The morn comes too soon

Ciao!

Running hard
to be on time

Time enough
for a long
good bye

Forest running
to see the trees

Ferris of them
all on our day
Off

Snow points
to a hooded figure
on the Weather
Channel

"Ha condotto lo spettacolo"

was my only line
It took days
to learn it

Ciao.

+

My precious
My precious

My ring
My worry

Dark black circle
Round mine
Eye

Single
Forever
Looker

Meek
Seek

Power
Never
Mingle

P­ie
A$$ fine
White lite tingle

I'm airy
I sing

My precious
My precious

In dreams I've met
never remembering her
face but knowing I'm in

love I ask if she
made the omelette well if she
did I'm gonna eat it turning
to give her
a kiss

In long dream
worlds we build our
memories of places in

people old novel and
new well if we always come
back to a middle space linking
me and she it's
our house

people and places linked instances
of class and coordinates
(x,y,z,t, and our
shared d dream
point)

My love I've met
many times at (t and d) never
remembering her

face but knowing I'm in
love I ask why she
cooks in my dream she
turns to leave me
a wake

Another grey, rainy day
in Somerville
maybe that's why Patsy
Cline loops back
in baby's arm
bringing back Tom
ole Brentwood roommate shortly
after OJ murdered Nicole
and Bob who wrote the song
died in 2014 but it didn't
ripple through any brook
of our shared nook

Strange

Strange how we can only tell
stories with other peoples
stream
Strange how yours still in all
my dreams

How strange

Who knew of Gwendolyn
as if I should know
as if it were February
on the history channel

Is it odd that Ed
finally introduced us
after so many years
as if he should be
suspiciously Caucasian

like Ed who
I really don't know
from Baltimore
growing up white
against black because
that's how America was
and is lovable,
hardworking, left-leaning
with a racist mother

or not like Curtis
who's Pusherman
from Chicago deals
I don't know waht
because I've got no
streets but enough schoolin
than most deserve.

I didn't know Gwendolyn
and that's not ironic
motivation to deal
more poetic *****
up for us to huff.

Happy rain
black Stagg

In the reverse time
In the science
In the doublespeak

We listen
to Noise
to Hear
the Song

backwards

To the beginning
To the Garden without Eve
To the Gethsemane night

We voice
Our bitterness
We embrace
Our Joy

Soon I'll be three again
playing
Forever you'll be thirty
teaching

Love
At the beginning
Before the Noise

There's a Tale of hare
named Bugs, wisecracking
Brooklyn speedster
who raced against
a Tortoise green.

Mercedes grey speeding
along, distancing
a schlepping spect,
a North Face jacket
on fruitcake's trek.

4000 fast
and sleek.
8 slow
and green.

Neither racers strangely
notice that child
born on dented stripes,
warning bumps
by side road way.

Is life a sacred race?
Marriage sacrament
a finishing face?
Dying memories trace
a cove and net
lacing U and who?

What's up Doc?
Eating healthy,
eating carrots?
I hear your voice
who's love does bare.

False Saffron leiter  
extort and retorts weiter!
Komisch verwaltung
Schwartz holzteer
baiting babies to finish fear.

A cartoon film
skipping and tear
telling a child's tale
reel ending here.

The golden egg
congeals
on a car after our
mischievous
midnight's vandalism

It leaves a trail of pubescent
nonsense
yellow stains marking our
English
classroom past

We find childhood artwork
pinned  
as a patchwork of our
Hester
scarlet badges

Down the historical spinal
cord
mini trophies become our
reactionary
silver astrocytes

who make scar and transgression
fasciculate
into fuchsia bundles in our
new
Hope homes

A Technicolor Dreamscab
preventing
the regenerative return of our
plastic
polymer Messiah

May your mornings be dewy, and your nights breezy
I love things that are rhymy, like a dove clings to me
like our evening farts and dawning hearts.

To the old lady-- Mothers, sisters, Minerva and Mary

May my piece of mind be with you.

Hello people from the past--
Collected like dental
implanted detritus

We're all trash people
People who bathe
in plastic r/bb/sh

Hello people of future past--
dark matter matted hair
clogging a collective
drain

We're all family
it matters
what's the matter?
doesn't matter

Hello people of past future --
We weakly interact
a Force fielding questions
prompting action

How else are we
to interact with
the Light?

