not every poem is about beauty
too caught we are in the moment to write about it
that is what makes it beautiful
pain clings long beyond instants
prolongs and window reflections
engulfing our bones
masticating our stomachs
from slow drip bile coffeemakers in our chest
the line from that one song starts the burning
and the eyes of a stranger flavored with reminders
i wish i could tell him i finally got to ____
my blood is chunked with tomato slices
acidic clots and stagnant passions
float me in melancholy perplexities
a minute of oddity where emotions
are unidentifiable

All I want is a stick-up light, so I can read at night,
between my bedpost and bedside whiteboard
beside the baseboard,
outlet occupied by a black power cord,
the bookshelf, both coffeemakers,
the power strip duct-taped to the cream brick wall,
the bush outside,
the sidewalks, the brick walks,
the burnt caramel steel fences separating Washington babble
from Lyco small talk.

With one touch,
I’m lying against the wall
on acrylic-painted stretched canvases,
photo booth strips, a brick and sky scene,
gouache and ink sketches, that Giant
receipt with teal pen in the margins,
and developed photos of storm
troopers, ****** microwaves,
and forklifts moving trash sofas
around from film class.

I painted the bedposts and bedside whiteboard
beside the baseboard, the outlet occupied
by a power cord, the bookshelf, both coffeemakers,
the power strip duct-taped to the brick wall,
the bush outside, the sidewalks, the brick,
the steel fences separating traffic
babble from pedestrian small talk,
then filled the wall in, gave the oak posts
enough depth to hold up four coats,
a backpack, and a shoe lace, swirled
in the condoms and coffee rings
inside the microwave, sketched a Sears
Apple-Jack-colored record player plugged
in, turning dusted Beatles records
like the cosmos, like the snow, squirrel-
hair, and leather-leaf bush outside.
I masked off the concrete, the asphalt,
and construction yard sidewalks,
penciling dead mosquitoes in the cracks
and $2.39 Rock Salt Slush along the edges.
I measured the fence, so each stake hit
the vanishing point like cigarette butts
in cement cereal bowls of cat litter.

But I ran out of paint before I could fill
the mouths of motorist **** yous,
the car barks chasing dogs
to the chain-link guard rail,
doorbells and mailbox flags
being flipped up, pay phones
clashing on metal receivers,
church bells, footsteps,
some guy breathing,
and a red-light button Wait.

Maybe it’s for the best.

The Day does not begin without pain
It does not sneak about swiftly
It cracks
It tears
It breaks
I should know
I am the Sun
Every day I rise from the East
Every day returning from my nocturnal exile
Every day I must split the Moon's veil
So hastily thrown up
To block out the colors
Cutting through it brings me pain
But surely nowhere near the pain it brings her
We both cry out
Our screams lost in the sounds of birds chirping
Coffeemakers brewing
Cars and trucks and people rushing
The sounds of morning
Without me, they wouldn't know when to start.


If you watch, you will see
Set down your newspaper
Pull on your pants
Push aside your bacon and eggs
I'll show you how a real man starts the day.
It begins with the layers.
The top one still Black
The next, a deep Purple
After that, a sensuous Indigo
Below it, a pale jaundicised Yellow
Under this, Pink
But not a rosy clean pink
A sickly pink
A sickly pink
Do you understand?
A painful pink
Each layer grows lighter
Brighter with each passing second
Each painful second
Causing more pain than your human mind can comprehend
The sky has almost finished turning
Now I will attend to my mother, the Earth


I start with the Trees
Pulling away their cloaks
Ripping the darkness from them
Turning them from dark silhoettes
Back to their natural Crimson
Pumpkinesque
Saffronopal
Or just plain Green
Soon you can see everything
The grass
The houses
The streets
Soon you will see me
If I can bear the pain that long
But even if I can't,
I must.


Now the Clouds are Pinked
Dripping with that same awful, agonizing layer
Weighing them down
It will soon fade
They will be blank in no time
Free to sail the skies again
Where ever the wind takes them
The sky has gone from many layers to one
Blended like a paint sampler
You can see the Yellows
Greys
Whites
Lavenders
And that god-awful Pink again
Soon there will be only Blue
The most perfect Blue you ever saw
The Blue you see every day
Such a clean Blue
Pristine
And yet....


A boring Blue
Untainted
If you look at that Blue
Every day
At the Height of noon
When I am highest in the sky
Can you appreciate it?
Can you understand my pain?
Can you understand my sacrifice?
Our sacrifice?
For my lover, the Moon, suffers too
Is it possible for your puny mind
To wrap itself around the idea?
Of course not.


I'm not complaining
It's just, a little recognition would be nice
Or if you'd wake just a little earlier
And sit with me
Watch me
Stay with me a while.

They used to worship me, you know
They called me a god
Who rides a great golden chariot
Who lives in a great golden palace
They gave me names
Beautiful names
Names like Amen-Ra
Hyperion
Apollo
Powerful names
How can you argue with names like those?
Oho, but you're too wise for that now, aren't you?
You've evolved too far, right?
You're all so terribly advanced now, aren't you?
I'm only a giant ball of fire and gas
Just one star among trillions, eh?
Fools.
So smug in your humanity
But I am the Sun and I see all
You cannot hide your cruelty
Your selfishness
Your lack of regard for other humans
Humanity. Ha!
Well
We won't speak of that.

I'm not bitter
I would gladly go on like this
Will go on like this
For it is my cycle
And we must all follow our cycles
Over and over
And over again
No matter how much pain it brings us
Night and Day
Precipitation and Evaporation
Life and Death
Until the end of time
Even you, human
Oh, yes.
You too, have a cycle
You'll learn that soon enough
But in the meantime
Look to the East