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.

Before the Trans-Atlantic cable
all communication was limited to
short-burst wireless
(Stevsie had an echo-box)
Man with Horse
and intercontinental tanker which
if the weather was right
only took about two weeks to connect

Now one can say ‘hi’ to one other
nearly instantaneous and half-way
around the world. Now one hardly
takes the time to pay for postage.

And even though it’s only been
so long since this sort of thing
were even possible, one can
hardly conceive of being down a day
without it.

Or maybe that’s just me, dear.
I can admit that weakness, and I
can miss you just a little bit
because of it. What I can’t do,
though,
is fathom how we used to rely
on pigeons.

Now that one that could never be, is.

When I first thought I had love
I looked for it in wax
But melting is destructive
and wicks cannot grow back

The second time I sought love
I found it in the flame
All heat, but short of substance
and quickly growing tame

And when I thirdly felt love
The smoke was where it lay
But without wick or fire
I lost it in a day

Now finally I know love
And chide my foolish soul
Not wax, nor smoke, nor fire, but
the Candle as a whole

on the black garage roof
thrust into the sky by
the black garage walls all
covered in trees was
a single black cat. Solitary
on the roof top like
the last piece of ice at
the bottom of the glass which
I left inside as I ran
out the door the moment I
heard it. A single black cat
playing with the shivers
on my spine with his
viciously sorrowful night howls.
Dear big eyes,
I saw the reflection of you
looking at me in
the flashlight. Right
at me. How did you know
how alike
we are
?

Outside, breathing in
the night air, spinning
in wide circles we’re spinning.
look up to stars,
kaleidoscoped, stop.
The world is still spinning,
spinning.
The trees are bending,
long weeping bows to the wind.
“Come, Come,” it’s as if it’s saying.
Car headlights, become earthly stars,
racing by in slowmotion.
Heads together, feet on the grass.
the blanket beneath us.
memories become giggles,
while we’re still spinning.
crickets serenading,
we’re just watching.