heck,
oh shucks, no darling, this **** thing?
dear darling,
this thing
being big,
I mean bigger than time and space,
bigger than the cosmos,
gosh, bigger than the universe,
bigger than eternity.

boom, bang, clang,
clank.

shh, my solar plexus speaks --
I am here in Queens.

seems like a missed opportunity.

ah,
at last a place to rest me head
on a stiff one

please no drinking jokes
or ****** stuff

just imagine if
our daily lives were filled
with images of *** and violence

what kind of people
would we be?

hey don't listen to me
just turn on the TV

I like warm bodies
but it's not a place to
be alone.

You try making a Haiku
with body parts
buddy

we've come a long way (baby) before
midnight

when that clock strikes twelve
there is no way back

I live in the city but
I can't get the sound of sawmills
out of my head

what happens between now
and before (the next thing happens)?

that is a real concern.

lately, people have come up to me
in my face like,
and say, hey I like your poems, but
I can't understand why you have to be
so ...
and I fill in the words
... pregnant?

no, like a void.

oh, I say
in the past tense.

I still like, like her
she mightn't be real

she may have once
though she will
never admit it

I think a woman knows
if a man
knows what women like

if, what women like
is ******
then I don't really know

she knows that,
but that's not what she wants
tonight

she knows I will be with her
during the darkest nights

the inconsolable,
seemingly endless,
empty
alone
and utterly despairing
nights
when no light
enters
a dark closed cell
forever locked
in the coldest
hell.

today is a watershed.

the weather is now a topic of conversation
last weeks big game is not discussed
mums the word.

people hate teaser's
people love...
well we are working on that

the reason I have come here
before you today
is to take up space
to breath air that
would normally
waft up into an
eternal vacuum

to keep it short (and sweet)
there are two ways
always
and never one way
but its not binary
or right
or wrong
it is,
for as
long as
I stand here.

personally
this kind of writing never
did anyone any good

those who lost everything
know it's BS

those who have anything left
know to walk away.

once in awhile
there seems to be enough
room
to settle
past debts.

someone got a sponge
bob
doll
thingy and
tried to mop up
the **** that's
on the kitchen
wall.

for God's sake.

is this what life's come to?

I don't know (about you)
but
its not the first time
(this has happened)

hey.
quit patronizing me.

who are you?
what do you want?

you Paul Celon
searching
sucker.

the only karma you got
was given to you by someone else
don't even worry about it.

the tape skips
someone hit the turntable
my mom is crying because she thinks
she did everything she could
(for me?)
and yet

the one time when I have enough
clarity, compassion
tenderness

it gets flushed
down
the
toilet

what goes on behind,
or in front, and besides
who really gives a
****?

daily, yesterday, today and
most likely, tomorrow
it seems

how to say this,
the turn-around is
just around the corner.

then I ran into you.

first,

last.

for once can I be honest?

a man or say a woman
can't, won't, shall not
sleep walk in this world
without
hitting
something
to wake them
up

no, but eggs for breakfast,
fine.
but for
dinner?
c'mon.

I, or she can't sleep with me
because of the gap
between
what is
and
what
is
not.

you say the universe is empty

that it did not choose us
not even once

you say the world is full

of empty hearts

but I too have a story of woe
though if it's in the Mayan language it's not composite,
or Corinthian,
or sequential,
or relevant

I'm just walking in circles here
devouring souls

like us,
our sister-worlds streak across a millennia
chasing her breath
heaving sighs,
leaving
interleaving trails of memory
waving goodbye

sure I get excited
about
love,
***,
and
violence.

sure there's a hell

but what's your feel about feeling
not so
good
about
your insides?

lonely,
LONELY
an      
only 

a drop in the bucket maybe
and who gives a **** anyway
you say
it's just intonation.

I will rise
I will fall
I would in fact
follow you.

(and just for context - the feeling of minor keys played on a outdated 70's moog, well, that sound would take anyone down).

we don't care
if you are a
moll
just come back!

because
I am still
in love
with
you.

describe your aura ana
ana roxanne is your aura
the color of the sound of
ah's

roxanne for strength

hapless and helpless we
will not fade in the eternal night
a nocturnal eternal says,

I see an immediate future for you,
I recall your arrival.