Enjoy the Saturday
in our Frigid
air

Conditioning response
as our Kevin
touches

Bill and Harvey's name
on our wall
white

washed

clean

Hope and Love
     by Jane Hirshfield

The Great Blue Heron of Dunbar Road
     by Ada Limón

Find them on the Cloud
I made a small space for you There
Where we'll be Fair

Find us under the Shroud
Like faint visage lying in Turin
A blue heron amongst the horses

If we have time, find us
If we have goals, make us

Reale e non un qualunque
Giuseppe social costruzione
che scopa il suolo tra noi

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

What does it mean when
Our impish curiosity at forty eight
grows tired and ridiculously became
an Ancient soul at twenty three?

What is poetry heard when
Our otic form invaginates
to a nothingness shape
worthless for publication?

Who inherits money when
Our optic evagination
lives large and expands
sideways not in Academia?

When do features play at
Our theaters twenty three
weeks less computationally
intense than forty eight movies?

Where Is Rogue One seen when
Our self-organizing map
projects friends and faces
onto a understandable dimension

Our two faced goodbye, Ciao

are when hazy mornings rise
in O'Keefe's blue note
meeting our Aloha
surfing stem cells reduced
in the returning space-time
tide to a 1D-film

We have two ins but only one out

We can't joke about Trolls anymore Homeless monsters Living under
Our bridges, beneath our privileges

We can be kind to Orc folks nevermore  
Hordes invading Colors over
Our borders to steal misfit toys

I guess it was never funny:
your pain, our Ghost Strugglers without voice and dwindling choice

Is is OK to laugh with racist friends at the Comedy Store?
Is it fine to put Goblin babies in a corner for easier M√rder?

Take it easy

We've been on this Slippery Sl°pe before with my Bon Vivant and wet Jovi

12 hours ago

it’s not old style, old school plain glass. it
may look old, but it’s new, stressed new;
glass soaked in molten cation.
ensnared in furnace, one cat is exchanged for
another making glass super strong.
this is good.
what doesn't **** makes you stronger.
yes and no Pink.
if you soak your heart in molten cation.
you will come out shining and new,
strong like a ******?
you have to understand the alchemy.
you see, in a headout collision with
new Stressed glass, it
breaks into a thousand tiny
safe pieces.
you won't have sharp shards, or
receding hairline fractures,
cracks and fissures spreading across
fatty deposited windshield.
the new heart is stress tested.
no spreading wave depression,
across your fiber glass network.
The crack is localized.
When the collision is big enough
the entire windshields shatters.
I guess you have to replaced it with
a new  stress, molten dipped, cation exchanged
heart.

I am the eggman
you are the spoon man
we are the Walrus.
Earthly pluripotent garden
with shark attacks

I am the shallow water
you are the whitewater
we are the Foam
Heavenly layers differentiating
with each successive Wave

I am the Brand
you are the religion
we are the Cortex
Solar same same but different
Inside Out development

My past, your past.

The weak interactions
that hold our Castle
made of sand together before
we fall into the Sea
Eventually

A piece of mine
A piece of yours
A piece of mind
No feud here please
We not like them

Hey Jo
Jo where you going
with that fun
in your hand?

If I had courage
like the Lion on bricks
gold, I'd look for jerks
around a circle;

If I had wisdom
like a Witch's hair
silver, I'd find age
inappropriate gurls
and not old squares.

Love them they us we she he me E.
Nous sommes ** fame; We are who hunger fame.
You want fame? Fame costs.

The costs lie broken and scattered--
Actors who didn't become Jeros.

Cast left packing up our ****--
Moving in mass Exodus.

Crossing ole man River
to the other Side--
where lurks Them
they us we Me.

E.

I have my breakfast
I have fool's art

I have my bass
that never learns
a slapping face
wears fine lines
between syncopated opiates
and rhythmic beats

In our Populous cities
success crescendos
to demands for a stadium
full of gladiators dying
in entertaining tragedy

We have time
We have loose change

We have youth
that imp which finds

Romans still sneak
under progressive lust
beneath beer fences
and Coliseum bleachers
with girlie giggles
and stiff speared Heroes
into history

<quote>

When you’re young, and in good health,
you can imagine living in New York City,
...
<quote />

Don't hate the Playa,
hate the game.
But do you believe in a brave
new Gaming World?

