Going back
is a Fool's
Paradise

Its un-
truth is
its
Per
Fec
Tion

the delicate
bead
of your kiss

A tongue
enunciating
what the
present
Can Be

makes
it all

So Clear
Worth
while
Good
night

but not
Good
bye

to us
maybe
but
You and I

still stand
strong
think
clear-
ly

have twisting
desires
guns
in our backs

for some tattered
and tear-stained
piece of Truth

We cannot
be
Con
Tained

within the realm
of
Re
Collec
Tion

Let us bleed
out
into the
frightening
cold

of our stark
Day
Light
Dreams

Jesus, I own
thoughts that
align me
with you!

You are
a confusing cup
of cigarette tea

And we
are working
to let

our meat
be malleable
our minds
supple and
our tongues
agile

in the warm
embrace of
the other's

Mouth
Heart
Eyes
Another

universe
of dangerous
Pos
Si
Bi
Lity

To hell
with Duality!

The past
is Simplicity!

**** what is
wrong
Know what is
Right

and live to see
the probability
of Tonight

fuzzy-eyed humpers

baby-headed jumpers

I don't need you going

out on a ledge

flipping your lids

life on the skids

because of those things

that you did

that one time in Redondo

or was it Hollywood/Skid Row or

that other time in SoHo

flouncing from one news spread

to the next

has-been cloud-head

holed up in a windowless basement

tea shades on sprawled out on the unmade bed

of some formerly artsy tenement

tacked up jazz poster of the

suicided former resident

a good friend of someone

we'd all met

at Jack's or Jerry's

or Phil's or Joe's

or Fred's

I wanna say ghost crumple but fear the retribution for assuming something other than

something I vaguely remember no that's a downright lie as flagrant as a flag flapping

in defiance I remember so well as if branded by that moment scalded by my focus

your post-****** scent and that smile in both your eyes and your own cascading

laughter the honest laugh done in private when truly experiencing wonder and the

baby smell in the crater where your neck joins your skull to that body your body

young and heavenly unspoilt like a river's passion cresting itself and returning to

your carefully manicured shores I wanna say paper cut but anticipate the ache the

burn that will cause me my body my brain my heart we called it spleen in previous

times something other in the future no doubt in my mind my heart my body the echo

of recollection of a different color and a different flavor than the original worn into

something other by the abrasions of both time and nostalgia a different shape all

together taken by this memory but its intensity a twin identical and more perfect in

reflection of your reflection in a sunlit moment the denim blue of curtains unable to

contain the refraction sliced delicate by the broad leaves and your bare skin still

glowing from a washing and a shaving and you are lost in your own reflection

humming songs and curling your hair bleached shocking white with blonde intention

natural roots so Nancy Spungen but more or less that much more careless and

ruthless a thing you were in that moment only I couldn't and didn't know it I wanna

say please just leave it, but I daren't and I shouldn't and at the time I couldn't couldn't

bear to think it but really just like cancer I just knew it and I didn't and you didn't and

we stood there and I wanna say we let it but we didn't and it happened and now it's

just reflection recollection and despair

You are the pleasing smell of Chinese grease
I am the invisible motivation to frolic in the fountain

You are a stranger's giggle &
an invitation to dance

I am a Cabaret Voltaire 12"
& half a clove cigarette

You are the diaphanous nature
of auburn clouds at twilight

I am the woman who raised you
but never dared speak your name

You are that familiar left shoe
abandoned on the roadway
never finding its twin

I am an expectant evening
after an expectant morning
spent talking on the phone

You are the receiver
the near-silent listener
the breather of shared truths

I am the walker the watcher
the faint scent of prawns
near the dumpsters at work

You are a newborn angel
a pageant of colors & functions

I am a poet, no matter
where you find me
lost on a street corner
that I'll never own

You are a plane ticket, yes
only one way to answer

I am a handstamp still worn
but only as a reminder

You are the fairy lights
strung between broken
promises only barely remembered
after a night washed in ***

I am a cluster of strangers, drunk & excited
We are the gift of mystery, alone at the table

We are mutual, the future
the last to be opened

We are the mission completed
the present grown tall

unwanted and rudderless

on another underground Sunday

flub-dubbing my way

through the weeks

the months lost

like episodes of shows

I don’t watch anyway

lately few words come to me

fewer thoughts stay

landing for a moment

on my wires

then gradually

but inevitably

fluttering away

my hands

the only birds who stay

busy doing other things

driving cars

flicking lighters

rarely touching anyone

mainly holding tight

for another

friendly fire fight

the train I’m on rocks

and roars me through

tunnels dug by

dead men

“Make things beautiful,”

she said. “Yes,”

they all agreed.

“Yes, make beautiful

things, not ugly things.

Stop making ugly things,

stop making things ugly.”

they clucked their tongues

shaking their heads side-

to-side their eyes staring

not moving and disapproving

overcharged black cat clocks

over my tiny shoulders

another attempted monster

someone scary on my paper

meant to be scary

a werewolf or a vampire

a cut-up human monster

pencil lines infused with the

pressure of wanting

to make real

to be taken

seriously little hands

shaking

The biggest secrets we keep

we never give voice to

our lips never pull taut across them

our bowstrings’ quivering arc

over an ivory expanse

but there are words for them, sure

deflated or still deflating

no air filling them up

unborn they marinate

inside a secret pool

our other mouth

making them daily

kneading them into truths

whispered ever deeper into us

still deeper than

any other human can hear,

smell, see, or taste

coming off the tongue

casual and leaping

as laughter

never that steam lifting

wafting, floating

forever out of you