Hope is eternal, well
I guess it would have to be
and so in the face of Nothing
Else it always flashes a
**** smile (says, "Put  on
your shoes! Let's go!")
Hope dressed up in
your very own cast off
clothes and you go
with him (of course
you do! because Hope
looks so familiar, almost
like you!)
Hope, my darling,
is in love with you
and only you and
only you can see it
in his eyes (forget
about all of that noise,
the banging around
of Regret inside)
Hope is a carpenter
knocking on wood
eyes and fists clenched
shut COUNT TO TEN
you knew you just knew
you would and when
faith gives way to
superstition you know
it must IT MUST be
good and everything else
should be just as it
should
Hope is eternal and
you've got it by the wings
your army of termites
your minions pining
and pinning all hope
on such fleeting
stings (knocking wood
from the inside out, of
all crazy things)
Hope, y'all, you've got it
in the bag, hope is just
yonder down the road
a piece
Hope, y'all, you carry it
like a bundle in the end
of a stick, hobo of your
heart and other abandoned
things
Hope is more like a stone
or a can you kick in front
of you, in front of you
all the way home (or
maybe past it, you
don't know these
things)

You, who would have me believe
your greatest charity was to fool me
and that somehow feeding me bits from
the brunt and depth of your deception
was a kindness I should have appreciated
at least while you were doling it out like
a rich dowager to a gaggle of stinking
humanity from your mountain of pity
I am sorry that I failed you
You, who put such a premium
on honesty, and, indeed,
tossed me away having caught me
in your sort of lie, the sort that only
the most honest can understand
Again, I'm sorry I failed you
and, well, to be perfectly honest
(once and finally) when you told
this to me I thought you weren't
lying
You, who have taught me that
the biggest truth is so confounding
only the best of us can use it and
for me to try was pure folly
having no practice in twisting things
first arms, then wills, then my
pure and simple truth
I am sorry I failed you
You, who are safe on your mountain
where no one dare pull a brick
or a stone or even a single blade
of grass out from under you
I defer to you dear,
my one and greatest lie

I live 10,000 miles under
the sea, I am this happy
gasp of air, the thud of
my blood beating in my
ears, I saved this breath
for you and for me

Darling twisted happy
a conk shell to hear you
and the sand that slips
between our toes, the  
grist and grind of every
human kind I see your
face swapped for one
wave after another
I call this Repose

I could wait forever

You are some kind of
fish, now ain't you?

I know you're learning
how to breathe, big effort
for so much hot air, my
pride beats in my pulse
first for you then for me
I am an empty tank of
despair, so much for
a fair trade, you still
pretend, still hanging
in there

Darling, my turtle
your arms and legs
times four, you're
kind of ugly, if not
for the water around
your wrists and ankles
the better to take you
there

I could wade forever

You think love is hot
and painful but mine
is cool and green, you'll
see, here with me or there
with your final and very
memory

"I am only the maid!"
she will shout at him
then disappear for
a week
hunted down like
lean dog in winter
he always proffered
her a treat
and how could she
refuse? with hatred
she would show up
again to clean his
dishes and make
the bed,
until he got it in
his head, well, he
decided he liked
the maid and not
in the way she was
usually liked
which is to say he
was ***** (no, but
thanks anyway)
a week or two later
he tells her he's in
love and she bursts
out laughing, tells
him she's not 11
years old
but
she did have a lot
of bills, about 800
bucks worth, give
or take
O NO! (you see
it was love and love
is free), three more
weeks and he's
climbing the walls
reconsiders her
circumstances
and his own
another day or two
he has made the maid
on the fresh linens and
all was pretty romantic
until he raised himself
on one elbow and blew
hot air in her face and
a hot load in her ****
he said, "You know
this isn't quid pro quo
..." and she answered
"Veni, vidi, vici...
(whatever gets
you off.")
and what a happy
woman was she
money new minted
in her fat purse
and this little piggy
went wee wee wee
all the way back
to Queens
yup

