an infected spiderweb
with dying insects thrashing
trapped by your skin
(in time) like amber.
Fine black hairs bristling
as another one's sucked dry
and another one's sucked dry
Everyone sheds dead flesh, after all.
Meat and skin. In the morning, rising and shining
your bed behind you, wet and seething
with a thousand eggs, like jewels
in the rays of the morning sun
Ready to love you. Unconditionally.
Unconditionally.
-2006
Saturday, March 31, 2007
Singing the Same old Songs
When the lights grow longer
And the birdsong distant
that's when the boys
go down to the river
to watch white sails drift
past the setting sun
and share stories of
the Halloween Pumpkin-faced Girl
they talk about her like she's
not some dirty waif who'll be dead by thirty
living in her parent's rotting monument to solitude
and who knows how they lost that fortune?
they talk about her like she
Halloween Pumpkin-faced Girl
could open that lipless, seed-ringed mouth
pale head shining like a mushroom in the night
and bite you in half,
right down the middle
is what the boys say
is what the boys say
Halloween Pumpkin-faced Girl
like she's no sad, broken thing, really
but a holy terror worshipped by the town
here, where sails are always fading
(and the distant river always runs a little further on)
and the boys have so much silence
to fill with
stories of
Halloween Pumpkin-Faced Girls.
Under an Orange sky,
the corn is rotting.
-2006
And the birdsong distant
that's when the boys
go down to the river
to watch white sails drift
past the setting sun
and share stories of
the Halloween Pumpkin-faced Girl
they talk about her like she's
not some dirty waif who'll be dead by thirty
living in her parent's rotting monument to solitude
and who knows how they lost that fortune?
they talk about her like she
Halloween Pumpkin-faced Girl
could open that lipless, seed-ringed mouth
pale head shining like a mushroom in the night
and bite you in half,
right down the middle
is what the boys say
is what the boys say
Halloween Pumpkin-faced Girl
like she's no sad, broken thing, really
but a holy terror worshipped by the town
here, where sails are always fading
(and the distant river always runs a little further on)
and the boys have so much silence
to fill with
stories of
Halloween Pumpkin-Faced Girls.
Under an Orange sky,
the corn is rotting.
-2006
Pinhole
The earliest thing that I can remember
Hidden in the back
of a car, my parent's car
as it shot across some
nameless concrete bridge
in the New England Winter
looking down and knowing
at the waters, here I was
I was here and that churning
white foam there, faraway
distant, impossible
the world; a painting.
As we grow, so does the world
Now I sit in my cubicle, face
to the glass, watching
the streets far below flood
with colour and motion.
So high and so far and yet
and yet (hidden)
But it would be so easy to
(break the glass and) join them.
Chasing a memory, all the way down.
I do not remember my dreams, but
I can still recall sensations from
Early childhood. Isn't that odd?
Some days, I feel like a tape recorder
(dating myself here)
Spinning in my chair as I play back
all the colour, all the motion
for the benefit of Mister Kite
someone else, some silent partner
and the wheels turn on, pulling us
uphill.
Never knowing when
I'll reach the end
of my tape.
I have a room in a basement, somewhere
filled with boxes, and a narrow bed.
I take photographs, and store them
in carefully colour-coded binders.
(I showed them to a co-worker once. He looked at them for five minutes, and then changed the subject to Tom Cruise's religious beliefs)
I had a girlfriend, I think.
I keep her picture taped to the corner of the mirror
on my medicine cabinet. Looking at it as I brush
my teeth helps me to feel.
This is life, this watching, and I wonder:
Will it be cancer?
Will it be a car crash?
Or one of those ridiculous deaths that you read about
Man killed in freak accident today when a Fire Hydrant exploded as he was walking past.
Old Age.
Please
Maybe if I'd had a kid. Then
it would be their job to write
things like this while I dreamt
of them winning the pulitzer prize
someday.
someday.
Old age?
Drowning?
Food Poisoning?
I wonder.
-2006
Hidden in the back
of a car, my parent's car
as it shot across some
nameless concrete bridge
in the New England Winter
looking down and knowing
at the waters, here I was
I was here and that churning
white foam there, faraway
distant, impossible
the world; a painting.
As we grow, so does the world
Now I sit in my cubicle, face
to the glass, watching
the streets far below flood
with colour and motion.
So high and so far and yet
and yet (hidden)
But it would be so easy to
(break the glass and) join them.
Chasing a memory, all the way down.
I do not remember my dreams, but
I can still recall sensations from
Early childhood. Isn't that odd?
Some days, I feel like a tape recorder
(dating myself here)
Spinning in my chair as I play back
all the colour, all the motion
for the benefit of Mister Kite
someone else, some silent partner
and the wheels turn on, pulling us
uphill.
Never knowing when
I'll reach the end
of my tape.
I have a room in a basement, somewhere
filled with boxes, and a narrow bed.
I take photographs, and store them
in carefully colour-coded binders.
