Friday, May 29, 2015

JONAH & THE HAMMERSTEIN COMPLEX

Waking—
in comfy wet
whale belly 

sweat 
in the morning—so unendurably 

pretty
before all the 
light starts to pour in—

and feeling—curly
knots gripping
tight around

knots about the whole thing; because I got
this rippling
untenable 

feeling!—everything's 
currently 
going 

my way!

Thursday, May 28, 2015

AUBADE

Kate—sometimes I dream 
at night

we fight 
so that—

by the light
of the morning we know to be coming—

we won't 
ever have to be

but we—can at least 
usually 

look like each 
other's one of a 

kind—shining 
hero.

Wednesday, May 27, 2015

DIGRESSION

Somedays—one must just
breathe

and grip
and dig deep!—to excavate,

let alone appreciate—
the thawed 

poetry leftover

after a boxy
and stalwart old 
Frigidaire soldier

finally 
becomes 
so epic-

and
thorough-

ly 
exhausted.

Tuesday, May 26, 2015

POEM FOR SOLO FLUTE

Touched—but somehow only 
gradually 
by such

soft
and tender 
strains of sadness lingering;

sticky sweet and 
streaked 
across a

dark and lovely
used-
up womb's walls—so empty,

and yet—
so full 
at once!—graceful, thin

as your grandmother's ghost;
but 
touchable—

and rich 
as her taste 

in heavy clothes
and dangling chocolaty 
topaz stones—just to listen!

feels
so much
like falling

in love—though somewhat
alarming

because—you don't know
precisely

or really even
vaguely

with whom.

Monday, May 25, 2015

OXYGEN

Skinny high limbs 
of wind-

scrambled 
backyard tulip poplars—

sighing 
stop! for all heaven's 

sake—trying 

so hard 
to just let—

the littlest things go!

Friday, May 22, 2015

DQ

In a blink—
his immediate 

vision—
was to easily 

be the best! and 
the fastest!—

and to just
somehow

win—
all at once! not just 

this proceeding—

but every 
little 
last 
single—

race 
he could ever—conceivably chase after;

and that's how—before the quiver 
of his lust 

was even finished—
he found 

that he had already 
lost this one 

quite a few 
seconds earlier—solely 
by virtue 

of being the best!—
at impatience. 

Thursday, May 21, 2015

21ST CENTURY FOX

Feeling tender 
stringy
and—at the same time completely

full and satisfied—
with the 
dim rose bloom 

of sadness—presently
overwhelming him

there under 
the—unsatisfactory 
LED lighting;

for chewing—with compassion

if not
circumspection—

pink spongy chunks 

of some 
or other—precious little 

fawaway lamb's liver.

Wednesday, May 20, 2015

PALADIN

Words—having
long since turned 
to thoughts

some of 
which have—much more recently 
burned

into certain 
definitive and repeatable 
smoldering patterns 

of action—our hero
has at last

achieved 
the kind of victory

that no fervent child 
in his right little 
fiery impetuous mind—

could ever dare 
conceive of;
for 

so complete-
ly and entirely 
unconditional! as to be 

boring,
and so

colorless—
and drab

when sheer 
doubt-
less-

ness—itself
becomes his uniform.

Tuesday, May 19, 2015

BASTION OF—

Stilled and immovable—but alive 
alone in one 
slivered corner 

of a very particular 
deep blue room,

near a shaded 
cobalt dusty 
table—flush with 

sleek blue 
flowers—motionless-
ly yearning 

for the occasional glint of blue-
silver sun,
barely sluicing 
through near opaque 

and peculiar 
stiff blue drapes;

he almost felt 
he was 

lukewarmly—there,

inside his own 
illustrious mind
for the very first time;

except—he thought, 

quickly 
as
the sanctity of the shabby little 
place 
began dissolving, 

that such a precious stone
ought 
to be unassailable. 
One cannot!

simply—tiptoe in
and begin 

quietly sitting 
around—inside 
a diamond!

Monday, May 18, 2015

CAST AWAY

Nearby the morning pink treelined water—
dappled by scratches

of waterbirds landing, lapping 
breezes, and their attendant 

soft panoplies
of deciduous tree seeds gently downswirling

only a man 
sits and stares 
with his breath and
dares hard—to contemplate

what on earth!
his gift
to humankind could possibly be

when such bright and bold and beautiful color
and the sweet freshness of air
are—not even given

so much as
already there—
and not

lending themselves 
to any such clever 
repackaging either—no matter how

faithful,
or fervent, 
or earnest—so much as 

allowing—
as wind 

invites water—
the intrinsic-
ly

obscure and necessarily anonymous 
self-

re-

and 
then,

slowly,

gradual
dis-

identification.

Friday, May 15, 2015

BALSAMIC VINEGAR

If its true—
that

everything.
you say and do

turns to pure poetry—
if you 
choose 

to simply 
live—
and let

it
all go 
looser;

then everyday—

my thoughts grow 
dimmer,

darker,
cloudier
and only

more 
and 
more obscured

by quaint and distant
ideas of dinner—
is a day

I also 
get a little 
bit closer 

to sweeter.