Passivity runs through her
a rat in an empty building
her skeleton
She doesn't move
not one tired knee ****
even with the teeth resting
in her lap, folded in her
folded hands
Her love for him is
a death row inmate
cold cell on a hot
afternoon, waiting
in the chair
And he is all inside her
chewing away at the anatomy
a frayed wire wrapped around
her pulse, thump thump thump
her heart beats in time with
his bored blinking eyes
He stands by her bath holding
a toaster above his head and
she waits for the wire to touch
the water, fork into the flesh
the wolf and the lamb
Tears wet the cords
he says don't call me that
(darling) push push push
it away
She says
but he is all inside her now
he will take some away
but it all grows back
and what was once benign?
like kisses and when she rubbed
against his malignant sighs?
(Any amount of pain but the
aching longing) he kisses her
and touches the bones of her
face, a skull in a field of clover
greedy green and she'll eat
anything
Did ge slap her, did he **** her
in that impossible circle
pushing the beating fingers
into her mouth? (her fingers
She ate herself one morning
after a night of trying to forget
what she could not remember

Each time my eyes blink
its like a toddler banging
out a tune on a toy piano
And my eyebrows respond
with the black notes as if
to say hmmm or watch
yourself dear
Moving down to the nose
Well! What a cacophony
there! Every horn and
each in turn until
John Phillips Sousa
dies once again
You'd think the mouth
would be like the first
violin- nope that was
shut up long ago,
the screaming
stays
within

each letter rolled
'round my
tongue, wet
with let's
say ess and
ess indeed
('tween you
and me)
shy one
letter, YES
eeeeGADS
whoop-eeee
(d)eee
easy like
me
say pretty
pleeeese
ex
lover
ex
con
ex
marks
the
spot
yes please
***
(***!)

O FRUITLESS YAM!
(a soft woman's voice)
"potatoes are usually
grown from other
potatoes..."
YOU, CANNY, in
a jam "...while several
recessed dormant
buds..."
ALL MOUTH AND
NO PLAY
"or eyes on the
surface..."
BORN OF BOREDOM
INVERTED EYES
"on the surface..."
OF HIS DECAY"
"perennials that grow
close to the ground..."
THE ONE THAT CRaWLS
NEVER STRETCHED TO
HER FULL AND FOOLISH
POTENTIAL HEIGHT
"it's called a tuber..."
MAKE THE SHAPE
WITH YOUR UGLY
MOUTH AND NO
END OF ROTTEN
WORDS
"from the end of underground..."
LACKING ENOUGH MIND
TO STAND ON TWO LEGS
"we call these vines..."
THESE ARE THE SPROUTS
WE CALL EYES
"these are the sprouts
we call eyes..."
WHY O WHY DID
YOUR POTATO DIE?
"verticillium wilt..." WILT
SHALL, DID, AND DILT
"these fungi can survive
in the soil..." OF COURSE
SHE OF THE WILTED
EYE, THE FACE AND
THE MOUTH FULL
OF DIRT "but will
eventually die..."
HERE'S TO YOU, THAT
SHALLOW GARDEN, THAT
DEEP MEASURED HURT
AS SOON AS SHE BREAKS
THE SURFACE "wilted
plants will eventually die..."
HERE'S TO YOU, NEXT
SUMMER, NEXT RAY
OF SUN, HERE'S MUD
IN YOUR EYE

Part One
Not me said the Jenny
all spun and hung from
a tree branch, dead
and she tosses her guilt
her blame, her shame
like a wedding bouquet
You mistake me for
something so happy
and fed, Go! Spend
your noon- we'll
give you a spoon
I am the kind of joy
that hangs from every
near dread- the handle
the candle (the candle)
the locked door and
the latch
Miss Jenny,
spoon fed

Part Two
I am a friend to all
animals and they are
a friend to me, we share
our blood, the same
slow trickle, the flood
I am like Saint Francis
hold me, you animal
close to your chest
feel the flood of
blood's cadence
the surge, the drop
to the floor, how
I say love

Of course there was- "There was an error
in posting. Please try again."

