here i am at a restaurant
i’m in the back
they’re asking me to shake
chicken

i keep thinking about talking

i can’t concentrate
on the spices
i am busy thinking about human
interaction and

being the most complicated animal

and being the only one of measure

and they’re asking me to shake
chicken
and
i can’t remember where the teriyaki
is

if
i can remember how to speak
at all.

I swear that I will live my life
with all the rigiditiy that an
18-year-old black Christian can
muster up, and I will love right
and I will think right and I will
never make fun of anyone unless
it’s as childishly as I am able
because that’s not completely
contradictory with everything else
I have to say, right?

some of them smiling
at the boot
as it come down

i will not be one
of them

i will be like the
stag beetle

against the boot
even in pieces

and in the garbage

until nothing can

keep me.

a room for two,
a table for one.
in a house
where you’re no
longer sharing
the bathroom

I’m always a fan of a good cut
of beef or a batch of tenders
and I guess you’re not too
upset about either of them
what with your present tenure
and maybe you hate it but
maybe it’s alright if you
get to watch the Heat
every now and then

To be awkward in every photograph
or to understand the numbers but
not the score

and to be happy, mostly, about it

The Trombone Master’s is a lonely road
but keep on, at least in spite.
I couldn’t even sell the thing
if I tried.

i never thought
i’d be so relieved
to see a single
part of my body
return to normal
size.

but then, in retrospect
i suppose i never
imagined any part
of my body
(let alone THAT part)
would grow to twice
or three times the size.

i never thought
i’d be so relieved
to see a single
part of my body
return to normal
size.

but goodness i’m close
to tears over my testis
and their recent turn
for the much much better.

Shh, Ma
the sham is in
hemming to hide the seam
The same mesh you
aim your machine at
looks all mashed up
on me.

And then there’s the door creaking
while she sneaks out in to the night
and there was just enough time to
scrape loose change in to a mason jar
so she could buy that ticket home

And thank her God it wasn’t all
his money, this time around. And
Thank her God it will all be over
soon. After all it was the both
of them, that did that awful thing.

And thank her God that hers is
a forgiving one, anyway.

And thank God he’s going to be
alright.

From the tall ships that would be so regal and true
were it not for the outboard motors pushing them down the lane,
to the mile of perfectly empty private beach,
or the water too cold to swim in despite the blazing sun,
or the raccoon, wet and delirious, clinging to the middle rung
of an emergency ladder on the pier, snagged by a DNR man with
a long snare on a pole and stuffed hissing and growling
in to a stainless steel carrying-box, where does one start?

Three Words, actually,
I think:

Fuck South Haven

For Tara

I used to be the world’s
greatest orchestra conductor

Now, my hands still mark beats
even in my sleep they keep time

But hard as I gesture
despite all my desperate force

It does not sound like

you.

i left the only tracks in the snow
the only heart beating in the world
why wont the moon come back?
and time kept pushing my sails
like a robot.

December 24th, 2007 at 02:45:34 AM

IF I BREATHE A LITTLE HARDER I
THINK I CAN MAKE THE
sweat stop dripping but the
POUNDING IN MY CHEST IS QUITE
INDICATIVE OF A HARD GO
even if it wasn’t a long one
but that’s all I can really
PUT TO IT THIS TIME AROUND AND
I GUESS I’LL JUST HAVE TO
put a but more to it next time
around and then
MAYBE I CAN GUAranTEE THEre’LL
BE a TIme after THAt

(and with all the sweat
the fan feels that much softer
and with all the burn
in the throat and lungs
the water really does feel
like life in a bottle.

This must be what
Commander Keen felt like.)

these last few days have not
gone as planned.
the throbbing headache,
or maybe just the general
throbbing of pain in the
groinal regions.

three woman
holding, feeling,
ultrasounding my balls.

these last few days have not
gone as planned.

and all because the warning
pain was not headed last tuesday
in a run. and i hope my
body i still in tact, and i hope
i wake tomorrow in less pain.
and i hope at some point the
overwhelming sense of pain
subsides. oh a glorious word—
subsides.

until that day….

You fight for all the things
that make you uncomfortable
but only
when you’re alone at night
and I wonder how much
you sob

Your heart must cry out
for every little injustice done
and your fingers must
clench so tightly

How much does it hurt,
really?
Or do you simply
hurt yourself, so at least
you have something

At lest you can tell your friends
that you’re a real person.
Some of them, why,
they might even believe it

But really your pockets are full
and if your point is proved
you’ll win whatever merit badge
there is to be awarded

and when they pin it on I
hope they slip and the blood stains
just enough to be embarrassing
and I hope the medal
wears a hole in your shirt and
and I hope the next time you clench
your fist, your fingers break.

I hope you break
every single one

when the seat below
you shakes violently
and you know the ground
below is unsupported
except by wind and something
they call “airfoil” because
“they” are smarter than us.
when the seat below
you shakes violently
and you know the guy
operating this thing
definitely does not have
enough experience to be
doing this.

then.

it’s right then that a
serious panic attack
is completely acceptable
no matter what the calm
guy in the seat next to me
says.