I just found my mother
who she is
what mother means
to her


her whole world is
her motherworld
and we are her children


and I
her son
though
I was never her son
at the beginning

55
years
of
pain


and now
I see her
finally
at 89
totally
dissembled

unearthed
to be
buried

under the earth

dear God
restore us
to regularity
without humiliations

the drain on 42nd street has
rats in the tunnel
rats on the tracks
roaches on the rail
for all the nations let them have

a beautiful life
underneath the sun
like a vagabond
who has no where else to go

I am empty now
below the street
people gather
some push
some saunter
some push there belongings before them
some stare

at humanity
with a smile
with a sad smile
with anger
with rage

some people help
other people

more than once I witnessed a person who
dropped a glove or a hat or a phone or umbrella

and someone said, mister is that yours, or ma'am your glove

we on 42nd stand aloof
regarded as nobody's
and regarded as kings and queens
as natives
as the original dreamers

the first drainers
upon the earth

how is love
what is love
who am I to love
if not my wife

she is all that is love
she shows what it is to love
how to love
what is love
is her

I stare into the mirror until the light (life) goes out
don't worry about the fly

 I am thinking about two paintings by Gustave Klimpt

Eve undressed
Adam undone 

my mother the ******

I still suckle at her ****

and worry about the larvae

truly one dreams about floating down a river
and emptying into a lake
then the wind whistles
and the lake freezes over
now there's no chance of swimming out alive
or floating to the top
just sink to the bottom 

ice cap crazy, I say
he never wrote me after that frigid stare
(when Art died I got up and left)

a frozen lake, a frozen stare (start), who dreams like that?
maybe this won't come out right
the end is forced 

you see I don't have much time
and I don't give myself much time

a life no one else can use
must I?

it's like people who complain about the sun

complain about the sun?

yes, the sun is at fault
further, it's the sun's fault
not who complains

what is the complaint anyway that the sun shines or shined and is now gone?

no, stupid
that it rises.

ESCUTCHEON:  Tuesday September 17th, 2019 at 09:41 PM writes:

oh please…no more fluff for the stuffy…blah, blah, blah

REPLY:
its so dank in here – do you mind moving over?

ESCUTCHEON:
have to go anyway, its late and kinda artsy for fancy yum yums like me ... so derivative like.

REPLY:
ha, ha, ha ya mean so loosely fitting that it ‘palls me *****’.   cheerios girls, as the Telegraphers say

ESCUTCHEON:
cornflakes, potatoes, silk chiffon ribbons, any french layer cake will do for you lot…btw working me times table

REPLY:
since you (men)tion it, hee, hee, kah, kah, (cough)(spits out loose tooth).

ESCUTCHEON:  
rolls around with five men until sparkling clean.  Just like all the men *** known, T. Hee (she wahnts five x =’s 45)

REPLY:
leave it alone pal (3plus10)

ESCUTCHEON:  
yeah or just leave. this restaurant is for invertebrates and finger stats and rind rats

cafe french is stupid. and quit pointing that thing at me
it feels like two flutes in the back

i **(p)e everyone just turns out to vote (for me!) (aside to self – how does one thought supersede another (self to aside – withering like self-replicating worms - it's sequential, isn’t it?))(parens within parens)

huge thugs. good work all. take 5 (6-1=3)

REPLY:
he's drunk.

ESCUTCHEON:  
blood everywhere

meh, just on the napkin...thank g-d

Geesh, Im surprised he could keep (alive) that long  (plus 0 minus 0)

Comment awaiting approval.

LEAVE A REPLY

this is the way that you sigh,

a leafless branch
wavering helplessly

between tides

waving goodbye to some great memory

exhaling depleted air.

Sloping beaches
roman snails
slinking deeper
into my pail.

on a hillside a log topples downward

showing a fungi of colors
in millet-seed sized scales

a devils cup
curls up

under the dark undergrowth

a mat of mossy sponge
    too lichen thick

drains its
blistering-ulcerating-soul
into an inner memory with as many folds

where are we now?

us,
a wandering tribe of black eyes.