...and my life ended
where ours began...

a line so thin a ghost
of a snake danced
under it and
beyond

belly flat against
the floor that's where
I pushed back with
all I had left
a garter snake
(harmless in
fact) and you
slid between
the lines, in and
out of everything
that made me covet
you covered in
something
grim

and now
you sun yourself
on a warm rock
a smile baked on
your face not under
or above me but
in me, the worst
mistake and
I can feel the rope
of you grow taut
wondering how much
of me I had left after
yet another fit of your
reptile rage and slithering
guile

you counted off my lovers
one after the other as if
they all still stood sentry
and none of them worthy
your anger marking that
final part in me, a spot
in that indivisible
number that could
not be pulled
apart

one, me and you
minus me, plied
and pulled from
a spit stained
heart

done and all
undone

Do you remember that day
in the garden I made for you
in the height of my delusions?
We were digging a hole for
our favorite cat and as our
snot and tears mixed with
the dirt I quietly suggested
you should mound the soil
to allow for the inevitable
sinking of the bones and flesh
you looked up at me with
pure malice and said through
gritted teeth, "Do you think
I've never dug a grave before?"
Instead of being freaked out
I did what any faithful wife
would do and with reverence
dear, always with reverence
I spray painted the *******
off Buddha's forehead to
place it on the grave and
you laughed and laughed
and gave me a hug, told me
"This is what I keep you
around for, see?"

Freud and Jung
pick through a pile
of dung
Jung and Freud
scream into
the void
leftover dream
material, Freud hunts
the obvious while Jung
hangs on the edges
of subtlety but every
now and then they
find a scrap that is
pleasing to the both
of them (what to do?
what to do?)
and sometimes
a shoe is just
a shoe, Jung
grabs at the heel
while Freud is hung
up on the toes
count 'em
each. one. of. them.
is ridiculous

There are those who come
crawling on their hands and
knees, dragging with them an
eternity of distant landscapes
each bearing witness to our
love unending (honey, smile
for the camera)

I bore so easily

Who doesn't know I prefer
a receding figure as abstract
as a line of trees rather than
the acute outline of someone
I can still remember?

What makes me, of all people
worth the climb? I ponder that
often and with no reasonable
answer

That is, until today when
I realized this or that one
was more bored than me
and so. I filled a hole like
cancer

(honey, dance for
the camera)

The truth hangs inside
of a cedar closet that
      hasn't been opened
in forever
It's knotted and tangled
just like her, at least
      we hope she might
Recognize some of the
dresses, dressed up
just like she
      has always
      been
(a ***** in the making
living in sin)
a march of decades
minus the wedding
rice and the fair and
      going price of a
groom

Poor sullied should have
been bride if not for the
      timing, the misaligned
stars,
a fate not of her making
yet who but she carried the
scars?

June is a month she would
like to sleep through, a long
funeral

as each of her sisters met her
match, down the aisle, disposed
    of, as well they should have  
been but
      this one refused to disappear
this one is
all too present
and what to do
      with this one
here?

(They have already inscribed
her gravestone, she, without
the good manners to make good
on the date) t'is her wedding
      day and finally here

darling don't be late)

I.
They say mouthfuls
don't they? and if not
for such a collective
and vague pronoun
to funnel our singular
and specific idiocy
into, well! we could
hardly expect to live
with ourselves, now
could we?
II.
They say chivalry
is dead and just in case
the carrier of such trite
blasts from the mouth
is infectious we shall
****** him too
III.
They say it's the thought
that counts and I say how
dare you
IV.
They say now don't
quote me on this and
so I won't

