a dream where I jumped
over all of the steps
leading to the basement.
a blue house,
ivy crawled the walls
from the outside in.
I jumped the steps
to chase a rabbit.
The stairs disappeared
and I was stranded.
Ivy hung from the cellar
door above my head.

"don't follow me."
and she walked solemn from the field
to the forest
tree by tree deeper

I stood still a long time
longer still as she receded
and in my mind I saw her go
again and again
meadow all about my ankles
the wind
brushing my thighs with
the seed-tops of wild grasses
so dead yellow
so slightly green in the recent spring

Above the sky
stars in every direction
saw the whole thing
and said nothing

She and I were not to meet again.

I built my home there from
fallen branches at the meadow-edge,
and though I never knew the deep lush of those woods
my life in some way followed her
thru the tree shadows
and even now
is resting on her shoulder
as she sits by a
sylvan pool
quiet
while I thru
cloud patterns
witness deep space

the crickets singing

solitaire hours
      spent
preparing the
         face
they will meet

pour tea
       take cake
       and make
advice

a little butter
    maybe a
     little
      ice

at half past
             three
quote Shakespeare

and
invoke
the automatic
          hand
of
chic

Maybe we're from the same scar.
Maybe the same galactic gutter.
Maybe the same pulpy punch.
Maybe you were my sister
or you were my brother.

Maybe there is a place
where we used to go
to plant our feet
in what we didn't know.

Maybe there is a place
where the whistle grows,
the voices chatter,
the stillness slows.

And maybe, somewhere
or the whistle grows,
the voices chatter,
the stillness shows.

And maybe, somewhere,
or this place, you said to me,
"I hope you remember
that this is a false memory."

you hear the same words I say but they mean something completely different than what you think
complement becomes attack, love pat becomes slap in the face
now one drink becomes ***** run
now this game is no fun
dodging those bullets or making them stop in mid air, neither will occur
now say what you mean and I'll try to do the same

Rubicon on broadway 
young and beautiful 
in white Cadillacs and Buicks
audio pop gods transmit 
preludes for the night 
through hair waves 
and satellite finger tips

Buried souls are only resurrected
among friends
at Shakespearian rags
at 10
in mind
with wine, no whine 
oh mine, oh mine 
no more golden toads in Costa Rica—
the planet is a metaphor for the body—

old spice and white gum

our everyday gospel

wind rushed about to
antagonize the branches and the branches groaned

I am a tree and I am a pacifist and I never

hurt anybody. Quiet now and glass smooth glare in my eyes I’ll step
into the shadow and look out from here.
are these cigarettes a sign that i'm losing?

I stay up because its okay then.
nothing ever happened at 3am.

go to sleep with the moon with a face dead like
an ocean shore line the morning after a storm
there I walk like dreams

I took to drink
like I never had
when the old crystal inside of me
cracked
that night you said love
next to "you"
in a past tense

it all comes to some rusted gates
to a road going out
like water over falls
and suddenly my tongues undone
and through my mind flies
there are still things to say!
...
yes! a thousand wretched ****** of prose
and still not enough
I believed it all for rot
this *****'s surely stone