The People cry out
  Who will save us?
We are buried alive with deception

Dwelling like beasts in spoils of luxury
Creeping around like blighted scarabs
    growing ever stronger with rancid mouthfuls of cheat.

King of neither world
Hurler of hopes
Admonisher of dreams
Do not silence our awakening

You must save us!

I am Ha-ha
  am I to be loved by you?

It is I alone who can strike
a single chord

[though strumming with puny hands I too have limits]

Like so many drops of sweat
trickling down your spine, I caress.

In my kingdom fear reigns
   each of you
a harnesser of the means

know that I have not come to fulfill but to destroy

******, killing, stealing
Mankind will be churned underground to be reborn with burning flesh

consummate death
thy liberty is dead!

So decrees  Ha-ha

The People whimper
  do we even deserve you?

I was dead during the day at the office
It was I who followed me home for dinner
I left me feeling empty in the evening
Still I thought I could be slept off over night

In the morning I prayed to God never to leave me
for forgiveness can never be redeemed

Yet nothing was done
So forgetting the night before I carried on as usual
Tardy for this, too late for that, too quo kid to care
Scratching my chest
With a bliss this small I'd stop
But
Each day's the same

death followed me
empty  
over night
awake

Never redeeming
nor ransom free
In the morning
I never left me

I did end up writing that letter to Kristen Stewart
the letter that my sponsor said may not be a good idea to write

he said it escalated
my acting-out
by writing her

I can see what he's saying

it’s like writing to you
to write to her
wait (as if I’m KS)
I’m a little confused
if you love her
how can you love me?

my sponsor
my sponsor
wherefore - don’t forsake me on this one
you'd think he's my Lord and Master
God
or something

though if you should meet him
he'd talk some sense into you.

who am i kidding?
if push came to shove
I’d choose KS.

I mean c'mon
she’s a fractured heart

she is
vulnerable
and open
and takes my breath away
I die
For her

Maybe we like being held captive

the need to feel victimized
reigns supreme
in love poetry

like troubadours singing,
'a hey and a **, what about me'
'am I chopped liver, nonny, nonny?'

then, say I, alas like:

end this pain and stick a knife in me
so at least it will be the last honest feeling

(your eyes cutting deep into mine)

we feel.

Love  Time  Left  Behind  Tears

Eyes  Lost  Dark  Heart  Pain  
­
Feeling alone all day

Your sun hands inside a falling man

Life.

      time      heart      life      eyes      feel  ­    day      mind      night      things      left      find     ­ long      light      people      soul      face      pain    los­t    thought    good    head    keep    smile    inside    sun   ­ hands    place    hold    hope    hand    fall    man    body   ­ thing    dark  