This dead thing
is really not my
thing, never fully
appreciating how
empty it would
be
This dead thing
all around and
inside of
me
(for example)
Who knew dust has
teeth and it gnaws
even at my pale thin
voice still banging
around the empty
rooms of
me?
I thought this dead
thing would simply
surround me, would
take my last breath
like a flower and
I would sink into
the dirt and no,
of course not,
why would it
hurt?
This dead thing
who knew how
capricious
it would be?
I bet you thought
it would at least be
reverent, like a man
holding his hat
a grey fedora
over his heart
as if to say not mine
no not this time but
I will look down
I will study the
ground, this dead
thing, passing
before
me

To cry like this
unending nights
with one tiny light,
one tiny squeak of day
under the mud
it is always this
way
Daylight warms
the top of my skull
as I trace the course
of the sun from one side
of my pond of tears
to the other
Over so quickly
over and done
and in that short glimpse
of daylight, my tears still
run
Deluge, dear
feel my clammy heart
there is no end when
these kind of tears
start

You're so and I'm
no, I'm not
you're so-and-
so (*******
though)

Your knot, your
****, not mine-
O no no no!
You forgot
(what time is it?
where's the plot?
not me! no never!
not!)

Rot's the same
always yours but
I'm to blame
when you ******
that big ****,
that big hunk,
that big stain,
call it water
call it rain
raining down
the same ol' twisted
I forgot

(Yours hold it
open, stretch it
wide hide that
ugly glory holed
up inside; spent
like keys like
coins like tease
coin slot KER
PLUNK buried
up to your sleeves
twisted rot, where's
my change? you
little snot)

By the time you swear you're his,
    Shivering and sighing,
And he vows his passion is
    Infinite, undying-
Lady, make a note of this:
    One of you is lying.

Good morning in the garden
of forgetting, each of our chairs
assembled- Miss Postpartum
always sits on the outer edge
wedged against a tree and
looking up at the leaves
Botched Suicide, well,
there are several of us
we sit together in a loose
ring, Rope and Kicked Over
Step Stool sits at 3 o'clock
and I generally prefer 6
at the bottom of course
and Jumped From a
Window lingers around 9
for the third and hopefully
the last time
Slashed Wrist takes her
place near the top, at the
eleventh hour, as usual
she is as unsure as her
halfhearted cuts
Certainly no one is here
because we want to be
quite the opposite, we just
haven't mastered our exits
and it doesn't matter how
many mornings we find
ourselves here in this
circle of doom- at least
we know our places
all of us expecting to
exit soon

Love is a party to
which you are not
invited

Ah well, two or
even three steps
short of hate, good
enough, you are
the waitress of his
cold served fate
(eat it, I
insist)

You, ****, have
convinced the one
who hates you most
that in the absence of love
well, here is your ghost

Warm, right holes
right temperature

Oooh lah lah

You cannot go past
those red velvet ropes
the ones meant for v.i.p.s
and certainly not for you
to pass through

Love exits each time
you enter

Love is a party, dear
but not a costumed event
you stake your **** hole
of a mouth as a declaration
of love, you stake your
freakish circus tent

Ten years, count 'em
a few more, count 'em
your sort of love is a war
of attrition

(****, ****, ****
you blinded ***-faced
bug)

Veni, vidi, vucci
go to hell you
slug

O, now yes I feel the sun
on my skin and even, o,
now yes I feel the sun
on my lids (someone
has opened up the blind)
There is tea by my head
a lovely feeling here
in my bed and for
the first time (ever?)
I do not even question
it, not any of it

The ghost who attends
me has run off with tiny
footfalls, left me with love
and no feeling of loss or
dread or ruin (how clever
to leave me this instead!
how sweet and who knows
what brought me to my feet?
I dangle them over the side
of the bed, sitting upright)
I am wearing a cotton gown
that engulfs me even as
it frees me I am on a eight
hundred thread count cloud!

I think I might even, yes
put some weight on these
toes, test them out, maybe
run a few laps to the kitchen
and back (they work!)

I love you!