Thursday, May 14, 2015

SHORT FICTION

Between the first
and the last—

and the only
period he'd 

thus far managed
to petition to paper—

and the cursor 
blinking on—and then

off again 
half a second later,

came the realization—
that

as far as 
any good narrative was concerned,

there wasn't 
so much—a little gap

as there was
quite a bit

of overlap—
between 

the he
who'd be re-

reading the thing
thirty years afterward—and his dad

at age four
or five—a careless blonde boy,

naive
and blind 

to the poverty 
of this very moment—

whose thick
artless cheeks 

and scared 
little smile

he'd never
even thought

to pause—and examine
until now.

Wednesday, May 13, 2015

KNUCKLEBALL

Like sudden-
ly 

and desperately—
grabbing 
quick hold of

and split-
finger hurling 
a handful

of its heretofore in-
divisible 

and illimitable 
packets of 
clean and invisible light 

straight back—
into the pocket
of whatever far-

off 
and silent star—

nothing on earth!
could be farther
from what is legal—not to mention

less understandable.
Because—let's face it

to truly apprehend something,

anything
at all—

you have to be able 
to pick it up.

Tuesday, May 12, 2015

LEARNING TO RELAX

Turns out—you were 
perfect-
ly 

right!
to feel

a little
gloom—still seeping 
through each 

tiny crack
of your smiling 

teeth again
back there;

it seems—
we can

never 
really,

really
be—
actually

and one- 
hundred- 
percent 

totally 
free!—because

Science says

we will 
probably 
always need—that nebulous ebony 

black thing—

called 
space—

within which
to be it.

Monday, May 11, 2015

DWELLING

Ellie—behold
your indelible fingers! 

A thousand—
or more
generations 

are in there. Myself
included—and 
the big helpful hands

of your parents,
of course—as well as the palms 
of each

tender pair 
of theirs. But it's
not merely! those

of your ancestors—for
inside each 
little fingernail

there's a future.
A place

where obscure 
weightless multitudes 
are gathered—abiding even now

in the incredible 
power
you hold 

as creator—
of such a wordless 
and beautiful 

future—
for each 
unimaginable son

and impossible daughter!
of your own

children's 
possible 

handfuls—of children.

Friday, May 8, 2015

BENEDICTION

Heaven-
drops 

merely
inter-

rupting 
cleanly

dry and silent spaces—
come down!

and fill this
hollow starving vessel up.

Stillness reigning in-
between 
each 

fat pearl falling—stay here!

and be its
saving grace.
Together

make this space—just
one
in a million

little pools 
of water—reflecting, 
though not 

exactly—what on earth
is real.

Thursday, May 7, 2015

LILAC SEASON

Curiously—it was always 
there,

in his lonelier moments
and places—

for a split second
passing under- 
neath the heady 
bloom of shrubshade, say

or again 
at low evening—
at the exact instant
when 

on an inhale—the very first chilly
filament of 
wind 

came to chase away 
the erstwhile day's collected 
friendly and sympathetic heat;

that's when—
the feeling 
would grip him

without warning 
or reason—
that 

everything—every 
single 
little thing

he was not currently doing
at the time—
signified an ending,

and every ending
was it's own small death.

But death—he would subsequently 
realize 
invariably

when exhaling 
heavily 
the groggy perfumed air—

was not 
the opposite 
of life,

but rather—just the inverse 
of a messy

and difficult 
birth.

Wednesday, May 6, 2015

I SWEAR—

Sometimes poetry
is just 

some motherfuckers talking—
only 

sounded-
out 

and surrounded—
by silence a little more 
reverently.

AGE OF JIVE

Not at all 
funny—and completely 
obvious why

it's still
rock and roll

to old
Billy Joel;

otherwise
he'd just have no context—
and no one

that lonely
would want to go
and start 

looking—
totally invisible.

SHORTNIN' BREAD

Okay Kate—so what if
Most of the 

time—when we kiss 
it feels just

like this—
thin tinny
form-

pinching
gluey rude
form-

less-
ness;

so compact 
and predict-

able—that is
to say 

more 
than a little 
repeatable—and then

pieced out! quite
comfortably,

bit
by bit,
and—I admit 

it—almost 
too precious-
ly

wonderful-
ly 
and adorably—darling antique cookiecutter

for words 
to express it?

Tuesday, May 5, 2015

MASTERING IN COMMUNICATIONS

Once—he thought 
that joy 
was simply

peace in motion—
because 

he imagined—
his mind was 
probably

liquid fizzy matter;
but later—
what if peace?

was love—
frozen 
like cubes of greyish water?

But love—
especially suspended
as such

was boring—
since it just 
didn't taste like much;

and besides—
true love

by which 
he thinks
he means

the real thing—
it doesn't usually make us 
want anything,

let alone
sell Coca-Cola.

Monday, May 4, 2015

STRAIGHT UP

Paradoxically— 
but not; and somehow standing

still and 
silent

in both—their 
pliant 

surrender—
and their

stiff refusal
to instruct us further; I think

the flowers—proudly rainsoaked
out there

are our
greatest teachers.

Friday, May 1, 2015

WEAK FORCE

So very 
very

very
little!—seems like it could possibly

depend upon—
those

moist brainy gumwads—

used- 
up but still 
attendant—

and
glistening 

off 
in our sand-
colored sidewalk corners.

But that's—
precisely

how we decided

we require
so very

very!
many of them.