the sieve and the sand

the marionette only does what he’s told.
he dances on command,
he cries on a dime,
he smiles like a chap.
wires breath life into him,
his life,
not his.

watch me dance.
watch me smile.
watch me cry.

He sat down like he always sat
with a mixed drink and an ink pad
and he always looked upset about
this
or that
but if you took the time to say
‘Hi Jon’
he’d smile for a moment and he’d
collect himself from the bar in
front of him and he’d shudder on
whatever conversation
you shuddered on
with him

He knew a thing or two about
everything, I think,
and he would instruct
and he would exhort
and though a bit pushy, I think,
his was always a valuable,
if damnable,
opinion

He was not so large
but distressed was the one
what bullied him, and
broken was that one’s parts
and in short and simple fashion,
too,
but Jon,
he was not a fighter
most nights

Most nights he sat down
like he always sat
with a mixed drink
and an ink pad and
if I could take him with me
I would but I don’t think
he’d be fit to travel
considering.

With every waking breath I
ponder the future.

I am no seer or soothsayer.

And some would say
my lack of worry
says it all.

Your diviner parts subside
on cold cuts and microwaved
franks and they wash it down
with motor oil and I can’t
begin to tell you why you’re
incorrect but I can tell you
to at least try and eat right
once in a while I mean would
a home-cooked meal a week
kill you?

for E, T, C, etc, etc, etc, etc 

I fell in love with
seven women
this week. They
all
had beautiful eyes.
Ranging from the color
of the inside of a walnut
to the face clouds make
right before it rains

The first wore
grey tights
The second told me
she wasn’t sure if she believed
in god. The third
was too tired
to make it up the subway stairs
They all
had beautiful eyes

Because they never asked
why I was dripping
I never mentioned that my eyes
are slow molasses
When I told one that hers
looked just like a robin’s egg
She told me mine reminded her of
a leaf
But only after it had fallen to the ground
She didn’t mention if that meant they were delicate
Or dead

I regret
Not having asked to dance with any of them
Particularly
Because I imagine they all would have been
spectacular at it
Though I am glad none of them
Mentioned
My feet impaled to the ground
Or my moth hands
flitting around
theirs
The fourth
I never talked to
The fifth
Told me she preferred silence. The sixth
I wrote letters for
and mailed only half. They all
had
Beautiful Eyes. Mine
are wood

chips.
The seventh knew this and
knew what I was
doing. She
left a note to me on the beach.

The ocean ate all of it
but her name

My coffee was black,
it seemed the rest of the room was just so.
we sat and drank,
and looked silently ahead,
at what, I’m not sure.
You told me that silence is golden.
I replied that silence is overrated.
every now and then I would take a sip,
the blackness falling into a black hole.
after a while you asked me,
“What type of music do you like?”
i jumped at this,
just the chance I’d been waiting for,
to show just how complex I was.
to impress you with my taste…
the look on your face after I finished,
suggested my taste was black.
like my coffee.

This man is dead

His words and thoughts
will live on in all
of his disciples

And mostly beyond
the scope of their
original concept

This man is dead

a sickness took him
but you’d never know it
the way he talked
those last few days

This man is dead

It is a shame that
his private library
-The collected works
of everyone worth reading-
will be split and sorted

This man is dead

and I hope he stays
that way. Or I hope
there’s a great party
for his resurrection day.

Whenever the ball drops
there’s someone just behind it
who couldn’t keep their grip

Sometimes it rolls a bit
and it’s hard to find the
dropper

Some people have weak hands

Some people rely on that

pasty white skin
on marbled floors
in black leg-netting

a yellow couch in
the lobby of the 70
story building.
—yellow leather.
beside a three story
pillar which looks like granite.

the elevator doors open
you emerge for lunch
and i’m more than thrilled
to leave

Every thought I’ve ever had
has been an electrical pulse
through a chemically balanced
perfectly grounded
tuned and tested
supercomputer.

Sparks have flown but once
or twice
And only,
I think,
when you’ve walked
in to the room.

