With regards to Thomas Sayers Ellis*

Look at the
    Lucent lava lamps,
Dark craters
    Hiring hands.
We walked,
    Mimicking magma.
Hot, why is
    This heat?
Forget Vulcan
    And his illusion
Of kaleidoscopes,
    A rip tide
On the shore
    Of our conscious minds.
We held fire,
    Pretending to swim
Underground,
    But only out
Of pure respect.
    Some had boots
Made with
    The clippings
Of funky tripwire,
    Others wore suits
With goggles
    Clamped to their faces,
Gripping like
    Bay Area earthquakes.
One-by-one,
    Jang-strangs were
Attached to us and
    Hurled into the Pit
With rhythmic rituals,
    Waves of S and P
Flailed away
    Like flags.
One nation
    Under a new.
No one looked away
    From the fiery daze.
No one wept.

Two screws in a week have turned loose.
Upholstery? It's needin' a boost.
So off to the carpenter's place,
A quick calming break from the rat-race.

The best looking go daily, you know.
Always ready for their final show
Though weekly's required
to keep ruddy and clear,
Pity those going but twice a year.

Seems like he can fix in a jiff
A heart that has hardened too stiff;
And when soul's window pane
Has grown cloudy again,
He'll wash it and call it a gift!

used to think
I was a dandelion,
as you were,

my end
tied to where you
begin,

rubbing
yellow into
skin.

And there was Mame
posed between two Arabs
leaning against a camel

on a Moroccan beach
winding up her watch
clothed in a red and white

swim suit
and Johnny had said
You could’ve had her mate

the other night
she was yours
for the taking

(*** you thought he meant)
others have said
they’ve had her

and that settled the matter
and you just shrugged
and said

It never happened
it wasn’t that type of thing
(kissing and embracing

beneath a bright moon maybe)
but not what he
or others may have thought

as they saw that you and she
had gone off into the night
hand in hand

Oh you could have ridden her home
Johnny said
but it never entered your head

that night
with its stars and moon
and she beside you

listening to the Mediterranean Sea
**** the shores of the beach
laying on your backs

smoking and watching
the smoke rise
talking of home

and another land
and the future’s hold
and her hopes

and your wishes
and looking back
you know your life

turned out different  
wondering if her hopes and wishes
of the then

turned out right
or floated lifeless
like dead fishes.

I need a new vocabulary
these words aren't enough anymore
it's holding an ocean
in my cupped hands

The syllables erupt botanically
until the air is a garden
so I prune cautiously
three red roses
to signify primly
every forest in the world

I'm not a romantic.
I'm an architect feverishly pacing
with visions of the first cathedral
I'm a scientist riddled mad
with want of fathoming space
I'm a skeptic who is poisoned
by the mystery of death

the technology is antiquated
love outdates  itself
I love you is no longer enough
but it's all I ever say

It's every word I have ever said.