there has been enough capped blue pens, half-chewed/.then
parisian grey mists--open windows, & markets, have you come
along in the cufflinks to take my hands? no, it's nothing

some days,i;d like to be kissed lonely, to sit at the preening
jut of your hips and **** songbird sketches into your neck,
thick swells. as rain comes within, just a teaspoon of salt to the water
and i hope it boils over. because i want to be burned, now

i want to be loved,; like silver lipped queens dipping ring
fingers into cyanide;. like the tumbling of lucifer from heaven
where he was the first shooting star--remarkable, god's favorite

there have been so many coffee rings on paper place mats,
and chances to go dancing when instead i cut to see myself bleed--

i dont want to be the lonely wing that tears against the wind,
the pale, wailing woman waiting on the side of the highway
to be taken home and put to bed. just grant me the white lighter,
or else let me step into the warm marshes with the wheatgrass.

let me turn to hay in the wintertime; ill hold you when you come
inside to sleep here. we just keep corking the bottles and putting
them in the fridge;when's the last time you wove flowers inyour
hair?, were you just a boy then who could afford to make those

mistakes? i swear i'd like to know those ways the welts twisted
your gut hotly--because they did for mine too, only in the ways i'd
never been touched at all. they write books on the women who
refuse to be loved. we stand against walls with our champagne

throats curved back, waiting/for a man to get his hands on it
but it won;'t do, it won't do. if you come closer, see, i'll make you
laugh to that pretty throat-bobbing way, while you're looking at
the mouth that leans forward to **** a quiet songbird;then tear

up the flesh of your neck. i want to be blood-soaked like that, a
white boat, a marsh field with the blue herons, their lonely wings.
where is the legend of lilith on the bookshelves of the innocent?,

don't tell me you can't find her. she;s here--in my mouth, look inside
i bite down on the pen cap. the water moans and spills over. they want
to be loved where love is ****** & the crime scene is the first

sunday of forever: this death more beautiful than winter; my surrender
the smallest collapse of the star--in your arms,yes,that's an alright
place--the black hole love a blank space, a long sunday. now that's

what i want, with you: fold the blanket, let's take a drive, let's go
to the field where god kissed lucifer to the ground. i want to be loved
like you know how the story goes: we become who we always were,
and then it kills us both.

with fingers of sin i had touched your core, unzipped your jeans like locked church doors and swore i would marry you one day.
they say i shouldn't love you anymore, that poems are only for those you adore—but when you left i was naked on the floor, sold my soul to the convenience store, and
to forget a ****** i kissed a *****
kissed my lips and cried no more

if i could
i'd spend the world
with you.
i would
if you wanted
to—
but they say
that's a pretty **** big
part of my plan—
your yes or
your no—
and i haven't yet
figured it all
out yet
if you
say
no

You called yourself a philosopher—but
The only depth you cared about
was intravenous.



*The boy who loved God too much,
he tried to find Him

in his head.

LONG ago I learned how to sleep,
In an old apple orchard where the wind swept by counting its money and throwing it away,
In a wind-gaunt orchard where the limbs forked out and listened or never listened at all,
In a passel of trees where the branches trapped the wind into whistling, "Who, who are you?"
I slept with my head in an elbow on a summer afternoon and there I took a sleep lesson.
There I went away saying: I know why they sleep, I know how they trap the tricky winds.
Long ago I learned how to listen to the singing wind and how to forget and how to hear the deep whine,
Slapping and lapsing under the day blue and the night stars:
  Who, who are you?
  
Who can ever forget
listening to the wind go by
counting its money
and throwing it away?

POLICEMAN in front of a bank 3 A.M. ... lonely.
Policeman State and Madison ... high noon ... mobs ... cars ... parcels ... lonely.
  
Woman in suburbs ... keeping night watch on a sleeping typhoid patient ... only a clock to talk to ... lonesome.
Woman selling gloves ... bargain day department store ... furious crazy-work of many hands slipping in and out of gloves ... lonesome.

The threshold, a kink in the continuum. A static line, 7" thick. An inch a mile, a million high-ways through low-days. Between freezing underpasses, mirrored in ice. Stray dogs passing, paying no mind, for there is none. Dying mice; too white for the whiteness.

Give me a road and I'll follow
across our fallow fields.
At either end, a somewhere an anywhere;
yielding, if anything, a brief love of the vastness of our expanses.
In such terms, humans and roads
are inseparable.

Give me legs and itchy feet, and I will carry this filthy deed.
"To go," for nothing
but the words alone
Like a redneck with his whiskey and his 12-gauge
we rage
full on.

Give me recklessness, give me godlessness, give me symbolitude & contemplacency. Give me thoughtlessness, or better yet, leave me with instinct, and I will carry the rifle for the enigma-insignia
of the Great Nation of Motion.

And I endure
to procure
myself
in two places
at once.

Let us just sit together in the bathtub and

wax
philosophical

with our toes
in eachother's *******

it's autumn i cannot believe how i am alive again
the trees are and the day
in bits of orange
recedes into dark
fathoms of unday,

i wish my hands held
your hands that like
god hold the making
of every little nice thing

and every little ugly thing
of making inside me though

               –i wish–

how suddenly fragile i was
when we were

even though
we never                        were

. It's autumn

and i cannot believe how


i am alive

feels like nothing that inside which is alone enormously too enormously to be anything felt or unfelt into every corner of being seeps
like a big room
too big
to be
inside
it
feels


                                                      




                                                           alone