Left upon my pedestal, alone, towering
over my self, my glory
never-lasting.
Others come to poke and prod at my
spectacle with their sticks,
at the ready to run
at my slightest twitch.
Nevermind-
it is Hell enough without their
flames, licking
at my open wounds drawn
by needles and reeds and thorns.
Sorry am I to them all
for their insatiable curiosity, driving
them, inevitably, far away while I am
left still, stuck, on my teetering, fiery
tower, trapped among the
ruins.

for E. 

I am removing
this bucket
And pulling up pieces of rope

My fingers are clogged faucets
That drip
love thoughts
As a precursor to my whole body melting

And I don’t know why it feels so good
To unbury the buckets I’ve swallowed
But in their place
There’s room for so much
more

And I am so much water
And so much love
And when I lowered these buckets
down they were too. Now
they are rusted tin
Removing them

Does not disturb the water
Just the poison. We
will still share
a river.

Always

five of twelve pills are gone
from their orange case where
i was told homeopathy does its
thang.

five of twelve. because five
didn’t work. who needs what
remains?

i know things have been rough between us lately, what with “global warming” and all. on behalf of humanity, i apologize. i’m sorry. i’m sorry we use energy inefficiently and i’m sorry we’re not smart enough or concerned enough or motivated enough to develop something better. but please, don’t leave so soon. stay awhile longer. bless us with your frosty breath and let me awake to icy roads and malformed snowmen. give us at least one goddamn snow day. (it’s one of the few perks of my job.)

i had some blurry vision
called the doc and was told
a migrane would join the party
in about 30 minutes.

then i spent the night
in awkward expectation of
that which never came.

like being stood up at that
coffee shop where everyone
knew me and was really hoping
this girl would turn in to something
great

except this time the poetry
i wrote about it was much
more emotionally detached.

We enjoy wading in the calmer ports at night.

When the tides are harsh, we falter some.

When the sun comes up, it is hard to see.

When the weather turns, we dry and dress and skate a bit.

When we skate, we slip now and again.

There is danger, no doubt, at other landings.

But these are calm ports that we’re wading.

There have been no riptides yet.

For Max

If such a foolish thing as love exists
It has hidden itself in a deli
And has slyly winked at only me
While simultaneously being the most explosively obnoxious force
two people can muster
Ordering a pastrami sandwhich
has never looked so much slow dancing
And in case you two are wondering, No
this is not an appropriate place to slow dance
But instead of making aliens of yourselves
you’ve somehow hung lanterns from fluorescent light fixtures
And turned this mess
into a banquet hall
I swear
The waiter yelling at me in Spanish is wearing a tuxedo right now
And this
This might be what love looks like
Like
A child who eats only with his hands
makes a mess of everything
and crudely draws dogs on the walls with his fingers and ketchup
And just because he forgets to draw tails
Doesn’t mean they aren’t dogs
This love
doesn’t care about details
Not tonight
Not details like
The old man next to you in line
Or the worried woman in front of you
Or the lollipop sucking cashier behind the counter
And I’m astounded
at how much more beautiful all of these people look in your light
Tonight
Don’t be afraid to sing along with the subway music
This song is yours
The next one will be too
So will the silence
And the sound of the wheels on the train tracks
Tonight
If I could take a sip
Of the single breath that exists between your hands
I’d have a lot less questions
No more answers
(I know those exist in my third and fourth palms)
But
A lot less questions

I’ve seen a man try to stay safe
walking just so through just these
quiet, home-grown neighborhoods
but between guns and drug and
hoes an hustlers, in every little
city this big, every street you
stand on gets to the wrong side
of town, so it’s best to walk
the main roads, where at least
we can watch if they take you down.

you place foot in front of foot
on stone stairs and proceed
slowly to the rooftop restaurant
and order cardboard pizza and
water without lemon (and it comes
with lemon in it anyhow) and the
pizza tastes nothing like cardboard.

in fact it’s delicious.

Irony runs wild most times.

I am apt to fall victim, though I am vigilant.

I have seen him coming and I have failed to move.

Or I have stepped just barely to the left.

Or I have ignored him.

But I think I see him now.

Well, I think I’ll sit and smile.

