water from a hose
hot before cool and passed
brother to brother—
the break worthwhile
untainted by man
like bottled water will be
and much much purer—
for guzzles earned
when I-25
reached one end to the other
my house to Grandpa’s—
places for play
virile and patient i live at best half a life: choose or not I prefer to feel than to empathize
stumbling throughout and
twitching past The World i dream i know I exist
i wake and
zone in My World lightly as to not let
my body on that i’ve abandoned it to be
humiliated and
tough out what I’m not sure, but must be life:
the medium Worlds communicate
today and yesterday sit still and smother tomorrow
you leave, yet breathe, creasing me with sorrow
slithers’ silence is soothing
(announcing too annoying)
it comes and calms, moving along, knowing that time spirals regardless.
you said run
i’d fall behind walking
(not)
bumble ahead, stumbling
(nor)
slither like you meant
along
sweat
blood
cement
mud
coated with a day’s labor
building a deck for my Nanny
i know that my hands
are
clean
mailed to maybe my baby’s death
from his god
and i don’t condemn
and i don’t apologize for
i can only hmmm:
i’m Him feeling cooked precisely here
he eats with his hands
it’s more deliberate that way
cumbersome as it’s done
he chokes through his words
and convinces his wives
robust as he’s along
he never borrows energy from the sun
because he knows he’d only return it inconveniently
though he looks just hard enough to see its worth
indeed, he is a mean old man
as that’s how you start
and he didn’t care—starting there still
courage in ethos, again in again
i sit when i stand, run when i play.
investing is caressing as human is on the line
and lie
and live
and try
forgiving the trial persecutes the judge
and do it to be just
and just because
simmering he looks up to his father’s crooked teeth
bounce as the world is explained
“two wrongs don’t make a right”
fixing his tie, the boy pays enough attention for the both
“you’re too mature to intimidate [your] obedience”
gathering the newspaper for the trash, startles the pet out the room
“and wise enough to empathize why you’ve been wronged”
brushing aside final drafts proudly makes room for robes of black
or was it cloth of white?
standing up and seeming cheap the boy finds his way through his clumsy eyes
and away from home.
he knew that feelings were all that were important–
they are all that can be honest
always right
and forgetting hypocrisy and humility a cheek rises in effort to know that ignorance is all that can be accused
that stopping there is all that can be wrong
i chase same sun
to work
to home
i gaze certain stars
at peace
at leisure
i absorb pain, i imagine pride
overlook worthwhile fits
sharing my mom’s car
with
lugged voices
(too many)
and
simple plans
(waist-high)
i’d gaze through the fences:
backyards throw crumbs between each post
modernized men may haul their lives
to escape self-importedly
his mediated conversations
the unconnected one over there that is his cog
the things that perfume for him
the sublime vantage of states of the arts
(but records his popular shows)
talking in words,
looking in words,
thinking in words.
alone, eventually they’ll shut up:
one’s self feels
…and does
spring shivers aren’t because of blossoms
it breezes year round
now clever lusting the all novel innocently
that’s not sheepishly
lying and not busy later it itches less in the hustle
numbed until you’ve waned
unless you forget
can only be coincidences if the philosophies are expressed along with any tools or forms: the schemes can be done on purpose, but then the ideas can be seen as reflections can be floating in the darker outside. i prefer la dulce to its specter.
am i bold enough?
i remember in feelings
and trust most events
i sleep willingly
and assume unmonitored accountability
the sun slapped me across the face an hour ago
and i pled for more sleep:
every one and thing must have a turned head at some point
and not even on my knees i wanted that point
the integrity of the universe is great
as far as i can tell
and the difference isn’t to me, but over my head
gleaming and dreaming, running for air
clopping and sopping, fighting unfair
(hug and hug and hug and hug)
eyelids cower back to call on arms and brain but mind enough
curse your mom once your chin breathes and you find where you’ve been dropped
float or swim around you’ll drown or hit the wall
(tired or not)
but if you busy yourself going nowhere long enough to turn your head on purpose, even if upstream, you’ll soon enough reach one place: where you guessed and saw better and better
hurtful in texture but not to touch
because imagination is the foreplay of experience.
i think therefore i am,
and i also trust all i can see,
and believe only what i can predict
all it means is that i’m embarrassed when alone
not guilty.
fresh sashes over empty faces,
both struggling;
patience and keep worthless once a martyr is announced value.
seduced by the supple taste abreast
i wander the waning wide-open.
(two distinct viewers of light on a train;
perfecting perfection and the properties therein)
i’ve awed the sweat from a crouch-hidden blushing glove
jump off just in time to avoid being party to a beheading
but
i’ve admired most battles bested by
positioning
and foreseeing
that
relegate blows as unnecessary
passive passion is set to see
built from nails red from blood or rust
from the deft and bright sinks helplessly
but watched by those who care in disgust
gift from god a ticket away
handed by those aside the tracks
shovel, conduct, promise to repay
alone with people made out of wax
flapping and jumping all day long
read and remember how it’s done
even sing with arms someone’s proud song
to realize is what makes it fun
dreams from skill and effort end in thud:
if you water dirt you’ll just grow mud
the bike of my youth was
brilliant
green
regardless of where it was taken
with pedals stout for legs
eager
stop
to jump left from right around again
now it is sleek and made
moving
fast
granting newly tempted with fervor:
it may pedal back though
cruelly
so
as it hurls forward and further
