Friday, March 21, 2003

i didn't mean anything... you misunderstood...

i disappeared for a moment... something

else... my face... my feet... our candid profanity...

slid toward that hollow spot... you wanted something

i misunderstood... no one's death needs water...

a boat... these perfect flowers... purple everywhere

above... rooted way down in some wet darkness



if you can see me... tell them...

a strong sudden blow confuses us...

this was my street... should be my house... but...

in that dream no one came to say... here... look...

it will be ok... you just need to open your eyes...

animals sing towards the fire



stumbling has its way... the wrong words...

or you forget to speak at all... or fear it...

so something wears your face and does your work...

a garden walk... hands on a book... a thought...

stumbling brings you up against a wall... it has

your actual name painted there... it accuses you



Thursday, March 20, 2003

terrible messages roll in from the north...

they had everything settled just before dawn...

then the girls cast down ragged sighs... and the boys...

just kept repeating the last pop song... like frightened monks

once the angels had flown off... expecting something

from the night sky... maybe some garlic or fresh bread



something just happened to his guitar...

he must have woken up... remembered his fingers there...

strummed it louder... and woke us up too...

but it's so sad... we must still be asleep... birds

and cats in a da Vinci dream... mechanical hearts

on mute televisions... would click... if we could



Wednesday, March 19, 2003

some day trouble heads right for you...

o boy here it comes... you say...

forgetting that you'd flagged it down

in hope... your world had grown so stale...

flat and empty... with nothing to see or

hear... just the wind pushing some chubby

kid back into his father's legs... some rain...

so trouble sounds pretty good... for a change

there's nothing to be learned...

at the end of the world



we were busy ending parties and resting up

for the next game... senator something pulled

the plug on mean mister mindful... always coming

into his brighter day... careful to put his face

here and there... locked out like a child...

there's a messsage here under the predicate...

lift it carefully... quietly... take it home



when the war begins... take any lie for a walk...

tell your daughter your son has a bad cold...

pretend the eternal flame burns next door...

any comfort... for a soft people... losing weight...

these isolated explanations of pleasure

stun diplomats... humble presidents... bring

tears to the eyes of "an enraged generation"...

unreal to the core...

blind enough... for now... to die to the letter

of the law... which has a forest in it... blind

enough to rattle some god from a memory box...

all the houses stop when the war begins



Tuesday, March 18, 2003

consider another grace... with soft music...

soother colors... benter sighs... a wimp's

day... like a water cooler... blurping

at random... it will work... to amuse...

then stop drawling... you ain't from tennessee...

stop looking at words as if they were the only true thing



too much bad poetry... with its tongue out

and black eye... that skipt like a stone...

and dropped out of view... sunk like a simile...

done in by a death... or a hollow place just

beneath the skin... never call me again...

just go away... the tears belong

to some other day... he never had a way

with words... never



Monday, March 17, 2003

something held to your face... a thick cloth...

or a thin wire... nothing stood in their way...

the safest place... inside a circle of personality and concrete...

from there all windows seem clean enough... with enough

light for the sparrows to do their work... flying into certainty

like a grimace just after a painful memory... no...

no better to jump when the windows crack... no better

to love the cool air... that slips up to a face long held

under water or... coming back from a deep pleasure...

just tell us what you mean... that would please us most of all



Sunday, March 16, 2003

not mad... perfectly... what...

not silent... but...

alone... with some dollars

then... you had to be...

taken... there...

to kill something...

to own it... at last




dark honey locust pods... my sleep is full of them...

rattling yellow goo in there... take my picture... turn us into

dumb botanicals... smart enough to face the sun...

then into the white room now... everyone remembers

what had been lost or forgotten... hands and feet...

stupid stupid ideas that seemed so fine once... bad ground

so low... enough mud for everyone... madness now



This Folder is Empty...

tales of old rabbits... between manilla sheets... do not talk about a war...

there is no war... but a sore foot... subtle rage... flourescent lights

assemble me an army of soft hands... nobody wants the fire... nothing is free...

are you as confused... walk in a circle or a straight line back and forth...

tell us we have to... somebody has to... have a plan

and it will be... ours... we made it look like ourselves

in the mirror... those faces, kisses, lies and pretending...

Put More Fiber in Your Diet



a tendency to sway from side to side in any breeze...

any breath... this has been your biggest fault...

this... and a fear of semicolons... complexity determines

where you will not vacation next season... where you will not study...

it's important to flush all expired prescriptions...

wash your hands before and after... the poor do not

know what you and i know... we made for them...

a battle... a story... a paycheck... wash your hands first...

then you can go play in the museum



first it's all about sending and getting... knowing and...

then it's all about handling and striking... doing and...

now we're all so relaxed you could fry an egg on our lips

what do you expect when the winter goes home...

i expect better pay... brighter smiles... less pain...

more ingenuity... solitude... hope



Saturday, March 15, 2003

bumps come galloping into our days... and you

can imagine the pressure of their tiny hands

against our perfect white bottoms... jostled

into the new morning... flown like old leaves

into spring... it will be alright... you know



then i'll take a dozen broken ones... tie me down

then you'll grab a dozen smoother ones... lift me up

it's all in the winter going... and the summer

in your mind that wanted better dancing... a less

careful coming into light... just leap... you see

just shine...



had it organized itself into several smaller parts

we'd have carried on as before... but this shocking

grey wall of possibilities... had us crouching

with our faces in our hands... asking what we

had done to deserve this just now... just as

the traffic had begun to thin and the surgeons

had spoken the best of all possible words...

to create a loop wherein our hands and theirs

might come to see... or... rush to know...

the sunset nude and dancing from horizon to

top... a slow sweet dance we'll come to call

the subtle limit of our days... the better part



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