the last
vestiges of my
terminal romance
are sputtering out

God is blowing
smoke rings
around my heart

the people that feign
caring talk
about fish
and
the sea

one workday is
followed by
many more
of the same

and the
days off

never
last

mind shard stuffed
deep between
the lobes
adjacent to
the whirlpool
looking out through
a brain/body eyes
no separation
no points
no way out friend
but
how did "you" "get" "in" "?" " "

these words
as
powerful as an enemy
as loving as
no woman
no woman
no woman
no woman
no explanation
no arms
no legs
no lips
no hands
no one
now just
one beer and a hit
is all i need
to forget about my
walls
to forget about my
blundering , blubbering past self
weak and desperate for
affection/attention
embarrassment shadow

torn free from the ground of
pregnant ideas and withered
internal dialogues.

aloof in the face of destiny, crying
for refuge among the disowned,
the dismembered, the disinterested.  i
alone exist in the maelstrom of abstraction
crafted painstakingly through my ages
and seasons.

a mind as sharp as mine
to raise me without feathers
and place me
among the mulch.

i blanket my canvas with
woes and worries alike, neglecting
the foul-mouthed begotten son
arranged among the pillars left standing.

crooked trees and iced stone to
vibrate
through these ears of clay.  

i miss the days of youthful
ignorance and exuberant hope shot at my
future like a cannon of pride
and confidence.  

today the final summer flowers exhale
notes of sweet becoming, ever mingling
with the hum of nature's eternal embrace.  
the bodies celestial in ambiguity spin and
swirl in irrevocable sincerity.  from rise to
fall, through night and naught, the world
recurs again to weave itself anew.

i never seem
to get enough
rest
these days
always waking
up
tired

to start coffee,
****,
fix my hair,
sit in bed drinking
the coffee
plumbing the depths
for
ways to get through
another day,
****,

try to remember ways
that worked
before

maybe a quote
or a character
a poem
a song
a memory
an illusion
could even be
another person

but time draws
ever nearer
ever closer
until
at last
that silent cheetah
is sprinting

before i know it
i'm sitting
in my car
turning the key
with whatever
semblance and steel
i finally gathered

-a real live
cubist representation
of my
self
driving to work
at 3:49 a.m.

passing  
three black cats
in
the street
that watch me
carefully,
the glowing night
white-hot
in their eyes


satellites of some
indifferent future

hidden with
the devils
on the horizon

days go
by
like cars
go by
like days
go
by like
cars go
by
like days
go by
like
cars go
by in fashion
in form in
unison in
seconds

awake to repeat
on time
today as skeletons
flame contagion
bright against
your ripe apple

again arranging
your pattern to
fit   /   feed
the mouth sloppy
below bit-beady
black holes

born from a splitting
ache in the back-left of my head
like a drill bit whirring in an empty paint can.

i'd give you pearls for hands my love,
ever-winter washing over our foaming cerulean eyescapes.  

inside your drums I hear
a pulse that cries for
hips and thorns entangled
under your
navel.  

one more summer breath from lung to lung
exchanged
under moonlight for the promise of elevation.  
you are not
who you say you are
my dear - you are a
future memory
stalking sweetly today under the guise
of novel pleasure , but time will
reveal your skin to me
under the electric lavender
of my
eyelids.

you are wood grain
and strata -
born too, it seems, from a splitting.