we read enough poetry
or short stories from steve
Millhauser, the "as if"s
become like

splotches there, interstitially
holding visceral fragments
together as if by
logical cement.

it's as if our heads have become
saturated, or supersaturated
till the now and then moments
crystallize around "as if"s.

we wonder why
our loves doesn't nucleate
like <from> a more solid rock
metaphor
or why
our agreeable phrase
spreads as creamy cream cheese
on thoughtless bagels?

Is love like riding a horse?

Is it like straddling big
powerful steeds, jumping
over rails, and lazy
brown foxes?

Sometimes we need a crop
to whip our pony to that final
spurt, stretching a Black Stallion nose
across spent finish,
glistening with sweat at besting
the crowded rest.

And if we fall
we're suppose to just get
right back tall
into that saddle set
Superwoman like

rather than some crippled
ghost rider, a Ritalin
paraplegic Reeve coming out
only to fake her maudlin bout
around another racetrack night.


Maybe love is like jumping
out of a perfectly good aeroplane
without a parachute
hoping
falling
watching
to see if a ridiculous Bond
James will HALO
drop
us desperately out of danger, a ripping clutch
released
at ten thousand feet.

Love sure is like an action-adventure movie!

Our love in mundane lives
spills laughter till our sides
burst,
till our hearts explode
sending
pieces too far off
cities
shell-shock
amnesic
and hungry for new horse races
with a spotted Mustang.

The clay comes from Earth
just as we
clay motion people Wurm
our way up

In a miracle we fool
ourselves
thinking transmogrification
has Calvinized calves
into bronze molded
legs shaped by a wise Maker

Instead of fast steel Forge
industrially heated
within Narcissus' Crucible

Hot from the oven
our Make-over face,
rouged from fused
sand calls
us Beauties silicon
-enhanced

How many Dolls might be in the Valley?

Can you breath heavenly still
    so I can count top your holy hill?
It's just me come sightly so  
    working Charity back and fro
    my true badge of rite
Stitched across a tongue's bite
    a neighbor's door
    and between insults of a *****.
What vile eyes you say,
    but hey, don't fret, fear nor fray
    for whatever reason we surely
Can sew a new button for Suri's
    innocent nose and dust
    off the corruption to prove
    that I never wished to move.

<quote>
Do I ******* or hate you?
...
<quote />

Money doesn't grow from
poems
or sprout forth from
jazz
trumpet, sax, nor
bass
line chord and
key
progressing flatly from
B
to some more curvaceous
tonic.

My Momma told me
shop
around for a wonderful
life
and I look and heard
choirs
singing common Gospel
words

Giving more than taking like
free
service that ask for only
donations
in return for daily
bread

So we say best wishes to all
who can conjure
cash
from our daily
*******

Cuz it's never produced a single
cash
record playing on college
radio
but if I listen
freely
I think I hear our Fruitcake
music!

Eyes without e
or she or he
or perhaps a genderless
E
beckons
because without
e
we mingle, chat
and must lifely confess
eYes without e
whispers a desperate
Yes