A Halo sheen,
sheathing ancient veins,
pulsating, and spurting
forth the same old sins to love,
while we saunter and strut,
pointing at taunted sinners to hate.

It's hard loving Playas,
cuz they smells, and cuss like a *******.
Dumb ***** singing
beautiful Indri morning
wake up gospels from an old extant
lemur memory trace.

In angular moment
my Habit resists
his strong effect

a Strange muon
positively trying my
ungodly K hole

Nun shall pass
save the Charmed
and evil Mr.

B gas lighting
my safe Zyklon
moment He's

no Mr Darby
come strolling down
a dusty Holocaust

lane My weak
Forces atop Space
and Witch Mountain

fluctuate between his
goofy Disney village
and Strong atomic

world It's a
small one after
all I suppose

Sunshine stains my
****** hijab with
spotless and lazy

after Thoughts like
white umami pudding
delivered free by

familial ghosts Each
birthing pack crying
parables of Pain

Each warming quantal
offering us happiness
for changing Time

Delta girls under
smooth curves find
Calculus without spin

For Gwendolyn Brooks

A song most frosty
She sings in November terribly.
A hymn most dark,
Never after cruel but crazy.

going down a rabbit hole
of obscure references
really?
Good Times is lost?
are we really in our own Lost World
or Land of the Lost
or deep within Inception?

Who's Jimmy Walker, we now
never knew him
and is he still alive a quick search
says yes!
how can we not know
slanted sitcoms?
and blaxplotation with bad
back running Brown
acting totally different
than wet backs another
brown water should we flush
it down?

at least she knows
Alice in Wonderland
at least she's seen
one version on one
mode or another
book tape movie
there's also the **** version

We're waiting for the tactile mode
coming straight to our head
like Natalie Wood
just before she died following her own
Brainstorm into anther world
off to another lost reference
or obscure rabbit hole

I'm interlacing with Lehman
again what does
that mean I
don't know but maybe
the answer connects Dean
with Ella and
him with us in Film
on TV through VR
singing Broadway Medleys
in a cool Grandfather's wobble
in a crystal Voice
like Mom's clarion call
a silver thread
running through our dull
tapestry I'm mixing
metaphors
muddling music
weaving songs before work
before heatmaps
Seurat R packages
multicolored modality
in higher dimension
again what does
that mean I
don't know but maybe
we just keep interlacing

to the. I always.
I know. Noise falls.
the necessity. Strike One.
My body. When I.
your hair. I think.
it starts. So many.
What is. when I.
If you. The world.
i read. I was.
Wearing A. You're right.
I'm pretty. everything.
Your *******. It's like
Once upon. I brought.
I'm falling. obviously.
To the. It is.
I wouldn't. I wouldn't.
Your cup. i know.
the truth. you turn.
I checked. Leo.
you brought. your eyes
your lips. you are.
because. poison.
spoon.

Time enough to
wait for the heros to
die
Time enough to
save the thugs and
murders.
TIme enough to
build
for we Others

Lords of the Flies are
fragile beings with
short life spans

Is time to leave the Islands
leave the isolation
leave the ostracization?

Time to we
Time to forget the hero Me.

little mosquito net
stocking
catching morning dew
drops

idyllic street corner
still cool
calling midnight's
breeze

morning starts at five
O'clock
spill drunken time's
broth.

A time when the Fellowship was unbroken
And our Witches were in their Zenith!

And us?

Are we on another quest?
Magic users, frail and delicate?
Dreams and dreamers

Ageless nights with a Faer Queen
A lady of the first Twilight
Moon beams and fantasy

It's quiet

The first quiet before a storm
The second quiet is the storm
The eye of a Hurricane
The eye of the Rubin

"Hey Mr. Carter, Mr. Carter
Tell me, where have you been?"

Welcome back Mr. Kotter!

