I hardly new a girl once
in High School she was a Home
Coming queen in her late
forties now probably
married with kids
and a husband spreading
out a little
but when he stares into
almond eyes he still sees
a petite girl
with a raspy voice even though
she's never smoked
a day but maybe inhaled the Hours.

Dreams they drown
under the Stone
under the Star

At least we
Stole The Show

Our Houdini act
of failed dedication
defiant to the End

Fragments float
up scenting a
stream with rotting
love locked
in the truck

Cancer takes us to dinner
then ghosts me never
calling again

The anger, sadness
and disappointment
metastasizes to every
node of our social
network

In desperation we rip
me out leaving wires
frayed

Eventually, new growth cones
form and try again to connect me
with we but perhaps the two
scared ends have given up
hope

And the fibers connecting us
will fade in a slow Wallerian
walt

Cancer will never know
and never cared

if we're blue right
it out in a left
handed jaundice
sky a golden sky sky
key yellow way

like we're creeping
banana wallpaper pealing
off heaven in claps
of thunder clawed
off  beneath tiny
media sausage paws
of a black & white Terrier
we've dressed

in unnatural
sarcasm difficult to rightly
see in the tall indigo
grass we're

green again if mixing
blades with lowly plain Asian
tone is a thing

A man comes into Starbucks
and says to the barista "I
want 3 coffees-- One for me
One for you and One for
YOUR MOM!"

The barista is slightly annoyed
but serves the coffee; the next
day the man comes
in and says "I want 3 coffee-- One
for me One for you and One
for YOUR MOM!"

Now the barista is really ******
cuz he's kinda old school
Eastern European momma's boy
but he controls his anger
serves the coffee anyways; the next
day the man comes in and says "I want
3 coffee
One for me
One for you and
One for YOUR MOM!"

The barista loses it jumps
over and starts beating on
the guy until the other customers
separate the two; the next

day the man comes in with his right
arm in a sling and bandages
covering several lacerations he
says "I would like just 2 coffee One
for me and One for YOUR MOM because you
CLEARLY can't handle your coffee"

it's the old Lehman
interlace again I
wonder how many I's
might some day buy The
Daily Mirror making
David the first poet to become
rich but like so many artist long
after they're dead

we're like nerve fibers
fasciculating fine word
that juxtaposes well to fardels

we bear-- words
heavy with too much bass
restricting us to only 3
degrees of freedom: Music
Word and Color

we' ld build a higher Babble
if only unbound from
a flat syllable world

we'd settle the Prometheus score
with 4D notes like cut-red-Bminor-spin

we'd render the higher ordered
flesh with 10D swirl-syncopated-reflect-bass-kisses-Lorena-Tom-***-soft-cookware­
to a fatty shard able
to cross synaptic chasm but maybe
we shouldn't for there's the rub in our xenophobic
extra dimensions

we'd find Superman
banished enemies or Buckaroo
aliens waiting to invade they always come from that extra
dimension don't they the ones

we don't fully understand the ones
wavering on the edge of perception of curiosity of fearfulness of exploring
a neighbors yard watchful for their dog
ready to run back
to safety back
to our one dimension back
to one Word
Singularity

A son of a Sun
we of light
hoping after
warm change
bathe here
in measured persistence
moving masses
of resonating germs
dawn's gun
our only voice