my breakfast of thesaurus
and chorus.

as to not miss
that quick bliss,
moment
of genius.

forcing wit;  i’m done with it.

i lay in bed and moan:
"mouth was a blue sash of rain
raining convocations of flesh."
like Sonia Sanchez said in her poem
to Nina Simone.

“owls coo, only see blue,
and through storm windows,
they yawn like nothing’s new."
what did my words just do to you?

i hate all the rhyming
all the timing.
the
whining.

all this meditating
and levitating.

but if you don’t swat the fly,
you become the fly.

remain wept and kept,
go deaf
with
my little chime.

pass me your shoulder,
i’ll cry it out.
move boulders
and boil the tides.

grey gardens
and gallows.
wounded words
for the narrow;
hanging on lines.

move two steps
closer
and hear
this little chime of mine.

the blood on this dental floss is muito rico!
i must write all about it;
that’ll show em.

{espero!}

but what will she think of it?
i think i'd like to be stuck to her,
like a plantain peel on a naked shore.
two giggling morons
under a chocolate moon.

{suspiro...}

yet i’m stuck in didactic verse.
in a winterland.
knitting sonnets about
oral hygiene
and shaky hands.

back in bed now,
the words start to come together:
“Scatter my ashes in Dublin, Ohio
  or the Bronx Zoo!"

I’m all over the place this morning.

kicking around
dried up and homeward bound
rain is like the sound of trains

the neighbors are out of sugar
and i am on my back
spinning around
speaking to clouds

and ghosts with no faces
still chase kids through the alley
and whistle around

with arms at my side
and both my legs shaking
kicking city habits
in this old town.

i used to never sleep alone
because i had you.

if i ever start a poem like that
push me down the stairs.

this is a poem about missing drugs.
a poem about rainbows fighting over dog food.

and forgive me for being redundant,
but i used to never sleep alone
because i had you.

.

.