When I looked
into the water,
the sea shook
out its light
until it spanned
the shore,
the very bottom
dark and there.
It touched everything
within itself
and wanted more,
wanted more.
My Soul's Ladder
Tuesday, July 14, 2009
Humpty Dumpty
The whole fucking
collapsed, but it was
inevitable, things
fall apart, right,
the center
doesn't hold.
We're the spokes,
clothes-pinned
Kings and Queens
flapping down
sidewalks and alleys
as if being chased,
spinning so fast
we crash pretty sure
nothing exists
to put back together.
collapsed, but it was
inevitable, things
fall apart, right,
the center
doesn't hold.
We're the spokes,
clothes-pinned
Kings and Queens
flapping down
sidewalks and alleys
as if being chased,
spinning so fast
we crash pretty sure
nothing exists
to put back together.
Monday, July 6, 2009
No one listens to poetry.
Thing Language
by Jack Spicer
This ocean, humiliating in its disguises
Tougher than anything.
No one listens to poetry. The ocean
Does not mean to be listened to. A drop
Or crash of water. It means
Nothing.
It
Is bread and butter
Pepper and salt. The death
That young men hope for. Aimlessly
It pounds the shore. White and aimless signals. No
One listens to poetry.
by Jack Spicer
This ocean, humiliating in its disguises
Tougher than anything.
No one listens to poetry. The ocean
Does not mean to be listened to. A drop
Or crash of water. It means
Nothing.
It
Is bread and butter
Pepper and salt. The death
That young men hope for. Aimlessly
It pounds the shore. White and aimless signals. No
One listens to poetry.
My Soul To Keep
I hope there's wind
in heaven, and dogs
bark at shadows.
I'm cozy in my bed
beside a sleeping wife.
She dreams of babies
born exponentially.
Holding an empty
hand, I lie awake
listening for life.
in heaven, and dogs
bark at shadows.
I'm cozy in my bed
beside a sleeping wife.
She dreams of babies
born exponentially.
Holding an empty
hand, I lie awake
listening for life.
Wednesday, July 1, 2009
"A fiery horse with the speed of light, a cloud of dust, and a hearty "Hi-yo, Silver!", The Lone Ranger!"
"Kemo Sabe"
The Part We Want To Keep
She posed for Picasso,
that was her introduction
at parties, job interviews,
her header on a blog:
"I Posed For Picasso".
She didn't fuck him,
but she didn't deny it.
She felt fucked, Minotaurs
in her dreams, photo
of him drawing
light in air, orgasm
waiting at the threshold
for the right man, right
hands to reach the unknown,
the part she kept to herself.
that was her introduction
at parties, job interviews,
her header on a blog:
"I Posed For Picasso".
She didn't fuck him,
but she didn't deny it.
She felt fucked, Minotaurs
in her dreams, photo
of him drawing
light in air, orgasm
waiting at the threshold
for the right man, right
hands to reach the unknown,
the part she kept to herself.
Tuesday, June 30, 2009
when you gotta go and can't
finally able to pee
in a public restroom
used to wait
until everyone left
wasted time
combing my hair
adjusting my clothes
washing my hands
or escaping
to the privacy
of a stall
rarely worked
worrying about it
wrenched the faucet
nearly injured
my bladder in Florida
visiting my cousins
their kids a few years
younger than me
daredevils braggarts
Saturday dance
I drank a dozen
or so Zombies
bathroom at the bar
a line of butt-filled urinals
and drunken pissers
the only stall locked
drove 20 miles home
too ashamed to ask
my cousin to pull over
holding onto my piss
nobody knew
the pain I endured
the strength it took
in a public restroom
used to wait
until everyone left
wasted time
combing my hair
adjusting my clothes
washing my hands
or escaping
to the privacy
of a stall
rarely worked
worrying about it
wrenched the faucet
nearly injured
my bladder in Florida
visiting my cousins
their kids a few years
younger than me
daredevils braggarts
Saturday dance
I drank a dozen
or so Zombies
bathroom at the bar
a line of butt-filled urinals
and drunken pissers
the only stall locked
drove 20 miles home
too ashamed to ask
my cousin to pull over
holding onto my piss
nobody knew
the pain I endured
the strength it took
Saturday, June 27, 2009
I Wasn't Interested In Stars
It was crazy.
I'd tell the doctor
I worked rope,
practiced knots
from a sailing book.
I wasn't interested
in stars, knowin'
where I was
or where I was goin'.
I'd dangle in gusts
of a nor'easter.
A brave sailor'd
climb up and
cut me down.
My sorry ass
slipping free
of the halyard
running a sheave
he'd use to lower
my windless body.
I'd plunge to the deck
like a seabird
diving for fishes.
