Those games we playedwhen we were kids, hope you know
I still skate quickly.
I should like to be the fog this morning.
I would like that it would enter me,
and we could breathe together.
Without failure, there is no kindness.
Poverty trampled supernova mystical hysteria—
he didn’t walk that far, with those shoes—
and this was the site of my first robbery.
Orange sparks on I-80 careening a Buick,
with wood panelling;
Under the auspices of bridges and tunnels
of desolate North Jersey, the trees on 46
are holy dead limbs of hard work.
I find trouble, crackle on the phone-line—
old Havana—late nite, they tell us where to be,
but we ask “when?” repeatedly.
No signal, no honking, no switching lanes,
no comfort at 4am when Union Square
is a mobile command unit.
In the morning I found eggs
in the detached garage. We eat
them whole.
track&field
I am communicated by a warbling sun
even if I were the only one under it,
if under sandstone or limestone
and the combustible fury of deposits
I would certain tokens of gold,
of the gentle pensive of my gaze
remember you before sunlight.
Here’s what happened…”
I celebrate these small failures of the modern man when I greet the waking day. This a slightly audible half murmur. This is not wholly accurate either. Nobody knows what came first. That time I cascaded, brilliant enumerations of my free fall prompted by warmth of substance and company, and nowhere to touch the ground. The dirt under my nails comes every two days and I believe presents itself subconsciously. Anybody that might have seen one taking a drink has been narrated or acted instead at the bar, a pocketful of what actually was.
This Swedish currency a foreign girl left is a negative and it has stayed in my room, I assemble and it is proven that there is a billion dollars an hour, and we were the only ones of value left. A drop kick, in what is not present. an artistically carved pumpkin that looked like Jimmy Stewart. The anti-discourse, that which does not vaguely look like Jimmy Stewart, many pieces allow itself to be present, or in the air, and in the surgical intervention that “Pam” may be an alien, a pretty woman, or Jesus.
Surely children know “faster” I reported. Here’s what happened. I caught the cruel little voice; double spaceship eyes now—he couldn’t believe it. It takes soda cans as he kicked them at me. It was Halloween, the witch’s ten years and “what train (OBE) perceptions are on record.” “This case is faster?” diminutive African boy with his, and this is especially important because cardiologist Michael’s unfortunate smile was made here to wait, till Pam was able to obtain verification fitting nice shirt cheap polystyrene shoes. I stuttered from medical personnel regarding crucial details like I was talking to any of the Essential. Pam agreed to die as the first 5 Train turns out order to save her life—and view of this I am climbing inside double chain-link what is perhaps barriers built by imperfect pit-bulls with chain collars drool give the most famous case of my independent hand—i hate them—humble offering catching drool proving corroboration of out of body experiences.
this city too hot…
This city too hot, got a breakfast sandwich
every morning in spite of the heat
that summer we crossed bridges
but never crossed the tolls.
The city is sniffing the dogs, and the cold water
I splashed on my face in Newark Penn Station
is just one of the particulars:
“We moved out here to get away from all that”
I hear my dog digging all night
and the milk shines down
creates sutures for eyes
and immaculate ancestry.
Rabbit run useless! I see
and it is fresh I know this
because the blood was still shining
on carrion.
The vultures and hawks
not even mentioning the eagles
are noble too; their business
is known and we don’t expect an apology.
If the end is the beginning, and if life
is what death gives us, then the chipmunk
and shimmer tin tree crooked to meet the light
also the speck of water contained in the leaf
is a trapped microcosm of forest
and frontiers. I can’t taste it pure
or impure, attaining nothing
and everything beyond,
if I even wanted this. We fill the glass
jugs for spring water running off the ridge,
but the creek is running low this year.
No matter—there have been times
it has rained so long, and after the snow melt,
people consult the Mayans, and I thought
I left that at the curb on little West 12th street
to be hammered into a penny design by stilettos.
The pure Americans wear funny clothes too,
in the isolate bamboo of North Jersey, in
BK chinatown drunk and laid, and not happier
still. the couch search for fibers
that will bind us, as humans, as Others.
I disintegrate every day. I try to imagine
it must be like the water and the mystery
of the solidarity of geese.
it is all worth the suffering that is inevitable.
We all get sick, this is the expectation they have for us.
It is all very complicated. A lot of us
don’t think about it. It is better.
There is no fire station, it burned down
on Christmas Eve, along with the police station,
and at Church I could still smell the excitement
of the smoke and winter air combustion.
That was over ten years ago. If I could dissolve
there would be the stories from the diner, “Big
Buck Hunter”, my lustful youth was translated
into Chinese and given to a Confederate
with cutoffs, and overtime I returned
from Washington Square it was with
the excitement that my sister
enters SoHo. How do you answer
to that New York? You have chewed
me while I was drinking, but you were
drinking when I was chewing. “We
moved out here to get away from all that”.
What is traffic without intention? It is
much easier to think about in Hardwick,
especially as I count down the trucks
(any one of them could be yours).
judgements are based on the side
lights and roof racks and mountain bikes
and canoes and double axle triple axle
axle trucks they rub grease on my face
but their girlfriends make them jealous
and I could really give a shit about it.
This city too hot, smoked in the bathroom
in a cold bath still felt like Brooklyn
because of the Chevy outside.
Always Chevys. And our English car
got all busted up. No respect. This
is not the mid-atlantic region. This
is not California. My mother opens
rising spirit we will potters create
not at Walmart but in our own back
gardens we have seedlings, 18-21 days
and the sculptors law applies: “The lord chisels
still, so don’t leave the bench for long”.
Jeweled K-Mart by K-Mart never has
any people in it except at the ATM.
I met Miami there once and I think
he still can’t find the switch, turn off the show,
because he has been chewed, before
or after or during, wears African head-dress
and doesn’t stick out. No, wait, he is barefoot
and has a walking stick from Georgia.
His name was Eli, and he wasn’t in
the business of anti freeze but in keeping
patriarchy noble in every orifice. Alight
the black cab and ignite the tea.
One of you slept with me
on piss-moan bed in
a crappy room that got too hot
and I could always see
my friend’s testicles red and bloated
And that’s something I could do without.
He knows I’d love to see him.
This is capitalism and he knows I’d love to see him. Don’t tread on me and don’t take this too lightly. My nicotine stained and merciful heart, I am true, these fingers are freezing and he knows this. I would November wind to Durham and how it pierces when I am America from the sea but nothing pierces these things i am told are power lines. Don’t splash the heavy book. Don’t worry. Be happy. Trees.
TuesdayNight.Alone.FertileFlame.
I am not a storage professional
I remember what you ate that morning.
I remember that the taxi was waiting.
I remember your corduroys (more than I want to).
I remember enjoying champagne.
I remember all of your bones.
I know that if anything moved,
I would notice, if anything changed.
Don’t think about Buddhas
I just can’t fathom the mind
because i try to see it
and I think i can find
it running amongst the trees
or in a hermit’s disposition.
All these beaches are populated!
Can they fathom the mind?
I am not joking and there is no causality.
I have made a grave mistake.
This is serious. I have
thoughts like cigarette butts on the beach.
my possessions are in her pocket i am ripe pick me apart now!
really that is slander. i tread on chickens much trodden upon.
and to think i taught all those bald men. It reminds me
of the snow melt and the ropes that kept us freezing and safe.
May your Farsi be your rapture, far seeds at a small mammal
and thank you wings for what you bring!
