We can agree, we never have too many ands,
as in go look,
said go and look, useless and,
what is the goer to do, but look
- wait is the goer a robot?
ai declares that a faulty concept.
Let it go and agree. Ands are significant
and some of
those ands are idle,
save for some sublimnal musical reason,
-
a tune in time, accenting sylables - said with a sax,
from the showers at Venice Beach,
hospital green tile, analog auto answering prayer
empty- emptiness bound, true to beautiful
-
see there, no and needed, ifs and buts agree
threading through that needle eye,
focal plain… sharp crack, djewhear?
that man was rich,
but he died with a bang,
neighbors heard during the Redskins game that Sunday.

“i’m done with furries”


i.
i can’t dream your dreams,
but you’ve told me about them.

you wear an owl mask
shaped by fists and transgression;
a laceration splits your side
from a skin split
to your rib splits.

your love,
Bill Clinton or Donkey Kong
(whoever populates your thoughts),
crack your bare skin
until makeup
leaks out of your pores.

you dream of emulating art;
O hanging from a ceiling claw,
clicking heels against drywall
until leg muscles give up
and her diaphragm accordions close.

but who is your sculptor?
who is your artist?

ii.
alas, i am only
a paper mache bird.

i flinch when it rains,
i flinch when i move;
my paper skin
could cave in
from lip crack to *** crack.

(i hate
Inside Out.
but, i’ve only watched it once,
and i’ve been told
my eyes would adjust
on the second viewing.)

i dream of emulating art;
Marat in an ice bath,
tragedy and love and death
captured
without conflict.

but who is my muse?
who won’t break my bones?


iii.
you don’t know my dreams either,
but we could dream together.

two reveries in polyphony
of an owl and bird *******,
making love
before they
make art.

our love
is ******* weird;
a childhood seesaw
we’re trying to
find the perfect balance
to with our weight.

we dream different things;
**** fantasies and intimate kissing,
but that doesn’t matter.
at this point in two years,
we can see through each other.

i can’t make art without you.

you aren’t done with furries.

Let's lie in our bed
Among pillows and threads
Wear your hair on my head, as a crown

Borne of Brautigan's dreams
Rainbow trouts in the stream
Watermelon moonbeams trickle down

dear
1957,
*******
and take him with you.

Some nights,
we found ourselves huddled together
in the dark
with the sheets sticking to our
glistening
hot
skin
knowing that someday
one of us would have to live
without the other.

Some nights,
we fell asleep
with our fingers intertwined,
our heartbeats synced,
content at the thought
that we'll probably die in our sleep
with the other
restful
unaware
beside us.

Balance is what keeps madness on the porch.

Shenevertakesherwatchoff Poem

Because you always have a clock
strapped to your body, it's natural
that I should think of you as the
correct time:
with your long blonde hair at 8:03,
and your pulse-lightning ******* at
11:17, and your rose-meow smile at 5:30,
I know I'm right

We Stopped At Perfect Days**

We stopped at perfect days
and got out of the car.
The wind glanced at her hair.
It was as simple as that.
I turned to say something--

Love Poem**  

It's so nice
to wake up in the morning
   all alone
and not have to tell somebody
   you love them
when you don't love them
   any more.

Karma Repair Kit Items 1-4**

1.Get enough food to eat,
and eat it.

2.Find a place to sleep where it is quiet,
and sleep there.

3.Reduce intellectual and emotional noise
until you arrive at the silence of yourself,
and listen to it.

4.

Gee, You’re So Beautiful
   That It’s Starting to Rain**

Oh, Marcia,
I want your long blonde beauty
to be taught in high school,
so kids will learn that God
lives like music in the skin
and sounds like a sunshine harpsichord.
I want high school report cards
     to look like this:

Playing with Gentle Glass Things
     A

Computer Magic
     A

Writing Letters to Those You Love
     A

Finding out about Fish
     A

Marcia’s Long Blonde Beauty
     A+!