today for a change
my poo
does not remind me
one bit of you

and i feel this is progress
a no-wiper of sorts

we drunkenly drove
on long high-ways,
curving around the planet,
foretelling of it’s destruction
with no words.
higher and higher the
high-ways climbed,
and drunker and drunker
we all became,
until our car crashed
like the melody.
songs by candle light produced by
electric keyboard, drum machine,
the occasional bongo,
only to be played once,
are always, always, always
the saddest.
i remember thinking that
we all must be the same
sad,
so i painted everything
indiscriminately.
you reached for more,
but i drove us all home,
drove us all back to
the funny farm,
leaving sanity and
tunes to never be
recreated by the
candle light.

If you see me these days
you’ll think me a madman

You’ll see my lips moving
muttering beneath my breath

You’ll see me stop and stare
at things inconsequential
like branch of a dogwood or
a pigeon eating bread

(Annoyed passers-by will grumble
as they move past,
water over a stone)

You’ll see my eyes close, hands open:
press palms to grass granite light–
hold them there.

But what you may not see
is that I’m just tasting the next line
drinking vowels forming in my mouth
licking consonants skipping from my lips
savoring syrupy syntax

My eyes are mesmerized
interpreting intricacies of arboreal extensions
appreciating the finch’s purple plumage
–seeing what it is we fail to see on a daily basis

My hands:
search to sense the coolness of building shadows
the recycled life of upturned soil
the warmth of the sheets

after you’ve left the bed.

Tonight I heard God in the chords of the acoustic
He hummed a low melody
A barely distinct churn of a ceiling fan
Blending out pinks and white noise spoken
Intermittently nearby.
He said, I’m here.
He told me, just listen.
In the strumming of the guitar he
Clothed our naked hearts veiled under fig leaves
Balmy lakes like suede comforters and warm hands
Sweet, but still mild Werther’s toffees,
Butterscotch flavor clinking
Savored to the backs of my teeth and tongue

I saw him in the fractures of the broken glass
The climbing strokes of his pencil
Sketching infinitesimal splinters on transparent canvas
Sun leaking on his page
Flinging reflections to brown and sometimes hazel eyes
Depending on the season.
There was portrait in the fissures I couldn’t see and
In the shards one I could see with not yet hazel eyes.

A single band playing all I’ve wanted to hear.
Close your eyes, he said.
Bow your head, just listen.
Smooth calloused fingertips stirring back and forth
To and fro
To and fro
To and fro
Effortlessly to waiting ears like labyrinths.
This could be forever and I would answer yes.
Dark hair shading forehead and eyebrows
A reconciled smile and quiet eyes.

like a child looking to his father
i take what i believe you’ve told me
to take
to enjoy
to pursue
to love
and all the while the media tells me
‘spoil your appetite’
‘try this candy or that’
‘ignore your daddy, have fun’
as though my dad doesn’t know fun
when he sees it.

like my daughter looking to me
content to climb up and down the stairs
ignoring my calls to find and enjoy
the slide

like a child looking to his father
i take what i believe you’ve told me
is worthwhile
believing you know best

trying not to
spoil my appetite

Overcast are the skies above our boundaries,
toeing invisible lines, locking
immovable gazes, trying
to pierce the other over naught
but a quick game
of hangman

Raindrops are scant but present,
dropping slow but dropping
nonetheless, a fool’s errand of flooding
these empty, overcrowded streets

Petulance be damned,
for none are ever the wiser

I can tell you how many steps
are on the staircase in the back,
heading up to the office.

I know every little sound that
old van makes, from the whine
of the power steering pump to
the chatter of loose paneling

I can show you the boulders in
the park down the road, and the
foundation from some old pumphouse
that’s buried under fallen trees

But acute as I am,
with all the transitive guile
intrinsic to my family ties,
I never even saw you coming.

an ipad it would make roger happy
ipad like iphone just more more snappy
but thousands of miles away
and a price i can’t pay
man oh man my life can seem so crappy

“suffocation by breasts”
my epitaph shall read
now who shall help me write it?

So close to home and everything
breaks down.

So close to home.

We knew we had some work to do,
but everything was going so well…

I cut because I love you, babe.

Now bleed on me.

days we’ll spend
constructing and then de
as we figure the insides and out
and weeks years decades from now
when we see our fruit
we’ll know
there’s no way we were acting alone

going down the streets i don’t know
the same way that my fathers have
drunken and beaten and all that mess
all of it just like it is in my mind

any time i’d thank you for a dance
of transcendental nature
any one of you walking this road
any one wandrin’ at any pace

today was a sunshiney beautiful day
the best for beatin’ yourself up with
kickin’ a rock between your steps
the same way that my fathers have

do us both a favor
make it easier on you
make it easier on me
because it’s going to be
a long night
and we’re going to be
here for a while
so rather than me
walking over there
and rather than you
walking over here
and rather than us
walking over at all
just leave the bottle
and do us both a favor

My fridge broke
and it reminded me
of my mind.
Not that I have
a broken mind,
just that
all the rotting
food in there looked
so desperately
sad;
the cheese that
was meant for
something
great
and the
soup
that someone
had spent
so
damn
long
cooking.
Even the
milk, in
its $2.20
carton,
was screaming out
for help.
Suddenly I regretted
spending so much
time on Foucault.
I mean, at
least
Chaucer is a
non-perishable.