the sieve and the sand

He found a small pulley system
to keep his eyes from closing
in the back of a magazine
(it was an old-fashioned mail-
away deal)

He attached them post-haste
and, as far as he could tell,
never slept again his whole
long life.

His teeth chatter sometimes
and he coughs a great deal,
enough to make his tight wight
skin on his neck stretch so
it might snap

He hears voices now, too
that he never heard before
(though there’s no proof
they weren’t there all along)
and that puts him off a bit.

But when he starts in to screaming
at the top of his lungs
at shadows in basements or
dark bricks walls, he dies.
Just a little.

He tried to take the pulleys off
but the ropes have come too tangled.

He can not cut them, either.
His scissors always seem to break.

for the years passed by
and the miles traveled
(even there and back again)
and the broken strings
and the flat tires
for the banged knuckles
and all the scraped knees
or the dog barking late
(I still miss letting him in,
sometimes)
and the corner store,
(used to be right next to
the card shop there)
I’ll pour one out, I think.

For the years and miles,
at least,
I’ll take a drink

there was one thing the greats had in common and it weren’t
education
height
weight
shoe size
shoe string length
love for mcdonalds
patience with children
or the location of the roll in their eyes

It is 8 oclock this morning
And we are chasing 7:30 just to see you
dragging our dirty hubcaps against this long road
And sparking poetry fragments.
Often yours, sometimes ours
Many times unspoken
These spokes wont stop turning
Until North Carolina hits us
like a sack of books in the face
But to cross every bridge back home
Carrying your signature in our pages
Is the shot of adrenaline we’re banking on
So please keep your eyes open
For three bed burning broken bodies
Bursting out of New York like
700 miles worth of bad ideas
Nicotine
And the resilience to not nod off
That only comes from knowing right now
This highway was made in the hope that someday
Three kids would take it
Just to hear poetry in North Carolina
So I’m first time marveling
At the solid brick buildings that pull
Hills out of forests
And the broken down barns that still manage
To conquer
The emptiness surrounding them
Despite the infestation of fast food rest stops
This road is stupidly beautiful
And, Buddy, I’m quoting you in every state
And finding new meaning in everything
Inside and out of your poems

I want to chase that rabbit

all around this town

I want to run forever

I want to chase it down

down below this city

down where there’s no light

away from all the hubbub

away from all the fights

I want to chase that rabbit

and see where it may go

I’ve got to chase that rabbit

or I will never know

why are you living today?
and if that doesn’t bring
you rain then why are you
looking up at all?
will the glare that you
catch every time
going up the hill to work
get you tomorrow too?
and when it does
when it does
will you look up
and will it finally rain?

i surely do see clouds
but in my years i’ve come
to not expect anything at all

–

it didn’t rain on the
president

or you

yesterday

i suppose it never will

and in the name of the
great drought
i pray

amen.

In a tenement,
surrounded by kindred spirits,
we gathered for a holy rite
in a room divided by time,
I ingested God and waited…

Shadows passed through the door,
some to eat, some to sell,
and some to buy…
All familiar faces or people from memories
people I never knew,
shadows, just shadows…

And on God’s terrace with veiled eyes,
I watched the clouds make love
and disappear.
I saw a flag flapping against the wind
and a hurricane in the trees.
On the ground more shadows,
faces and memories.
In the distance birds called softly
and before the memories rode away
they waved and laughed one final time…

Going for a walk in the streets

It was a flash in the mist
that brought me in to the rain.

Now I am sopping wet
but I am vigilant.

Now at least
my eyes are open.

The camera is recording,
too.