While I do not believe
in god I do believe in
attending angels

What luxury!  what a
lavish gift! to wake up
alive like this

I like baked fish
I like a fish in a dish
I like Lillian Gish
I like to dress up
in a gigantic wide
brimmed hat and
go to the movies

I like smooth stones
I like sun bleached bones
I like raspberry scones
I like to hide behind
the bookshelf and
scream when you
walk by

I like sleeping dogs
I like foggy fogs
I like Prague
I like to sob into
a pillow and never
wake up again

I say hanging from the hinge
of homelessness is the worst
sort of terror- try it (you
dipped your toes in once)
You say well everyone
has a door to open, to close
to keep the world at bay
(how quaint) I say
you have never been
without keys or a bed
or any old piece of floor
to rest your head
hmmph, well,
there was that time
you slept in a fountain
and all of Italy was yours
a plate to eat and yeah
you woke up wet and
sopping but you didn't
notice the rainbow
at your feet (did
you?) and
mother could always
find you and you could
always find her- at the end
of a Western Union while
your belly grumbled
for more screamed
for that sense of
entitlement YOU
REMIND ME OF A
BABY whining for
a new and clean place
to ****, white and full
of plenty but for
the one time you
rubbed shoulders
with reality, when
you ended up in a
decaying heap
you spent your short
life learning to skip
to throw a blind eye
to close your ears and
your nose when mother's
grasp let go for that one
terrifying moment
what did it feel like,
that slip into the gutter
of humanity's woes?
smells a lot like ****
(don't it?)

Your whole family stinks
Shopping for your dog is
so stressful you need therapy
Bears revel in their own clean
underpants but won't touch
the underpants of another
If you hug your dishwasher
and apologize for blaming it
for your lousy shopping choices
it's okay cuz there's a product
for that
If you feel like a worthless failure
due to the constant ads on TV
featuring successful people
giving cars away as gifts
it's okay cuz there's a gun
for that
If you wonder why you haven't yet
found yourself standing in a huge
empty room except for some Chevys
that pop out of nowhere and scare
the crap out of you remember:
Bears don't wear underpants
and their ***** are so clean
they Enjoy The Go and maybe
you should- GO, JUST GO

Darling
You
Master of distress
Even the scream
Of cordoroy
Can't match
The bleeding
Of your jeans

you are what the woods
look like on a starless
night and through a beam
of lantern light, swinging
first left then right from
my arms, gripped fingers
and the lightening bugs
you look quite simply
lovely in that quick
flood of flight
you look just right
like a breath between
bites, the sweep of
that lamp, remember?
and if light could sing
if darkness could make
a harmony of those
absent stars and so
many other lost
things? we could
make a forest sing
me and you simple
like that, beautiful
fact

You tell me I am the store clerk
in this company store
I am the one with the yardstick,
a symbol of authority, you say
but one I never used to measure
my own faults or even measure
the thread you used to catch
me in so many knots

You send me away with a few
extra inches, a mind crammed
with outrageous hope, and a
checklist of unanswered questions
dandelion in hand encouraging
the dust, a beat up rusted hope
in the middle of a fallow field

You never thought I'd backtrack
did you? tripping over that pile
of threads, my foot caught in
the center, a prey through
a scope with laughter on
the other end

Again I tell you I need
to know more than I need
to know you
I need to know the glory
of winning a war I once
thought was ridiculous

(And when I look down
and see you have dressed me
in a fool's garb you say not
to worry because looks
can be deceiving
and what the ****
do I know?)

The truth will reveal itself
in a slow and sly burlesque
flowers dropping their petals
**** and unbearable and
when the answer comes
to your lips you will not
know how to say yes
your mouth pressed
into a no and the rest
the rest, the rest

Win lose or draw saddle
swiped ripped out quite
between your knees
Your little ride (grab
me by the reigns my
two long braids rip) o
rip me sideways tear
me away from your
livid schemes
You, ****** (me,
******) o you death
squad you breath
of death nod torn
between yourself
and the rest of
your nothing
******* die
(Then Me)
there bleed out
on the floor there
that stretches
between you
and me and O
BUT WHAT a
naked valley! so
much dead and
amber waves
of withered grain
YOU ARE THE DUMB
AMERICAN of all my
heart and dreams
(your statue of
liberty a constant
reign on your watery
parade) ah ****
OFF DEAR thank
you right between
the ears the big ol'
shafted bamboozled
part of your brain
hoodwinked dear
(let's go ****
another pony
shall we?) a love
a hate poem for you
and so much less
thanks again dear I
never expected this
fat with your own
expectation pregnant
with your ***** and
your swastikas
BOO!