  leave    live    beautiful    skin    tears  ­  hear    thoughts    sky    days    cold    better    hard    br­oken    going    feeling    dreams    god    mine    lips    best­    remember    deep    free    true    stay    years    forever ­   knew    air    moment    felt    care    open    sleep    happ­y    fear    told    black    dream    death    blood    untitled­    breath    times    blue    girl    sweet    call    close    ­walk    cry    hair    help    sure    today    white    full    ­touch    die    stars    dead    turn    bed    loved    wanted  ­  red    real    truth    voice    morning    water    kiss    fo­rget    hurt    wrong    longer    hate    wind    fire    rain  ­  arms    friends    empty    beauty    waiting    friend    matt­er    feet    stand    high    side    work    memories    wonder­    moon    earth    change    room    living    darkness    lies­    write    bad    understand    sound    break    word    watch­    start    sit    person    thinking    kind    rest    fingers­    song    door    making    ground    play    warm    silence  ­  sea    strong    hearts    great    finally    talk    falling ­   lie    slowly    sad    speak    small    perfect    set    wa­it    fight    held    leaves    soft    filled    move    holdin­g    knowing    bright    reason    feels    feelings    alive   ­ bring    apart    peace    heard    lay    mouth    read    hide­    reality    laugh    mother    realize    eye    grow    lives­    coming    young    child    poem    big    dance    happiness­    listen    breathe    looked    chest    clouds    wake    hum­an    leaving    turned    future    fell    worth    space    re­ach    dear    green    story    trees    guess    house    taste­    second    boy    afraid    glass    music    running    walls­    late    floor    tired    memory    meant    called    sense ­   three    year    cut    men    sing    beneath    sight    nig­hts    joy    lonely    meet    point    lose    met    takes    ­fast    single    till    poetry    watching    fly    chance    ­loving    half    brain    bones    beat    silent    hours    su­mmer    tongue    ocean    burning    children    asked    walkin­g    family    burn    land    simple    fine    window    sittin­g    trust    waves    woman    clear    bit    ready    path    ­tree    learn    ways    moments    power    easy    fill    flow­ers    dying    pretty    pieces    lot    ago    quiet    born  ­  money    simply    crying    lights    road    pass    forgotte­n    front    needed    step    started    smoke    hot    share ­   heaven    baby    lines    escape    heavy    shadows    desir­e    souls    wings    save    war    emotions    tear    warmth ­   worry    ears    standing    scared    paper    control    tom­orrow    dust    promise    pull    stuck    smell    wall    dri­nk    form    piece    2    writing    safe    mirror    flesh   ­ slow    walked    stare    hidden    return    smiles    caught ­   winter    passion    game    goodbye    father    pure    blin­d    fact    sadness    star    scream    strength    art    hit ­   written    tonight    3    tight    street    question    fun ­   answer    embrace    catch    follow    short    hoping    sch­ool    weak    rise    scars    spent    breeze    lungs    spiri­t    eat    teeth    car    shine    nature    died    veins    n­eck    top    moving    sat    loves    dry    breathing    playi­ng    talking    storm    sick    telling    whisper    sand    s­now    comfort    happen    gold    brought    book    birds    s­ounds    gentle    color    happened    faces    legs    laughter­    loud    wild    dancing    1    places    universe    endless­    fate    stood    exist    golden    shadow    crazy    grass ­   choose    city    keeps    skies    distance    broke    hurts­    nice    knees    pray    cool    stopped    awake    heat    ­minds    doubt    learned    stone    flow    pick    lived    gr­ey    closed    everyday    carry    throat    meaning    course ­   stories    sorrow    turns    spring    passed    rose    free­dom    regret    wanting    existence    growing    coffee    rem­ain    lead    faith    changed    missing    kisses    closer   ­ 
Next page

I needed that

I wanted you

But I got

What He gave.

How

Can

I

Thank

The Emptiness.

when the mind becomes numb

a skull can be dissected to show its cavities

cavities are the orbit of the eyes

an old Indian saying?


I noticed you really just want to annihilate me

not comfort you.

There is a blood meal in me
ready to explode  

a tombed implosion

an imprisoned womb.


But it's too late for that

time is personal

and lately, voices.

I fear the indecipherable is now decipherable

I see in Moriah, Jonah, and Tyler, incredible nations

Cree, why didn't you listen to me!

can you ******* saliva?
get over it!

you know
the skull was dissected to show the cavities of the orbit of the suns.

XXXVII

PAR(R)APHRASES TO BE ENGRAVED IN BRONZE

1
The future
A time bomb

2
Consumerism
A snake
That swallows its tail

3
A lot of talk about human rights
Little
almost nothing about human responsibilities
Number one human responsibility
To respect human rights

4
Return to democracy for what
To see the same film over again?
NO:
To see if we can save the planet
Without democracy nothing is saved

5
Third and final call
Individualists of the world unite
Before it's too late

-----  ---  -----

XLV

ULTIMATUM

Either they draw up once and for all
The encyclical letter on survival
Or I'll have to put it in writing myself
Weeps at the top of his voice
Your Lord Jesus Christ
Of Elqui
Domingo Zárate Vega
Alias the eco loco of the north
Hurry up!

There are eternities but not so many

The planet can't take it any more

What people feel?
What do you feel?

I've had this conversation with you before

And still nothing.

A letter might be better
Or
Still more confusion.

You are a queer fellow
Sitting there
Arguing with lampshades
about how little people know
And who is with you
And who's against

It all comes down to
Past lives,
Yeah, the stuff you did before
Being born

So, why don't you just
Leave

And try again.