I’ve had this headache now
For 3 days
The doctor
-who was British, and therefore trustable-
told me
It was probably not
a tumor And
I should try physical therapy
Which I talked about for a few weeks
Before letting that too fall off the face of the earth
The dentist told me to see an orthodontist
So I did
And when I got braces
God damn it I choose the bright turquoise rubber bands
Looking like I had first exchanged my teeth for scrap metal
And then massacred a neon blueberry pie. When I
was younger
I bought attention not spent on me
My eye doctor said I didn’t need glasses
Which had been my last hope for
An easy answer
Now I take guesses
And fear as much as I morbidly hope
I need a specialist
To prescribe me a 3 times daily regimen
Of medicine
To fight off the invisible monkey
Clinging on to me for dear life and death
Biting vice grips into my temples
You know sometimes
Everybody wants to feel like they’re special
So for one day
I told my brother yes it was
a tumor
Went to a second eye doctor
And stopped wearing my retainer
Because if these headaches were the worst thing in the world
I would be a hero for my strength
And for all that
I still take pain killers every day
It turns out
That being a hero
Didn’t make these headaches go away
So I wait
As the brass balloon in my head inflates towards
Gargantuan
When I die
I expect to be preceded by
A faint pop
Alternately
Sometimes I get bad headaches
And sometimes I take myself too seriously

i thought i’d try and tell you
about what might be going down
around here these days but
weird things always seem to get
in the way of what i mean.

we don’t have to live this way.

the only thing I don’t want
is getting to the end of this life
and regretting I didn’t speak loud enough

Teeth cut deep to soul
not to flesh
I am unaware

The lights are running past
I know one thing
I hear air escaping

And now unstrapped
And now upright
The air escapes again
There is more this time

Louder

The brakes catch all at once
A sudden jerk
No one is moving
Everyone is moved

The air sucks back in I think
The lights are running past
and again

I think

I am unaware

I realized 

Halfway to late last night
That it has been a year 

Since you became the moon 

I left your room as ancient Rome 

Praising something I could not understand
Because you cast light 

And I could not understand 
I gave you names like 
Goddess 

But all civilizations collapse
Even great ones 

Often perhaps 

Because they are great ones 

And though I once thought it impossible

I have forgotten prayers 
I once could trace in the dark
Like freckles on your back 

There we times 

We only loved each other in darkness
And your moon shine
Could only fight the sun for so long 

For four months 

I would only ever and always collapse next you 

When you were already asleep 

And wake up
When you were already gone
So the sun rise
Stopped spelling beauty
And started forcing goodbye
Through defiantly sealed shut windows
We barricaded ourselves against
But making myself in to steel
Had turned me cold
I am no longer ancient Rome 

But like so many decades of peeling paint
You have left in me

Whole aqueducts 
that I longer know how to fill 

Coliseums 

Only remind me of you 

You lioness
You soldier

With more layers of armor around you
And sharp teeth 

That still did not stop you 

From biting into my shoulder
And crying 

Uncontrollably
There were nights I was terrified of you
Your brightness
Could be blinding
Your shrine 

A monument now to “I’m sorry” 

And heaps of letters I never finished 

Is like marble columns
Collapsed and dissolved
And still drawing my breath 

Despite the decades between us
I still find ways to pray 

I thought you were eclipsed
But the truth is 

You were never the moon
You have become and have always been
One constellation 

Brighter sometimes than any 

Bringing beauty even in darkness 

And yes, sometimes only in darkness
Dotting the sky 

Like freckles I could still trace on your back
Your light 

Coming towards me from millions of years ago 

Is still visible on nights 

When it’s late enough
And the streets are as empty 

As ruins

There are some things that are lost…
forever,
or momentarily…
so I suggest you hold onto that moment…
suckle at it until it’s gone…
grasp at it until the air is stale….
taste it until the sour dissolves….
I will hold onto you,
I will hold onto you forever…
Somethings aren’t meant to last,
somethings are meant to last,
in memory,
in heart
in soul…
what are you?

I lose track of things sometimes when I’m wandering
but my nails are rather long, I’m cognizant of that
and I feel the old break in my right ankle sort of
flaring up again. It’s not so bad though. It healed
all right the first time.

It’s a long list of even steps and then one suddenly
splashes through a hole that looked just like another
slick of ice, but my feet are fast, and while my cuff
is soaked, the shoes are barely even damp. Really, It’s
just fine, I promise.