1 day ago

A day so dense in capitalistic
Animus
that reasoned light can't even
escape.
We buy
Black
matter
like abandoned storage
lockers
site unseen but worth something
like unvirgin #2 plastic
bags piling up after
all the veggies they
help bring hermitically
clean home.

I live in a dark coal-de-sac
giving off Bonnie Tyler sparks
the Rod Stewart of loneliness,
feeling heart arch at Market Basket

I go up and down elevator
music with hooks
and loops bringing
back Ghost and Word

Modern interlacing
ritual and food
in my head and in our
breaking bread

Why do you think the feast
is movable?

Weekend food shopping;
stocking; cooking some,
but most of it,  wasted,
rotting away even with
modern coolness

It's just me. It's just she
The time is gone,
the nest is empty
wish I had something more
to say

It's just Dad visiting
every weekend
to sit with his daughter
to watch his granddaughter
play soccer

It's just Mom cooking
a minor chord meal,
nothing like the Major
meals of her missing
older Sister

It's just weekend sushi
or Pho in Simi Valley
modulating one
Key memory to another

The voices go
ghosts fade
and yet the ritualistic
love persist in my
looped head in my
OCD play
at every meal
repeatedly self cutting
our geometric thought
Elements within a Euclidean
subspace

Hey Sister
We've left boxes at Auntie's

I've taken my books
I've taken all my memories

The House is just a house
Kari was just a girl, a High School Crush
and Karen a Winter's Dance

Teenage Fantasy
left in cardboard boxes
Things we all want
"want it when we can't have it"

Middleage Reality
here in plastic containers
Things for donation
"when we got it, we don't seem to want it"

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.

did we know that today
in 2016 we'd be reading the future
about the Great American
soft
depression interlaced
August 16 with Lehman
Goldman
Sach King David
how this time it will be
different but the bubble
starting
in 1995 always burst
even if its only two years
later Elizabeth Montgomery
died we were joining the Academic Mafia
around Circle Drive
Korean BBQ
Blues Caravan and
cruising around East Los
in a Blue Toyota pickup truck
now
there's a parked Prius
because we're too busy
running
numbers a racket
in Cambridge that leaves us
just a bit of fried egg in the morning
with coffee vorleser-ing and documenting
just
as any moral Hannah would do
in 1939 to say hey this is the way
we wanted right boxcars leading
to abattoirs today we do our best
imitation
of a weak McNamara
mea culpa

The tiger is here
to eat us, our
Life, and finish
dessert with a Pi.

Let's vote.
All in favor
of running, run.
All those in favor
of stillness, run.

The maai is closed.
Interstitial space allows
only muscle memory
moments
trained through countless
centuries of bipedal
scattering, synchronized
patterns designed to
confuse
a striped predator.

We move
unsure of threat
yet left, running.

It's like steps, baby steps
in puffy, winter's clothes
from protective parents
bundles of joy, pushing through snow
white, pure,
in innocence

It's as if seasons ago
we ankle biters collected Maple leaves
as the colors changed
and froze them in between
pages of a college student's
journal full of love and passion,
in hope

that the spring of our lives
will come too soon,
and the dried leaf
and the driven snow
will add up to
something, anything
before the winter sets
in again.

Love the Center thing
Miss that
and miss Everything!

Love the Center thing
We miss that
We miss Everything?

Love the Center thing
if we Miss that
2e'll miss Everything#

#2e?!
@2e

And another day starts pushing
first poetry like lines
from a retired Marine
Larkin cookbook who stops
singing because I asked
if he was Army

I've never heard Das Veilchen
but Mädchen hitch hiked to hear
Reggae Prince far wide beat
in and around
Aalen perhaps the softest sound
from a Brother I've never
heard or had.

Joan and her Wild punk song really
icon and cult forms
from Assisi 142
Mercy mercy was
it my whole faith then
and now

we write poems about the Sun
because long after we
are gone long after
We have changed
She will be still be here

perhaps the poems will persist
harder than any stone or
ring any steel germ
or marriage guns

perhaps the pink voices
of early morning dawn
will resonate
faster than momentum
because our measured
lyrics are lost bathing

we write warm
golden octaves hoping
the Diogenes light
will find an honest Son

Spinach
Lettuce
Bourbon

Chicken
Mushroom
Scotch

Rice
Sardines
V­odka