(I showed them to a co-worker once. He looked at them for five minutes, and then changed the subject to Tom Cruise's religious beliefs)
I had a girlfriend, I think.
I keep her picture taped to the corner of the mirror
on my medicine cabinet. Looking at it as I brush
my teeth helps me to feel.
This is life, this watching, and I wonder:
Will it be cancer?
Will it be a car crash?
Or one of those ridiculous deaths that you read about
Man killed in freak accident today when a Fire Hydrant exploded as he was walking past.
Old Age.
Please
Maybe if I'd had a kid. Then
it would be their job to write
things like this while I dreamt
of them winning the pulitzer prize
someday.
someday.
Old age?
Drowning?
Food Poisoning?
I wonder.
-2006
'Til it's gone
It was your fault for rolling the dice.
How could I tell you I was locked in ice?
We tried; Twice
Nothing would suffice.
Now all that's left is scattered rice.
-2006
M is for Manticore
There are no more Manticores
if there ever were.
No beasts with human face
and teeth like dirty glass.
Shrieking, always hungry.
I don't know why
you'd feel uncomfortable,
dearest.
Stay close to me and
let me keep you warm.
My eyes.
Aren't they beautiful?
(In these shadows)
-2006
if there ever were.
No beasts with human face
and teeth like dirty glass.
Shrieking, always hungry.
I don't know why
you'd feel uncomfortable,
dearest.
Stay close to me and
let me keep you warm.
My eyes.
Aren't they beautiful?
(In these shadows)
-2006
Gemstones
I'm not crying
she said, wiping
her cheeks clean
with a scarlet cloth
It's just the diamonds
underneath, cutting
through my skin
Eighteen weeks
in this world
fresh and tiny
and all the colours
are so new
scrubbed-pink
glistening
beautiful
(laugh-lines, they'll call them, later)
Eighty years
and the riverbanks
at the corners
of your eyes
flex and shift
with every motion
all the pains
are behind you now,
all the pains
but one.
Listening for the angels.
Cutting the thread
you cut the thread
that fills the
world you cut
and cut, but it
keeps growing back
(red tears and laugh lines)
This morning maybe it will
be different; looking
OH GOD OH PLEASE
RID ME OF THIS TWISTED
FLESH RID ME OF THIS SLOW
ROTTING FORM THIS BAD JOKE
LIFT ME UP, GOD LIFT ME AWAY
listening
her cheeks, they hurt from smiling.
I see whatever I want
to see. And what I see
is beautiful. An
empty mirror.
It could hold the entire western plains
and all the wild horses, galloping to nowhere
brown and cream and roan, all the horses
from the past, or even just one pony. Please god,
a single pony.
Because
(Cut and cut, but it never does any good)
This metaphor doesn't fit right
That's all, dear.
That's all.
-2006
she said, wiping
her cheeks clean
with a scarlet cloth
It's just the diamonds
underneath, cutting
through my skin
Eighteen weeks
in this world
fresh and tiny
and all the colours
are so new
scrubbed-pink
glistening
beautiful
(laugh-lines, they'll call them, later)
Eighty years
and the riverbanks
at the corners
of your eyes
flex and shift
with every motion
all the pains
are behind you now,
all the pains
but one.
Listening for the angels.
Cutting the thread
you cut the thread
that fills the
world you cut
and cut, but it
keeps growing back
(red tears and laugh lines)
This morning maybe it will
be different; looking
OH GOD OH PLEASE
RID ME OF THIS TWISTED
FLESH RID ME OF THIS SLOW
ROTTING FORM THIS BAD JOKE
LIFT ME UP, GOD LIFT ME AWAY
listening
her cheeks, they hurt from smiling.
I see whatever I want
to see. And what I see
is beautiful. An
empty mirror.
It could hold the entire western plains
and all the wild horses, galloping to nowhere
brown and cream and roan, all the horses
from the past, or even just one pony. Please god,
a single pony.
Because
(Cut and cut, but it never does any good)
This metaphor doesn't fit right
That's all, dear.
That's all.
-2006
Birthday Present
Blue eyes, round and soulful.
Blonde hair, perfect skin
IQ of 180 and
we removed the spine
in utero
of course. They'll have
a much better time of it
in the world that way.
We only lie to you.
Because we love you.
Blonde hair, perfect skin
IQ of 180 and
we removed the spine
in utero
of course. They'll have
a much better time of it
in the world that way.
We only lie to you.
Because we love you.
Dateline
Blue out.
As far as
the eye could swim;
as far as
the bird could fly
This rock is sinking
crumbling, like an overstretched
termite mound
Only the captain needs you
needs to go down with the ship,
you know.
(Somewhere, on the surface of another ocean,
a fire is burning)
We take this
dark voyage
all alone,
but there's no fate worse
than perfection-so
spit that stone out,
and roar.
We have so much time to fill yet,
you and I.
And if you plant your feet in the soil,
you can feel, far below your soles
the hydrangeas,
coming into bloom
as this vessel spins.
