Category: Uncategorized

Until strain the salted year? Freshly

drawn in smoke, blown by wind to who

knows where. Their distant retreat, nights

of twisted roots, the doors all closed, the

hours run aground, gone lame and lost in

soft penitence. Not today. Not by a cemetery

or under the shadows of buddha’s walled

city. No sorrow in becoming forgetful,

no matter what. Call up the dreams of

polished stones and bubbles frozen in time.

At the end of the world a blind dog climbs

ten rugged hills and jumps into the sun. Lost

and found. Never was, or will be. Because

her howl, a prayer? Or good good night

at long long last. Between the sweaty

hallucinations of lambent children,

whatever were their precious names.

Gone headlong into mist while we

speak with the voice of birds.

unlock the door to morning     caught

in emphysemic breath     remember horses

from a dream     lit up by radium     waiting for their master’s

blessing before carrying us into soft-edged

mist     remember a distant arroyo and spinning our heels in

marionette fashion     reaching for a hammer to fracture Galileo’s

sacred nebulae     pushing out from the place we promised

never to mention again     where there are no more

days     good or bad      where we draw and

redraw lightning bolts in the air

with bones

subtract from

the garish bones of

guilt     opaque in

sand     when sink into sand     shaded

on shards     when

voices piled in

the sky     nobody at

fault that the seams come

loose     they were a product

of insufficient time     the

betrayal of sugary-logic     as

felt between breaths     as

taken by tender

gloved hands     to

sing madrigals in black

dresses     to climb

and rest

in limbo’s lap

speak god not in words

and not god.

walk the two of us across a baker’s field,

into the nation of ghosts.

they simmer to

our inner. their conversation

of moonlit

phrases.

leave behind. go where go

can’t matter. leave behind, despite

laughter. how us falling

into a trance and fall

wayward. here, the entirety

of cold tumble.

staggered.

while smiling at sad lakes and visions

from the past. a house of bright

windows. a library

humming with fluorescent light.

a day of kitchen weather. a

roadmap of wrinkles.

What you and always. What I, by

remembrance. In sight of

stillwater. Like wrapped in furs overtight,

the carry of past saga while lying

bareback on stones rolled glassy by

sleepless surf. As run with legless drift

through and through. Deposit leftover

energy. A gift of maybe no before

reach past the inner to what, reach

for the lake. As swimming

to a waiting breast. In shush

and suckle and leave behind

a skein of evaporating wakes.

From the beginning of existence,

the very end.

that’s gravity, like mountains

in the mouth.

fill me with everything under the sun.

socks. canned meat.

the family dog. too much, although

the temptation to explore a little deeper.

into secrets learned very early on.

how it should be. stay until

the locks all open.

we’ve seen it written in the stars.

you come tearing down the stairs,

hands wild and grasping.

the years have gone to salt,

begging for gifts that never arrive.

they wouldn’t

be gifts, anyway.

you break bread with

smoke. bring it no longer

to the middle or off to one side.

these, our broken fingers. or

thoughts in tangle

and we rest against tombstones.

drunk on someone’s hallucination,

in love

with lunging knives.

lounge amid pillbugs.

unbathed.

given over to earth.

then avoid moon-washed cities      because

lost souls reach

out for abandoned bodies     never

too soon     now in the

evening when

we inhale boomerang waters     endless by

blackened woods     review or regret     what

if glue the forbidden parts

of life back into

place     or color them     or red     or hesitantly

touch meek regions     not

out of

embarrassment     when unavoidable

information     the forfeited

moments

As fainting

into stoveflame.

Brokenhearted.

Take a forceful breath at

the window. Our faces

frame

the glass. And falling, falling.

Mouth sounds

steeped in milky

thoughts. Downward

with the purpose

of terminal

velocity. Find us a cliff

where storms lose

their way.

Feet splayed

at the

utter edge.

But today. But far from home. Where

vivid green, the sky hung in shreds.

Here the people I knew as friends, they

hide their eyes, tell me to fall into

the river and return to early nature as

an incautious spirit. My haunted

visions of flight wash away to mother’s

sea. Does God want me to put on my wedding

suit? Eat every bite of cake down to the

ivory plate? But not cake and not a wedding.

A cemetery fills my hand. I’ve gone

back in time to the birth of the world

and a tendon morning and promises

lost in midday circles. To drag my heels

along the circus boulevard. Curve

down into valley’s shade. Removed

from you and everyone else.

And or.

Our favorite

brothers? Tell and

telling, carry

minutes up and over.

Run past the

bishop’s hill. Trace the air, blinded by

photons. Or remember

butterflies in a box, but

the box isn’t real,

so.

So stand to tell

the day go to hell.

Gather under

the pews while clocks lose track of time. How the day

owes us nothing but

vacated promises. So the

accident of breath

at the back of the

throat. So the need to have wings instead

of arms, an ageless fiction

inspired by hospital dreams

when the moon

goes down.