The crew'd swab
and swab, never
get the stain out.
After hangin' myself
from the mainmast,
they'd bury me at sea.
I'd lurk the blind
depths of eternity.
Nobody'd find me.
I'd tell the doctor
I worked rope,
practiced knots
from a sailing book.
I wasn't interested
in stars, knowin'
where I was
or where I was goin'.
I'd dangle in gusts
of a nor'easter.
A brave sailor'd
climb up and
cut me down.
My sorry ass
slipping free
of the halyard
running a sheave
he'd use to lower
my windless body.
I'd plunge to the deck
like a seabird
diving for fishes.
The crew'd swab
and swab, never
get the stain out.
After hangin' myself
from the mainmast,
they'd bury me at sea.
I'd lurk the blind
depths of eternity.
Nobody'd find me.
Monday, June 22, 2009
You Just Know
When the wind rises
Out of the darkest
Part of the night
Rattling all things,
The scraping
Of the padlock
On the shed door
Is apocalyptic.
The creaking
Of the bedsprings
When I shift
My stiff body
In silence.
You hear better
When you're dead.
Out of the darkest
Part of the night
Rattling all things,
The scraping
Of the padlock
On the shed door
Is apocalyptic.
The creaking
Of the bedsprings
When I shift
My stiff body
In silence.
You hear better
When you're dead.
Saturday, June 20, 2009
year of the pig
i'm the convoluted
answer to the purpose
of the electric toothbrush
reaching back in time
waxed floss lassoing
microscopic bad guys
before they shoot
holes in my heart
before swine trample
the white knights
coursing the byways
of my bodily kingdom
answer to the purpose
of the electric toothbrush
reaching back in time
waxed floss lassoing
microscopic bad guys
before they shoot
holes in my heart
before swine trample
the white knights
coursing the byways
of my bodily kingdom
Friday, June 19, 2009
I Can't Shake It
Tell me I'm handsome,
the best lover you ever had.
Tell me I'll live
and be happy.
The cat looks at me
like I'm a ghost.
In his eyes,
I'm dead
before I jump.
Tell me he's wrong.
He's black and white dice,
snake eyes.
Luck isn't in the throw,
but moments before,
in your hand and heart.
the best lover you ever had.
Tell me I'll live
and be happy.
The cat looks at me
like I'm a ghost.
In his eyes,
I'm dead
before I jump.
Tell me he's wrong.
He's black and white dice,
snake eyes.
Luck isn't in the throw,
but moments before,
in your hand and heart.
Old and New
A road, not much of one,
cleared through the woods.
We'll build at the end,
spare the coconut trees,
view of the mountains
from every room.
We'll end our days here:
my expendable room
for writing and painting;
everywhere, her plants,
old and new growth
learning to love her.
An efficient kitchen,
plenty of counter space,
chopping and slicing,
kneading experiences
with pinches of panache
that come natural now,
not so important anymore,
part of the day the way
youth wanted to be.
cleared through the woods.
We'll build at the end,
spare the coconut trees,
view of the mountains
from every room.
We'll end our days here:
my expendable room
for writing and painting;
everywhere, her plants,
old and new growth
learning to love her.
An efficient kitchen,
plenty of counter space,
chopping and slicing,
kneading experiences
with pinches of panache
that come natural now,
not so important anymore,
part of the day the way
youth wanted to be.
Thursday, June 18, 2009
Little Testament
by Joe Bolton
Whatever the night is,
I'd tell you it's the heaving mass
Inside smebody's kicked skull,
A dark so dark that intricate things begin to shine
Like a snail's trail,
Like the lights strung out like cheap beads
Along some city street
Where people work and dream and die.
I don't say live.
....................From a distance,
The city looks like broken glass
You see in any city lot
Under the faint, faithless chant
Of streetlamps.
.....................South of the city, too,
The Spanish chapel is without faith--
Is merely sad and lovely as the flowered dress
Of the girl who sweeps the chapel steps at dawn,
Or as the girl herself whose eyes
Won't meet your eyes, or as the dust
That seems to resurrect itself
Wherever she has just swept.
You can already tell I have nothing
To offer you beyond this flash of hope, this echo
Fading as it ranges westward
Across a continent that can, at night,
Still seem nearly empty.
................................Mine is the one
Window left lit as you walk
Through this neighborhood and through this night
That quicken your step.
................................And the night
Keeps coming back, as if you were the one
Returning to it--moments
When you hear what sounds like hell's orchestra
Blasting from a car,
Or when what you're afraid of seems to drift
Close to the shore of whatever river
You love:
.............Ohio, Mississippi, Rio Grande.
When now fails,
Was is all there is;
Elsewhere we lose always.
My cigarette smoke floating off in the night
Is the fire of my autobiography in ashes.
