the sieve and the sand

I’ve never even seen
such a sight as a
volcano in the
back yard.

And the smoke
and the fire did
consume all of the
unprecious fuel we
fed it.

And I’m sure we shouldn’t
burn old tires and oil
but sir, I must admit
that it was cool, and
you can’t prove a
god damn thing
anyway.

Glancing along the bookshelf
Don Quixote stares back at me
And underneath him staggered sideways
There’s an infinite number
Watching back at me
Like hundreds of rectangular eyes
Hiding in the shadows of moons and suns
Finding respite in tollbooths and towers
Since the beginning
When red letters spilled onto delicate pages
Tenderly crafted so that even
The smallest rodent and elephants
Can drink from the same water
Until they finally come undone
The voyage ending
Returning to the roots
Alongside the stream
Perfection finds its place

when trouble falls like lemon-ny
drops high above the chim
mini chops thats where you;ll
fiiiiind sheeee
ooooo ooooo ooooo ooooo oo oo o
bu bu bu bu bu bu bu bu.

somewhere over this painful
feels good lies
and here i wait for therapy
i dont know why i dont die die die!

die die die
oooooo mmmmm ooo oo oo o o
bu bu bu bu bu po po po

i try to think
of a word, any word
to say and break the void
stretching between the two of us
like a tiny time bomb
that could blow at any moment,
you could blow at any moment.

glue like gas
smells when inhaled
but burns when
excreted

when it feels like all communication
has broken down and every station
lost it’s transmitting power, we are
left to wait and wonder, staring at
a blank screen, listening to a
dead line, hoping for
a single word or whisper,
for a single note to sound,
for a single piece of proof that
we are not the only ones that
have been suffering from
mis-communication

but we always get so antsy
with the dials left where they should be
and no good thing to fix the thing but
time.

But alas, at least
(sometimes) time is cheap,
and in these such circumstances,
plentiful.

I was born refined and pure
I was born refused and denied
All in all I was born, memories full
The sun hardened my form, while the moon pulled me round

Do not shake me too hard
deep within, I carry sounds of firing guns, mortars and tanks
loud and heavy.
Give me time to grow up and understand the haste to kill and
the ethnic difference in my thirteen year old body-
wounded and agonizing in the open grave.
Rage and fear squeezes my soul,
dulled and sullied

What to make of all this sorrow? and the night slipping inside me
such as a scabious dog to which stones are thrown
and seeks to die further away in a ditch.

So that war may leave me,
I would have liked to become aerial
run away and float under a sun that wouldn’t blush my cover
But, the void does not color, only the moon that nothing
disgusts shine through the living slum.

When the wind comes and blows the dust off me
the pain will finally be gone
So let us not mourn together anymore
all that will never be,
all that howls breathless and alone through the night.

I am back, such as the unfaithful wife returns after deserting her home,
humble and small
I have gone to sea and come back with my head on my hand
Almost slain, almost loved
I can only confess half of my sins and wish I had sinned more
Both world and home move on and over my dislodged limbs,
expanding in words and invisible shapes.
I confess I resent you half as much as I love you
Having loved only two people in my life, all of you included,
I have certainly returned just as sane.

the children arrived first
on the scene, and seeing them
in impressive numbers sprinting across
the square we thought
they were playing a game
until we heard someone say, a grin playing
across her lips,

“kavon’s been shot!”

digust crushed me thinking
perhaps she savored this moment, anticipating
times she’d get to retell it.
others, smiling similarly, emerged in uneven sudden bursts
from their houses, like puss from popped pimples,
and rushed towards the anguished screams
of those i assume were his loved ones
(but i can’t be sure since i refused
to make a spectacle of sorrow)

but am i any fucking better?
my first thought:

this needs to be a poem.

night ache from an unknown source
caused luigi more pain than he’s seen
since jr. high wrestling when a dinkus
named bob kneed him

morning came with neck pain to boot
thinking i’m too young for this i mounted
my bike and rode till everything went a
blissful noticeable numb

home and showering as luigi reminds
me he still hurts

left my baby earth-side
for a cold steel sphere in space
and here i am in the void
with a black tin can sky
and i feel dry