The wind picks up every now and again and I consider
buttoning my long jacket back up, but I know the wind
will put back down and then I’ll be too hot again and
then where would I be, but the same place I was at
about twenty minutes ago?

Except I won’t be. I’ll be a little bit further down
the road, and a little bit wetter from the knee down,
and a little bit sorer from the right ankle over, and
just too hot instead of just too cold. It’s not the
same at all, really.

Now where was I? And where was I, anyway? I lose track
of things sometimes.
When I’m wandering.

So maybe Lucky Charms

and Advil isn’t exactly

the Breakfast of Champions

but it will continue to be

my Breakfast of Choice

so long as I have

Lucky Charms

on my closet shelf

and milk in

my mini fridge

and no time for breakfast.

So maybe You

aren’t exactly

my Prince Charming

but we all know I’ll keep you

well stocked on my

closet shelf

for when there’s

no time for breakfast

or Stupid Boys.

There is a switch in the back
of a drug-addled mind, I think,
that sets it to barking and

it’s claws come out sometimes
to reach to try to maim but
addled with drugs they tend

to miss their target most times.

The switch is tiny and difficult
to find even by experts with
technical diagrams and

nimble fingers, but when it
is flipped, one can plan a short
night for everybody, I think.

And they make no mention of it,

not in this diagram book anyway,
but these drug-addled minds
always set to barking at giants.

Surprising they don’t need more
maintenance than they do already.
Well, unfortunate, really.

Tell me what am I to you?
Am I a cloud rolling through,
whatever your imagination deems me to be?
A bubbling, frothing image back dropped by the evening sky?
One moment I’m the evening sun,
the sparkle in the night sky,
the next, I’m the nightmare you’re running from…
Tell me…
What am I to you?
What do I mean?

socks socks daddy you wear some socks
daddy tickle me
daddy tickle me
or like this or like that
daddy tickle me
tickle me
daddy tickle me
tickle me

Cupcakes and hugs are

nice,

my sweet tooth is happy,

I guess.

People have been

kind

but I’m a little

overwhelmed.

And so my

Big Day

was celebrated

alone,

in the library,

with a hefty,

well loved,

copy of

Norton’s Anthology of Poetry,

flopped open to page

262.

Goosebumps tickle my arms as I

swim through

Sonnet 55,

floating on its buoyant imagery,

falling in love with its

cocky perfection.

Peel the Bible-thin pages apart to reveal

page 801

and I have to suppress my happy chirp when I find

my other favorite William

and his beautiful daffodils.

I hope your rooftop winters are treating you well
And I hope that cigarettes and cheap beer
Are as heavenly to you as they were when you were seventeen
Because I’ve only recently acquired those tastes
I hesitate to say we were children
But just because it might have just been me
But we were shadows of what we would become
Ours was the briefest relationship either of us had had
The approximate length of one movie
And I’m pretty sure during that hour and a half
I sweated more into your hand
Than 6 relationships worth of being afraid of women
I’m not even sure I paid for your ticket
And you definitely drove us there and back 
We kissed through your car window as I headed to my house
And it was too weird for either of us
You headed home, and we broke up
And it could not have been healthier
We both moved to New York
But you shot up like the skyline of the city 
Rocketing upward in a blaze of apartment parties 
And performing in experimental theatre pieces
While you move up I’ve moving outwards
Like the island I live on
And heading towards the water 
And whether your ship or mine takes off first
It may take a while for our paths to cross again
We spent one night together 
And the sexuality of it has now escaped me
But the passion has not
And after four years of sweating for the same things together
It was only appropriate that we lay in your parents’ bed
And shared that passion
You woke me up with coffee on your breath
It was my first hangover 
And for a moment
I thought we were adults
From that moment on it was on awkward date
A text message break up
And goodbye
And I’m not sure when our paths will cross again 
But I look forward to it