Hands folded
Left over right
Frontal silences temporal

Lobes fear duodendum
Heavyweights fear welters
Humans; robots
Sons their fathers
Sinners, a god

Art too fears
strap-ons, fears fakes
Fears sterility
Fears youth,
Fears age. Now old.

Help!
God.
Serande us with
That which we cannot, or will not
Comprehend

As seeing Khatia sur la sable makes her desirable
How can we honor her, that
I do not understand.

By Circumstances Fed

Which divide attention
Among the living and the dead,
Under the blooms of the blossoming sun,
The gaze which is a tower towers
Day and night, hour by hour,
Critical of all and of one,
Dissatisfied with every flower
With all that's been done or undone,
Converting every feature
Into its own and unknown nature;

So, once in the drugstore,
Amid all the poppy, salve and ointment,
I suddenly saw, estranged there,
Beyond all disappointment,
My own face in the mirror.

I have a plan to go mad
It will not take time or money
You don't have to do a thing
But bring me lunch
A sandwich, maybe, on the train.  
No, on the steps to the platform
You will see me.
No, you do not see me,
tu me sentiras

------- ----- -------

I put my best bottles in the recycle and I was proud watching you take them.  
I thought to myself, they are doing a service, and I them
by washing the bottles out first, I write this until it whistles in my ears.

There are two typos in my last poem
There are two types of poems, my last one and the one that is being written.

I am serious about the ringing in my ears.

Black Stone Lying On A White Stone

I will die in Paris, on a rainy day, on some day I can already remember.

I will die in Paris--and I don’t step aside-- perhaps on a Thursday, as today is Thursday, in autumn.  

It will be a Thursday, because today, Thursday, setting down these lines, I have put my upper arm bones on wrong, and never so much as today have I found myself with all the road ahead of me, alone.  

César Vallejo is dead.  

Everyone beat him although he never does anything to them; they beat him hard with a stick and hard also with a rope.  

These are the witnesses: the Thursdays, and the bones of my arms, the solitude, and the rain, and the roads.

Until today
I could not see you
too afraid to look in a mirror
Skin loose
Jaw tight, a motar grinding teeth

A confused looking man,
already?
Are you ready?

Adrift, we alive are dizzy, mad, confused, or blank.

Stroking our nostril hair,
portraying different parts,
one a banker, a father, an assassin
Once even a sort of Irish troll, slash, Quasimodo,
do you regret the metaphor?

How it happened...

akin to looking back
And thinking nothing,
black on black

Whiteshade in light
Static void (smiling cow).

Who was chaufeured around Paris in that film anyway?

That girl, you know, the one who won't wear shoes
Or socks

She plays in several scenarios,
once a mother, a nurse, a nun on the run,
a chemist, a voluptuous ventriloquist,
pregnant, humming, doing the dishes, going to church,
staying up late to feed the cats

can you imagine

playing all those lifetimes on a raft
an inventive vehicle wouldn't you say?

I'm a nobody
Arranging words so they align with thoughts
Uneven and impure

These poems are like living on snack food

What I want to say is,
half of me is out the door

Living with the ants.

Frz have you forgotten me?

I hear your voice, but its me saying do not listen

Anyway I say, how are you?
the court records a divorce, a child, and a republican,

You were once a brooklynite, a beloved chassid gal, so hollow to hide, have you moved upstate?

me? maybe inappropriately concerned

I dreamt we will meet one day.

I see you, you see me, then run away furtively,

I race head long, trying to catch you, to touch you at last.  

Mind numb, you duck in the LGBT centre.  I stop.  

Leaving you to minds damnation and hell, a palace of fears, fool for years, you lead me down some steps, through an alley,  open a gate, and smile,

stay here, you say, between two buildings.  

I sit next to the garbage cans against a wall with leafless vines, its the first snow, you never said when you'd be back.