(Ironically.)

You are an undulating vermin
with no spine and no soul
and you are always tired
and hungry

You speak when asked not to
your spit flies in flecks
and berates your latest victims
who are anything but helpless

Though none have the heart -
or the lack of it -
to crush such a vermin

If only you knew the words
the world has written for you,
left to be unsent in any number
of Gmail ‘Drafts’ Folders.

You would be crushed all the same.

I’m sure that in another decade
yours was the touch that could
reach out and sway the soul

I’m glad for your previous jaunt
in to the education of younger people
on the intricacies of music

But my hat is full of paper
and my pocket full of coin
and m’am, if you can’t ‘feel it’
perhaps you should reconsider
the numbing properties of
all of those cigarettes

Kiss me.
kiss me.
kiss me here, underneath this blanketed sky
reflecting
all the lights from the streets
around us.

Multitudes all swarming
the city in drunken fervor.
kiss me here, let it be known
our eyes, our lips, our soul
locked
frozen.
all this is ours
so tell me you want it-
I’ll tell death to wait, kick his shins-
this is ours.
so kiss me.

kiss me here,
kiss me in the streets,
kiss me on the mouth,
open your eyes
let me look into you.

kiss me.
let me smile.

And He is jealous from me, loves like a hurricane, I am a tree
Bending beneath the weight of His wind and mercy

why He wants anything at all to do with me is rather a mystery.
but i am a tree being battered by the rain drops i know
were carried inland from the ocean, and the salt stings
and beats against my face (leaves right?) and what can
i do but fold? that’s what they did on seeing glory
(2 Chron 7:1-3), why should i stand.

When all of a sudden I am unaware of these afflictions
Eclipsed by glory and I realize just how beautiful You are
And how great Your affections are for me

if for some reason i was ever to expect eventually
understanding it would have been foolish of me. instead
i’m overwhelmed and become comfortable in the feeling
of the loss of control, my lack of control. like you’re
a stalker and i give up ever shaking you, except a stalker
must be the wrong picture for we seem to not like those
whereas none who’ve seen you could possibly not like you.

And oh, how He loves us, oh
Oh, how He loves us, how He loves us all

i cannot claim to understand
i cannot claim to understand

And we are His portion and He is our prize
Drawn to redemption by the grace in His eyes
If His grace is an ocean, we’re all sinking

running like lemmings into the ocean except
we didn’t just begin to sink, we’ve been drowning
and people watch from the outside and think it must
hurt, yet this choking, this lack of oxygen, is not
fear inducing. the water surrounding is of another
substance of some sort and we’re hundreds of feet down
to where the light has begun to fade and everything
is blue. the reds long gone, the greens fading fast
and we’re all sinking.

And heaven meets earth like an unforeseen kiss
And my heart turns violently inside of my chest
I don’t have time to maintain these regrets
When I think about the way…

an unforeseen kiss, how it causes you to startle,
but yet is something delightful. something like
a donut you figured was just a donut because you didn’t
realize it was filled with boston cream, and when
your tongue and teeth make contact you’re startled
but delighted.
frustrated suddenly you ever ate anything else
you ever settled for something else. but without
time to feel frustration you turn instead to continuing
forward, swimming in your delight because…

He loves us, oh
Oh, how He loves us, how He loves all

Oh, how He loves us, oh how He loves
Oh, I love
Yeah, He loves us, yeah, He loves us
How He loves us, oh, how He loves us all

this feeling brings overwhelming clarity that
the words i have to express myself are frail compared
to what i’m feeling. others watch me compose poetry
to my true love and laugh at the seeming worthlessness of
what i feel. but how do you express something that makes
you feel like a child? free? you don’t. you dance and look
like a fool and then give up and decide repetition will have
to serve it’s purpose — truth — again and again in place
of a better expressed thought. because He loves us.

Sometimes your day
washes down like
a bad bottle of coke
or like
a bottom shelf whiskey

Sometimes the mud is
ankle deep,
sometimes it’s up
to the
knees

Even your finest snow
shoes are useless to you
now

You only have dollars
and the soda machine wants
exact change