How to tell
they love you
how to tell
you're on
the right track
how to tell
there is anyone
there who cares
and if there isn't
how to tell

This leathery bag of us in time
seems misshapen as if events
made lumps
and tears made hollows
so what if it's not an analogy
not an imaginary you
these small perturbations
read in allowed reverberation
while you sound for harmony
or probably confirmation
and a little ride through
a modest interval being
wishful of spasms

inhale some carbon
**** a brick
men with guns
starving
women with knives
carving
and there's some
raving
under a wave
caving
we held tomorrow
up
robbed it
the evidence
will drown

the manliness is over
in this millennium
of women
i say i say
king of the hill
pathetic
and my ache
smallish
yet i
this beast
smell good
have money
excite
once again
take flight

To sand I speak
and it bears
my intensity
Time circles about
and I fester
become fevered
about now
it insistence
on rolling
over all
heatedly listening
to nothing
or never
waiting on runouts
inexhaustible leaving
without waiting
for you

The slip
into poetic mode
the discourage
meant
of not
being read
the time
scouring by
scalding all
I connected to
cool water
imagined

The clatter
of a cup
in a saucer
put down on
a table
scrape clunk
slip click
i close my eyes
to hear the
stirring inside
and i smell
my mother's
awful instant
coffee tang
I will make
a cup of coffee
and set it on          
my table
the eyes
that see me
that saw me last
were uncertain
and still we had
a cup and both
rattled