In my dream,
I was accosted by sugar ants
in the sandbox,
near the honeysuckle
and curled parsley
behind the house.  
I was trying to eat the little ants
but was called in
for cheese and baloney.  

When I came in,
hopping in worn-out slippers,
the glass door slid into the kitchen
with plasterboard walls
and beige ceramic tile.  
There was a black spider
perched on the ceiling
with bright yellow knees.

Those years ago
I drew with sidewalk chalk,
made myself mazes
on the sloping driveway
too steep for basketball.
Cicadas dragged in heat
on waves, droning.
One landed on me -  
a yell caught in my throat -
but I made myself look at it
and be still, shaking.

Back then I had an old cape
& a homemade bow-and-arrow.
I’d sally forth
into the backyard, barefoot,
jumping over prickly mulch,
brushing my shins
against clouds of low love-in-a-mist
with its threaded leaves
& shy blue-white flowers.

Sometimes my sister
was back there too, tanning,
or Mom carving
little men out of cherry,
but more often I was all alone
in that wilderness
in moccasins & living
off wood sorrel,
the brighter clover, lemony.

Or in rain
I listened to my brother
play piano if he was home,
maybe Bags and Trane,
and I’d dance between shadows,
the underworld of the patches
of carpet in the light.  

Later - a little older -
I recognized that home
is more a time than a place,
and understood I would miss it
years before it was gone

so around nine years old
I went through every foot
of that high-ceilinged house,
that weedy backyard,

and made a solemn farewell
to everything in advance
trying hard to be ready
long before the time came to leave.

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My Kingdom
is a builder,s yard.

A Bethlehem
of measurement
of plasterboard and timbering.
An interwoven sepulchre
of garrulous vernacular.

Expletive-laden badinage,
our handle of the hardstand
is the character of companies
I keep.

And unto these
my time is priced,
my soul is planed,
my name is signed...

but
in the dark
of winter evenings,
watching ancient planets rise,

I contemplate the other lives
another me, might live...

they saw me with hatred.
because when they spat lies my horns grew
they saw me as cold
because their words bounced of my steel skin
now they see me with love
because my eyes aren't the stones they used to be
now they see me as warmth
because my colors aren't as dull as the wardrobe i hide  behind my skeletons
you bring out the fire in my heart
bouncing on those thousand year old  billows,
somehow you make my heart hot enough to melt gold
and large enough to be filled with it,
your a catalyst to my cataclysm
but if its the end of the world your going to cause
ill sit and watch, with an arduous passion
because even in my dieng throws i will be made of steel and stone
yet with you standing by my side
i feel like im made out of plasterboard

Will the world look so beautiful again
as sunset through a broken window?

With greasy hands I try
to capture youth as
a leech with a camera.

Will the light fall on her face, like it did
in the festival - like it did
when her eyes caught the sun.

I don’t like myself when I’m awake.

I, in the absence of dreams where the coaster spins
and the smell of sugared doughnuts lingers,
was the sweaty hands in hers.
Wet knees, wet boxers, wet grass
Backs to the sunset and skyline high on
plasterboard roofs, spotted chimneys. The fire and
the smell, the screech of the tubetrain -
the squirm from the darkness.
Gravel tracks, picking away the small stones
from pinkish tramlines on her thighs.
The tightness of her skirt on her knees, glitter eyed,
blush eyes, fosters cans stamped in the bush,
Bad ****, every bad smell-
the light we see is
plugholed but free from the sewer.
Sewered but free in the ocean.

Love bottler, the skinny fingered
Love bottler. I stamped on the cans.

I don’t like myself when I’m awake.
Dreaming the sickness of my thoughts.
Memory-sick, it hurts til it doesn’t.

Body pops, tendons crackle and
Joints are made of plasterboard
Birds echo in his ears
A glance fills nietzhan buckets
A step stops, halted.
Neurons glitter in the dark lids
He sits she falls he cries.