We only win at trying not
To be.
.........But anybody
Can tell you that--can call
Escape pride,
Meanness humility,
The arc and hiss of a match flicked into the water
The deep brief love they once felt for the world.
What little they find in my pockets
When it's over,
...................you can have.
Whatever the night is,
I'd tell you it's the heaving mass
Inside smebody's kicked skull,
A dark so dark that intricate things begin to shine
Like a snail's trail,
Like the lights strung out like cheap beads
Along some city street
Where people work and dream and die.
I don't say live.
....................From a distance,
The city looks like broken glass
You see in any city lot
Under the faint, faithless chant
Of streetlamps.
.....................South of the city, too,
The Spanish chapel is without faith--
Is merely sad and lovely as the flowered dress
Of the girl who sweeps the chapel steps at dawn,
Or as the girl herself whose eyes
Won't meet your eyes, or as the dust
That seems to resurrect itself
Wherever she has just swept.
You can already tell I have nothing
To offer you beyond this flash of hope, this echo
Fading as it ranges westward
Across a continent that can, at night,
Still seem nearly empty.
................................Mine is the one
Window left lit as you walk
Through this neighborhood and through this night
That quicken your step.
................................And the night
Keeps coming back, as if you were the one
Returning to it--moments
When you hear what sounds like hell's orchestra
Blasting from a car,
Or when what you're afraid of seems to drift
Close to the shore of whatever river
You love:
.............Ohio, Mississippi, Rio Grande.
When now fails,
Was is all there is;
Elsewhere we lose always.
My cigarette smoke floating off in the night
Is the fire of my autobiography in ashes.
We only win at trying not
To be.
.........But anybody
Can tell you that--can call
Escape pride,
Meanness humility,
The arc and hiss of a match flicked into the water
The deep brief love they once felt for the world.
What little they find in my pockets
When it's over,
...................you can have.
Wednesday, June 17, 2009
A Dozen Long-Stemmed Roses
The flowers wilt. I drink
wine from the vase, spread
your unsubstantial body
over the bed. A chorus
of stems can't be heard.
Red petals stain the sheets.
I won't smell or speak of you
at this late hour. I'm dumb
like the roses you left to spoil.
wine from the vase, spread
your unsubstantial body
over the bed. A chorus
of stems can't be heard.
Red petals stain the sheets.
I won't smell or speak of you
at this late hour. I'm dumb
like the roses you left to spoil.
Saturday, June 13, 2009
Murakush
Three soft raps at the door, my wife motions for me
to open it. A small woman, smiles in the lines of her face,
wearing a hijab and abaya, totes a tooled leather box.
She sets it on the nightstand, tells me to remove
my clothes. If I prefer, I can wear underwear.
Inside the box are colored glass bottles and folded towels
she arranges in rows on the table. After pouring scented oil
from a ruby bottle, she directs me to lie on my stomach,
rubs her hands together, pieces of flint and steel, lays them
at my shoulders, draws them down the river of my spine,
dories drifting with the current.
I open my eyes. My wife pretends to read. No spot untouched,
dark eyes gesture beneath the hijab. I roll on my back. Fingers
stream down my face, cradle the nape, and meander my arms
until our fingertips barely touch. I think of God and Adam--
ceiling of the Sistine Chapel.
She ascends, retracing her way to the chest, kneads it,
grasps my flanks, vertical plank of a cross, lifts my limp
body, crucified savior of the Pietá, reaches to my thighs,
digs her nails to the point of blood. I groan. My leg spasms,
or so I tell my wife before she can get up to see the wet spot
on my underwear I hide from both women with my hand.
to open it. A small woman, smiles in the lines of her face,
wearing a hijab and abaya, totes a tooled leather box.
She sets it on the nightstand, tells me to remove
my clothes. If I prefer, I can wear underwear.
Inside the box are colored glass bottles and folded towels
she arranges in rows on the table. After pouring scented oil
from a ruby bottle, she directs me to lie on my stomach,
rubs her hands together, pieces of flint and steel, lays them
at my shoulders, draws them down the river of my spine,
dories drifting with the current.
I open my eyes. My wife pretends to read. No spot untouched,
dark eyes gesture beneath the hijab. I roll on my back. Fingers
stream down my face, cradle the nape, and meander my arms
until our fingertips barely touch. I think of God and Adam--
ceiling of the Sistine Chapel.
She ascends, retracing her way to the chest, kneads it,
grasps my flanks, vertical plank of a cross, lifts my limp
body, crucified savior of the Pietá, reaches to my thighs,
digs her nails to the point of blood. I groan. My leg spasms,
or so I tell my wife before she can get up to see the wet spot
on my underwear I hide from both women with my hand.
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