-2006
As far as
the eye could swim;
as far as
the bird could fly
This rock is sinking
crumbling, like an overstretched
termite mound
Only the captain needs you
needs to go down with the ship,
you know.
(Somewhere, on the surface of another ocean,
a fire is burning)
We take this
dark voyage
all alone,
but there's no fate worse
than perfection-so
spit that stone out,
and roar.
We have so much time to fill yet,
you and I.
And if you plant your feet in the soil,
you can feel, far below your soles
the hydrangeas,
coming into bloom
as this vessel spins.
-2006
Meg
"Now I know that you have truly forgiven me," Cain said, "because forgetting is forgiving. I, too, will try to forget."
-J.L. Borges.
We are made of sand,
out here in the desert
dry and featureless,
shifting through the night
(these wings of stone
carry no one but
their own damned dreams
down paths of thunder)
We are sitting on the floor
hot and red. We are three
years old (we are, we are)
Now we are holding hands
and trying hard to breathe
Heavy fingers leave bruises
cool blue everywhere cool blue.
If I were older, If I could...
Every crop needs a season to grow
But. Here we all are now. Here.
(Never trust a writer)
The body, framed in dust
by the side of the road
will always be someone
else's.
It's the easiest thing
to make a new world, after all.
Leave this one
to the warmongers
to the fishmongers
are we now.
(Each flash lit up the night
sky in all directions, as far
as the eye could see)
Heat lightning.
"I don't blame you."
and the world is remade.
Now we are.
Running down that long
sloping hill toward
the river, crossing
that turquoise embrace
Washing that flesh
it could wash that
flesh away so simply
like the mud from
our skin from our bones
bones like dice, spinning
in that raw hot sun
Those white men don't know everything.
But here's a secret:
you were the one teaching me.
-2006
-J.L. Borges.
We are made of sand,
out here in the desert
dry and featureless,
shifting through the night
(these wings of stone
carry no one but
their own damned dreams
down paths of thunder)
We are sitting on the floor
hot and red. We are three
years old (we are, we are)
Now we are holding hands
and trying hard to breathe
Heavy fingers leave bruises
cool blue everywhere cool blue.
If I were older, If I could...
Every crop needs a season to grow
But. Here we all are now. Here.
(Never trust a writer)
The body, framed in dust
by the side of the road
will always be someone
else's.
It's the easiest thing
to make a new world, after all.
Leave this one
to the warmongers
to the fishmongers
are we now.
(Each flash lit up the night
sky in all directions, as far
as the eye could see)
Heat lightning.
"I don't blame you."
and the world is remade.
Now we are.
Running down that long
sloping hill toward
the river, crossing
that turquoise embrace
Washing that flesh
it could wash that
flesh away so simply
like the mud from
our skin from our bones
bones like dice, spinning
in that raw hot sun
Those white men don't know everything.
But here's a secret:
you were the one teaching me.
-2006
The Grasshopper and the Octopus
The Grasshopper's summer home
was near a pool in the zoo
where it spent warm, quiet days
doing what grasshoppers do
Now this same pool housed an octopus
with tendrils long and blue
and the grasshopper sat by the water
watching the whole day through
for the grasshopper loved the octopus
though the cephalopod barely noticed
The crowds of paying customers
surrounding the pool were its focus
other bugs taunted the 'hopper
said it was wasting its time
to small to be heard underwater
when spinning its buzzing rhymes
Then one day the grasshopper simply snapped.
If I can't be with my love, it said,
then I will have to die. Starved for
kind attention, it shook its tiny head
Then it gave a mighty leap, so high
that the entire zoo seemed to wait
as the grasshopper hung over the water
before plunging down to its fate
Noticing the tiny speck dropping toward it from the clear blue sky above, the octopus tore its attention from the pale, distorted faces gaping at it through the glass. Tentacles straightened out behind it, the animal propelled itself up toward the surface of the water, and the small dark shape that was now moving in weak circles directly above. Perhaps it was edible.
-2006
was near a pool in the zoo
where it spent warm, quiet days
doing what grasshoppers do
Now this same pool housed an octopus
with tendrils long and blue
and the grasshopper sat by the water
watching the whole day through
for the grasshopper loved the octopus
though the cephalopod barely noticed
The crowds of paying customers
surrounding the pool were its focus
other bugs taunted the 'hopper
said it was wasting its time
to small to be heard underwater
when spinning its buzzing rhymes
Then one day the grasshopper simply snapped.
If I can't be with my love, it said,
then I will have to die. Starved for
kind attention, it shook its tiny head
Then it gave a mighty leap, so high
that the entire zoo seemed to wait
as the grasshopper hung over the water
before plunging down to its fate
Noticing the tiny speck dropping toward it from the clear blue sky above, the octopus tore its attention from the pale, distorted faces gaping at it through the glass. Tentacles straightened out behind it, the animal propelled itself up toward the surface of the water, and the small dark shape that was now moving in weak circles directly above. Perhaps it was edible.
-2006
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