It is now a year before I die, cars roll by noisily, far off a lone siren, someone is digging in the garbage for scraps, it seems impossible that inches away you were within my reach

I forgot what i was going to write  you
I know it was important
It had something to do with life
Or was it death

I'm not a word man anyway
I spent my lot
It's gone

It used to be like an eternal fountain
The gifts just kept on coming
I was a zeitgeist monsoon
A freak outbreak of the
had to do's

There was was never a question of asking
if
Or
when
It would come

It was just

the

Viscera

Of

Life

sometimes i feel like i am in the midwest
sitting in queens
dyslexic
listening to Jessye Norman (who listens to her anymore)

sometimes i am flying over the sea
algae deep,
crashing mountains, ocean green

its the same every night when you are not here

i get home
do dishes
heat rice and dahl
open a beer

wait, wait, something on the weimar republic is on tonight
that's not new
the same questions
why the jews

how could so many
die in broad day light
while He walked the earth?

biblical tales that still
need interpretation

who is the weaker of the two
before now or after?

Jessye now sings Samson and Delilah,
the announcer announces

the singer sings,

"my heart opens to your voice like a flower

my dearest let your loving words dry my tears

tell me you are returning to Delilah

repeat the vows you made long ago

the vows i used to believe in"

the vows of heaven on earth?

the vows of justice?

who stands to inherit the earth ... the meek?    

c'mon!

by G-d she could sing

Why am i writing you
Are you such a mystery?
I cant even remember the times we spent
Together
Can you?

You hate me thats certain.
I can even remember why
Its because i liked you
Isnt it?

it felt like you liked me too...

you have dis-joined parts

can they be re-attached?

Looking in a mirror, taking a photo
it's as though you blended them

bangs pulled back
you comb with eyes closed
as if scraping with teeth  


we are divided like
salt and water.

One self faithful

the other,
black, pungent, libidinous,
like a *****

I want to ask if you like your hair pulled back
with your eyes closed

a little salty?

are you looking

from the outside?

I am

forgotten trifles
dust and pollen

tie the land and sea together
with a thicket of pine

white light shining through its crown

a bough once firmly rooted in heavy layers of strata

now aboveground it exceeds its breach

like a loaf of darkened bread
it lies (resting in the sand) stacked in rows
the sun and moon having melded its form

--- --- ---

the sky is a coronae of thorns coming down to greet me

running on the beach we see what looks like the torso of an elephant, I say its a wrecked ship, a storm has washed it ashore, you say it came from the Big Bang, we laugh and sit together on the end of an exposed epoch

it is dead
we are alive
thick with moments of compassion

fused with ignorance and neglect

how now are we communicating -- do you remember when you looked into my eyes and raised your arms triumphantly and proclaimed “ologemeide ... I tamed you!”?

isn't it time

for penitence?

I just forget everything

and don't talk to anyone

except for you, dear Lord, you are my ball and chain

having died and come back again I get to look back
watching old movies of myself,
sleeping last night off, leg twitching
dreaming of moving along a motorcade of immanent death

one by one getting flat tires, running out of gas, suddenly the battery
dies

I get out of the car, look around, and see, to my surprise

a loved one's love looking back at me, twisting in the wind, empty, alone, drunk,
its my father or mother lifting my brother or sister from the back seat to the front, carelessly driving, ceaselessly swerving

towards the waterway

if it wasn't for the guardrail,  we'd all be dead

time is a ritual now, and it hurts to come back to life, to feed the living,
to get dressed in day-old church clothes, to hit back, as one sneers at being sneered at, I pick up the Daily and skim the headlines, Lost and All Alone, A Stranger Takes a Dive, toss the rag and head to work, fixing to lie to my boss about being sick, about tasting olives, about who I am.

i am heading towards the shore

i am following the sea

i run to the ocean

cooled by the hand of your caress

enfolded in your arms


you are the drowning

you are the ocean

you are love


i am drowning in the ocean of love

moving inland far away from
the coast temptation doth bring
deeper in land the head seems consumed by everything

nearing the coast it's the heart that sings

though inland, my love, you will find me

away from the bogs or the shoals o' herring

holding you at bay with *****

keeping me next to me

wanting tomorrow to be the better day

my mind, an island for tromping shores
different from desert sands
when the tide of your concern reprimands

on this island the shells
are smaller and there are no dollars,  
the sea, a shrunken plastic expanse of
syringes and lip balm containers,
soft fluid-filled bodies turned into
sopping brown-bag skeletons,

revenges
of modern life.

