an hour glass to slow the moments
as history before our eyes unfolds
one more scoop of sand here to
slow things up and one more
pile of crap here to swallow down
chew your grainy feces filled bite
get used to the grain, the taste, the fight
before night comes one more pile
goes down. up to your knees wearing
the presidential crown
sun gave way to mist
to missing your midst
wind up and made me cold
pictures of bitter tea, rice wine
gloves gripping my hands
unnecessarily warming digits
hopes lost to crashing dreams
but not without celebration
the crust gathering on my thoughts
thick like the ground peas dried
on your otherwise pristine forehead
moving hand to face so as to miss your
mouth
with your hand knit green and yellow
booties we’ll make this the best winter
ever
without end.
until the wind stops blowing
and for fear of losing the hair
off the top of the back of my
legs to the mere force of the
breeze
i should lay off the beans
avsind!
welyea
walhav.
jussasa
drestya
they make games as though
the things we say can be
bent and molded
our words valued
by the letter and formation
but somehow the L in
love is worth the same as the L in
loss
unplugging you is like
pulling the wire ten feet from the outlet
my father said it would shock me
turns out you do
dealing with the putrid rain
water on my pant cuffs
twelve noon might as well be dusk
here where only the clouds shine
headphones and busses to places
i fear will tower over me due to
buildings so tall i nearly fall over
looking up at the sky seeing ferris wheels
from wooden benches in parks bearing
elderly women practicing kungfu while
clapping together spoons of wood with ever
step taken in the direction of the man
made wet lands of frog leaping lilly pad
mosquito breeding grounds placed
voluntarily by morons counting pennies
per day as they poor cement and hope
led to finally finding the cigar my lips
craved and cherished the taste through
all three walking past ponds elsewhere
in the town taking pictures of the grass
so green it could be played on if it weren’t
covered in manure actually made by man
touched by locomotion
through glades of ever-fleece
hands burning on coffee mugs
wasted energy on trips to and from
lining things up but failing to make straight
the plans we made for tonight
knocked over and spilled on our
priceless things
the stains we fail to wash out
visions of clean pillows
stacked behind me so should
i fall
it arches perfectly back
spine, shoulders, neck, and head
to the soft landing
my dreams keep leaving out
tiny little guy was he
tiny little guy he was
he would
run and play and topple over
as though his floppy ears
were too heavy for his body
cute little pup he was
pee a lot did he
quickly
faithfully
rightfully
earning the name
mommy’s little
piss-squeak
blue and golden brown
to be the touch of new
in your otherwise decadent
beehive hair
the home of your frost bitten
heart
snap crackle pop
neck back knees
thorns pressing up, out
from beneath the skin
death the new
birth to the old
gnashing teeth of stinging bees
raging war on the poor
the hated
the wounded
the raped and
cards tossed from hand to roof
cigarettes marijuana speed heroin crack
to wash it all away
that open wound
puss and then
one more limb to fall off
ripping open like a bag of lays
and there is absolutely nothing i can do
better than you
i shopped but found not
the things i failed to remember
my wife wanted bought
digging through these stuffy
drawers for
an oil or canvas
of innuendo
streets painted with
blue lights glowing up through
mortar cracks through brick
holes next to old houses
mansions perhaps once filled
with concubines or slaves
but we stop for a nice
dinner at a ‘french’
restaurant just like life was then
red lanterns and all
now gone again
the panic will be universal
outrage out in outer suburbs
utter disillusion
frustration
(was panic mentioned?)
twinkies maggots cockroaches
remain because they can
but only if they please
the problem being
no one to eat the twinkies
to provide homes for the roaches
to provide feces for the maggots
life will go on
i hear
times like these are sad
and past
because we long
for hopes we do not understand
and smells on which
we can look back
to remember music which makes us glad
and then nostalgia causing
distress
the sieve and the sand 
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