You may be wanting from me
Something profound
Some great masterpiece
Something that demands awe
And expands your mind

Something so wonderful
That The Thinker
Will have something to
Ponder on forever
In his ageless, stoic, iron pose
Wondering of its great depth
And wisdom!

But to heck with that!

I want to write of fluff
And all that stuff
Something of bubblegum *****
And unicorn dreams
Something of kittens
Doing summersaults
Something of polka dots
On Dalmations

I don't want to solve
The worlds problems!
I don't want to be a
A nobel laureate!

I want to write of fluff
And all that stuff
Of honey dripping
Off the sugar trees
Of the moon
Made out of cheese
I'll solve the world's problems
Another time!
For now allow me
That fantasy!

I don't know
where we were headed,
but the sidewalk did,
and its smells had been
liberated by a hot summer rinse.

You grabbed at my pendulum
arm, and ******
me back before
the gap grew us
out of being a couple.

My penance was
a hair-shirt stare
and a smack with that saw:
"Life's about the journey,
not the destination."

"Sure," I said, "but the end's
a ****** cul-de-sac.
I wanna see what I can
before we smash
against it."

You summed me up,
mouthing the three letters
you drew on my chest,
still not-chastened:
"A-D-D, Humming bird."

"There's no deficit
of attention here, Old Crow.
It's just this
plugged-up world's got
a surplus of stimuli."

It was one week
later you left,
taking a whole
slew of savory inputs
to the blank without you.

"Everything
happens for a reason,"
you'd tell me.
Knowing the cause,
never changes my effects.

347

When Night is almost done—
And Sunrise grows so near
That we can touch the Spaces—
It’s time to smooth the Hair—

And get the Dimples ready—
And wonder we could care
For that old—faded Midnight—
That frightened—but an Hour—

My brother,My father,My girlfriend, andMy neighbor who grew upWith me but died recently inA car wreck,And myself,All went to anArt museum.My girlfriendFlirted uncontrollablyWith my brother,My father waitedIn line for his picture To be taken,My neighbor turnedOut to be a fourth cousinOf my neighbor who lookedUncannily like my neighbor,And I ended up dancing inA room with other peopleWondering where myGirlfriend was…

Since our lives were complicated
By outside reason
Our house has been loud with voices
We pulled the bits out of our mouths
And now we will never put them back
And our house has never been quiet
And our house has never been neat
A scream has always followed a scream
Like the roll of waves and the sea is never still
But for the first time in years
I sit alone on the swept floor
Of a silent room
And the cold winter wind rushes through our house
Through windows flung open to let in more breathable air
But it makes me think only of my warm spot halfway up the stairs
That I was too afraid to go to when I heard the cold coming
Now a scream echoes without a scream
And my heat is lost to a room
With nothing to hold it

sun and moon stand side-by-side in the great starless sky of this Monday Sunday Tuesday workweek
with ambulance stoplight caution I leap from crevice to crack of the ***** cement walkways that tear across snowy fields
staring at the world around me - faces as solemn unreserved apathetic mirrors of nothing in their corresponding souls
pair them off in dialogues of the triumphs of the fabled GPA - its deep-throat growling dripping fangs embedded in their minds since sloppy second-hand birth
and I cry out and I cry alone for these are the summers winters springs falls etc and so on of my discontent
for I am a man among gods
gods of capitalism and communism  and social disorder and bureaucracy
gods of music and poetry and written spoken words and fashionability
and the only false evidence of such godly aspirations remain on my body as fading bitemarks on my wrists from when once I tried so valiantly to tear my technicolor blood from these incontinent arms
but even in such times as those there was no salvation but for yellow-staining death sticks clutched between shaking fingers and melting shots fired down raw fleshy throat in rapid secession
the gods I hold so dear have left me for whatever come what may in these places of my mind filled with words and thoughts and images of your everything thrashing against nothing

… the beginning.With purpled haze and showered stars, the crowds heaved toward heaven, and bared their chests, with savage eyes that screamed alarms, who played with notes and placed hypnotic words, into colors embracing their nightly rage. I dreamed this ****, when all soothed purple; in mysterious beat, that stalked our moment in time; at the edge of our enlightenment.America! America!God mend thine ev’ry flaw,Confirm thy soul in self-control,Thy liberty in law.These apparitions danced, while the crowd drummed black, and with jungled code they conversed, lashing fiery tongues, until our black faced angels; loosened their hold. Oh worshippers, it was his ******-ripped hands, who captured our hopes, who demonized our little tap dancer; the Sermon Dream.And it was replaced, our faith, our faith, our faith; with marbled bodies morbid, with murderous overtures, and hooligan priests, their despicable acts, the white barbarism. I saw these heavenly angels, who drank us drunk, les foules fâchées, je prie pour nous; poor mobs of seer poets, who lived in filthy hotels, with the distracted ghost of Madame Rachou.Among the ancients, the artists, the Egyptians, injections of brutishness, and smoke from burning testaments, our moment reflected black to back, that found us huddled under hair, that warmed our skin with naked lightning, thrown from one hit peddlers, the movement went downtown with snickered grins and bust line pimps who fed us our chocolate dust. We ate their scraps and drank their ****, sipping to salvation, without the blood from He, who is never coming.… the acts of violence, unspeakable joy.The Angel birthed a disciple to wait, to sip his grace then dance below, to visit our tombs, and pray for He, whose second act, a delayed departure, flashes Broadway’s darkened corners.The showered stars, the rancid thoughts, the hollowed chests; tracks of pity and fallen words, naked on porcelain lambs, cracked with hope that someone scratched; the King of hearts, the purpled belief, the tap dancer’s Dream.Our faith, our faith, our faith; our bodies become the overture, the awkward rhythm, the Blood and Bread, the grace from He; who dreams of armageddon, then pleasures Himself with hymns of praise.… the waters encroach.Our fingers plug the desert, while waters gently pour; we lap dance grunt, panting to the written testaments; in mud, in blood, on the skinned infants who lost their chance.We danced with a beat or three; to the rolling blankets; the humanity lost, and the gentle touched, by cold and rigid toes; crossed for the Calvary and furious charge.The priests of marble, who prayed to Him; were found holding the lanterns, sweet trinkets, fast bullets and fresh water boogie; while the dark was lit, as a guide to His arrival. Hallowed by The name whose eyes openly screamed, who played with notes and fed the words, into colors embracing his nighttime rage.God shed His grace on thee,And crown thy good with brotherhoodFrom sea to shining sea!2010 Barry Comer