there is a rivulet further up shore

do you feel it?

follow the inlet wind

near a candescent pond

there is a house

open the door

if you fall in

a home can be found.

i wish i could love you like a
radio hairdo

i wish i could have one

in a similar style

i wish i could hold you

out of my sight

like a radio hairdo
a total joy

i wish
we could go on like this

like light waiting for destruction

we could go on

staying apart liek

this  

like a radio hairdo

but in a similar style

for real.

you can sing with us

but do you know the songs?

you can drum with us but

is the circle broken?

where is smiling crow

where is steals horses

where is william strong bow?

he is with billy the long nose

[no, he really has a big nose (and a short fuse)]

there is one,
some say she kills the song,
but she is at each gathering

never misses a beat,
she loves to sing

sneaking up on us like a
grey hawk,
she swoops down,
missing her prey,

she'll be back,
watch-out!

the circle is bigger or smaller,
we decide,

everyone wants to
be close to the host,
to be the lead
to drum in the inner circle

how can we be so many?

we need to take turns

those who are close to the center know,

listen to them when they speak,

they don't tell.

i had this poem in my head

and no, it's never coming back

i have this image in my mind

and it has disappeared forever

i have this feeling

but it just won't go

i have this feeling

it doesn't leave

its a feeling like you have left,

i see you leave,

you are walking away

you walk down the stairs to the train

a siren sounds,

people pass,

a taxi honks

you are gone.

i am sick

i drank too much

i imagine dying

alone writing this poem

wondering if

someone will know

what i mean.


i know where you live,

i have your phone number

i send you emails

still i don't see you.

i call you, you answer, i ask,

can we meet any closer

than how i'm feeling right now?

too interested
in what is being put into my mouth
to listen to hard knocks

too  muted to deaden my tone

soft walls are what I need

I could put up textured paper
with simple tacks

from floor to ceiling

but would that help?

Hollo!

has gone to ground

urinating on the floor

dug in by fear

I should have broke from under my covers
and run riot at the scent of death by now

I once read, a hound that lacks
drive is apt to dwell

not stuck in a house,
putting up pictures

or breaking in blankets

not waning and whimpering like I'm doing now

here's a scene,
you are young
I am old,
we walk to the park,
light sparkles on a dithering pond
undecided
we try and waltz
through an interpreter
we watch each other
and
laugh

The good verb “conn”

supersedes nounsies that say much the same

they leave their mark
and their stain.


organelles are found in living cells

but bacteria is barely surviving -

gasping, respire, respiring

god will swallow death as sure as sheol

still,

the microbes must thrive

one sloppy, the other ill


a slender hand of steel

excites it,

like the splendor of redwood mounted on peach

a cleavage emerges  (causing a **** to swell)

increasing her capacity for desire

a seeker of truth now bound for duluth?

caught in an ice floe
preoccupied by the last degree

pulling shoals
of distance below,

the south pole is now our goal,

we land on land beyond sea

and space

where a wise man plays fool
to a young girl's angel face  -  

     as an aside: he likes her
     but she is not attracted to men or goys,

scattering the cremains
of
a nobody's boy
(a boy we tried to revive many a time)

into a river where the river never ends

he remains  

sinking into darkness,

adrift in a pit
of lips of labrum

down the chosen depths

of the frozen abyss of Tehom

a brief overview:

so far, in our voyage
we have stayed home
call it a parallel apocrypha
omitting all and accepting none
I own nothing

pronouns are a formality:

a Roman Catholic, a Greek from Rheims
a girl and a boy
a sister and her friends
a wife and teacher
a nun who’s a mother

chronology of implications:

first day, second month
prudes scare me
how much should a man give up
when his wife leaves him

she’s not really gone
it’s just something to think about
or ignore
or laugh about

you decide

the one person who’s bereavement
you have mulled over and over until one day
you find out the person has been going around saying your name

I call that a preferential loss
I call that, as an if