Order up
come all the way from china
Music in a little wood box
with a lock on front
and no way to play it
(Key cost extra)

Good music though
they said
when fella picked it up
from the retail outlet
carried them

Fella took his word for it
didn’t buy a key though
so it’s closed up
on his kitchen table

sits next to unopened mail
an old comic book collection
a stack of magazines from ’93
getting older with the rest

Hopefully it keeps

What’s on my mind tonight?
What isn’t?
long gangly fingers gripping,
clutching,
my throat…
the nails they dig and scrape,
and dig and scrape,
till there’s no meat left,
no flesh, just bone…
But I grin,
and laugh,
it’s good to cackle in death’s face,
great to spit in those empty eyes,
who needs it?

What’s on my mind tonight?
What isn’t?
Just thoughts in passing,
synapses firing,
consciousness audible,
cognitive dissonance blaring….
I can’t hear for my own thoughts,
doubts,
fears…..

There is no forgetting
Not even when you broomstick thwack
The back of your hand a thousand times
Each night
And not when it stops hurting
Not even
When you cut all of the old letters into one inch
Strips
And make a paper mâché piñata of them
You do not forget
When you pop the balloon
When the stick finally hits
The something behind you only knows memory talk now. How
the blindfold feels like everything you
used to intimate to other shadows
But you never bleed candy despite
Sucking sweetness straight through every lovers ear hole
You’re all pulp
So you ring in the morning with
last night’s bootstrap bells
While imitating
This day’s first bird call through always chapped lips
Knowing it is not perfect
It is still beautiful
Because you are learning to teach yourself
How to raise the sun
and how to harmonize with it
Knowing fully that if this porch was an island
And everything not on it right now
Was a thick ocean away
You would not forget
You would always still find your small toe
tracing subconscious names in the sand and
the ash would settle looking too much like
the silhouette you define emptiness by
But
You would always find ways to survive

It’s a quiet somber feeling
of safety and security behind
miles of red tape and
piles of paperwork, and
even when the rest of the world
is on fire and screaming,
Here in our little fort
with the shades drawn and
the locks done up,
everything will be alright,
you promise.

We are match heads
In methane gas times

I used to know certainty
But certainty is neither knowing nor certain.

Piles and piles of stark red
Lumps and liquid abject in every sense of the word
But the blank-eyed stare on.

Every word a best seller.
Every page a Pulitzer.
Every print a controversy.

Sometimes I wondered how they
Could keep looking at the cost and still say no eventually.

Their encounter was fleeting.

Such is the way
You’ll understand when you’re older
An old man peering over the masses
The matter is closed
A broken glass
The scars leave a lasting impression
It was an ephemeral childhood
The earth undulated
You could tell by her eyes
Their certain encounter was certainly fleeting.

But most of all
It was we who believed in you.

The sky shifted to shadows
And we’ve forgotten
Forging the red to tar.

sometimes all we really need is a swift kick to the buttox of our pants
but other times a swift kick needs to followed by several hard blows to the face
and when that is insufficient being threatened with our lives tends to help
though should our own life prove disposable loved ones are always there for threatening

This is my dope,

it fills my blood

and forces these words

vomit on the page….

My dope,

the smoke, it chokes

and burns your eyes.

You can’t cry.

It clogs your thoughts,

it clogs your arteries.

Arteries and areolas.

Blood and milk.

Blood and tears,

blood and semen…

My dope….

it takes me down trails I’ve never been on,

some good,

and some hell…

but I go where it tells me…

trust in something

that’s what I do…

Put faith in something

that’s what I do…

My dope?

It’s my words,

my thoughts,

me feelings…

It’s all from the heart.

It’s all off the top…

Off the top…

And on the subject of hands his
strangled a man once to death,
and on the subject of dogs his
has had a throat or two I’m sure.

That doesn’t stop him from laughing,
though, once in a while. It doesn’t
stop him from being real and flesh
and fragile like the rest of us.

He just killed a man, is all.

And ol’ Fido ate well that night,
I’m certain.