up here they call me dr. hugo
i work at a chinese restaurant
where my boss
(an old chinese lady named mary)
calls me josh-ah
i have a scrape on my
knuckles from punching
the bathroom fan
the earth is monochrome
i am only charging the
sun a one trip-fee
for a round-trip flight
i am hoping that it takes
a hint.
I breathe
oh, but hardly it seems
this new lung so unusual
The brass is the same brass
the growl is the same growl
but I breathe
I can’t breathe
I breathe
oh, but hardly
And it sings!
The song not so strong
but will get stronger
lungs pushing against lungs
pushing against valves pushing
against tiny metal springs
as I breathe, oh,
but hardly.
Knowingly or unawares;
I cannot tell.
A single strand slung
around my calf or across
my chest.
Her long feathery threads
attach like lithe stowaways
on my socks;
cling to the gruff stubble of
my chin as if it was
the single hair to
escape my razor.
She declares through radiant
wisps that which is hers,
Wisps in predictable and unlikely
places announcing;
This man is mine!
This man is mine!
I claim him and he adores me!
Do strangers notice?
Do passersby see the signs?
It matters not.
The signs are there.
Her precious woven gold
marks me.
if only chris farley
would come down from heaven
or up from hell
and to my place of work
to give me some hell,
berating me without ceasing
for my slacker attitude,
and threatening with bleak prospects
should I not improve,
telling me all about
a legendary van
and the picturesque river
that could be my land.
i want none of you and all
of you at once
i mean that both ways
i want to live freely
but exactly
and i want it warm
i want it right in
the middle, where
it belongs
but i’m having the
hardest time getting
all of that,
even down,
i guess.
the sieve and the sand 