I am not a sentry
I do not stand with
my hands full of honey
flowing with *** juice
dainty footfalls marching
in place quiet as a panther
smile draped on my face

I practiced winking
in the mirror but I come
off as a psychopath
my come hither look
missing a fork and
you

What else can I do
while I wait here for
the likes of you?

I believe you want me
still warm, hot even
like a mirage on hot tar
not me but still sort of
me, shut up completely

Like a tomb

I have never been more
decisive, keeping perfectly
still in this tiny room

This is a parable.
I know I'm not supposed to announce
whatever folly my unworthy fingers
might construct- and in the case that
I fail entirely, well, it's too late to say
this is a magazine ad. For perfume.

I can at least tell you this is not
a perfume ad.

I want to tell you all about the man
who falls in the river every night
(and, no, he is not Heraclitus so
it IS the same river even when
it's not

For our purposes, it is the same
river)

Some of us find comfort in that
sort of continuity while others dare
to dream

The man in the river never
remembers his dreams- it could be
because of the way is jolted awake
Instant Terror, Self Hatred, and
Stench clobbers him, **** dreams.

Except that day.
He woke up with a brocaded toe
clamped between his teeth and
fell instantly in love while the mouth
so far above the toe, it screamed
and screamed and scream

For the next 28 years the river dude
languished in a cell and spent each
of those years building a palace
in his mind for the brocaded
toed princess.

Naturally upon his release
he would be covered in brocade
as well, you see the man had gone
quite insane, meanwhile the toe
and the mouth did as well
Go insane.

What did it matter that he
never saw her face, save the
shrieking maw? and anyway
he knew all he needed to know
just by memorizing her foot

It turns out the bellowing lady
only had one shoe, a lovely one
at that and what did she need
with two?

It turns out the screaming lady had
only that one foot and the rest
of her was such a mess having
only one leg was a leg up

The river man was a *****
and an *******.

He never loved the one
legged lady but stupidly
fell in love with a shoe
which got him a long
prison sentence.

Love what he or she is
and not what he or she
could be- after all, they
gave you a chance.

Jack ***.

You say such awful things
meant to squash any last bit
of love and have me revel
in hatred
I say add your words
to the ever growing pile
fight it out even, each
of you having your own
specific recipe- how to
hate and when, an army
of stupidity that has
no end
You say my pain is all
wrong, stubbornly denying
the possibility of loving that
sort of man, therefore I should
be able to just move along
I say I would rather be tangled
up in love than take on that
sort of ugly thing, this hatred
you want to throw on me like
a prized possession, keep it
for yourself, hoard it for
the leaner times

you're going to need it

You would think
that once my words
are untangled from
the beating of my
thin flesh there
would be some
relief,
like a lightening bug
finally freed from two
clasped hands
no
it doesn't happen
like this
and, besides, how often
does that bug cease to
light up, even after
a controlled
captivity?
No common
housefly (me)
I seek to light up
even in your
absence
(see?)

You, there
me, here (fair
and square) fists
empty arms full
of air, thief! rich
with my despair
from my gut
(strings, strings!
a violin, a tennis
racket, sinew
strung from one
pile of...)
gloating, surely
belly full another
wind filled ****
another plus on
the minus side
of me, robbed
mostly of you
(who cares?)
I thought
mostly of you
the great con
job and how
does your garden
grow, kicked like
that? (o what
a pair you
make