why_why

three red cups, stacked
i document
to say yes
yes, my victimization
the knife wound of being alone
together or
of
waiting
for the reveal- for
the dust cover
of love to come off,
and then
finding that
the chemistry book is
Just Mathematics:
a long pause-
as this sun set slips in
the lids, rawly ground
by
the history of oil stains and
foot prints,
do you remember the pennies you once found,(?)
the pennies, like a lady
like a mother, like
the hen woman
of
each old cage, do you
remember the finding of lies behind
each specific thing and the truth
being only the way words string together
like popcorn garland,
hung for a Christ less
Christmas in July if only to make it
too funny to hate the whole goddamn
thing.

must untitle

sea: winter right wal-mart
the cabbie on brake,
feeds gulls behind
a dirty crystalline
dune: melting in
the sun
just a friendly day
fission every where
the
gray split up
sky
soiled avenues
push toward wilderness
and heave
envy not evil
but still a stagnant
shrill
in
decay
a
sea bird
fighting for a
ketchup crust of bun.

iknewtheives&theyknewme

it falls apart
it is reformed
it is a dead end with no exit
it is the magic of being trapped
it is coffee
it is theft
it is silent
love
it is more than this:
a [the] storm
blows in and transforms even the birds
the question is not what but how long
and
how intense the
flame
how intense the
shame
&
where
the shadow falls
where lies can be told
there-
the logical beast
the stray
sniffing at each can, at the wonder tree
at the asphalt of feet
the feet
of old age-
disease
of death-
the feet, that form palms in prayer
feet
that hand the knees to earth
not to beg
but to know the vibrant grass.

morning and smokestacks rate

The 56th street bridge
it is an old- over(pass), a word
puzzle long and gray
measuring the limp of industrial
sleep, blue snow falling- fresh
as the corner bar, 20 year old
scotch and white sheet wife beater
blasted in crisp finger
grease, calligraphy spelling out
extinction, and the undeath of youth
the furnace of the hart, smelts
the fearless, and the suicide as one
and on the present bus passing the
demolition of these grandfather
factories i watch empty rail cars, fill
with iron with concrete with the
invisible names and as they leave
the last car is full of the rails
that brought it to this place trying
erase a stubborn ghost from this
graveyard land.

brimming cup of dawns home

single garbage cans line (like poplars)
Thursday morning in the park, trailers gloom
pre-bright
misty light
crucial streets, straight to
the air port, the wayward
duck
the elegant Canadian flock
geese
slicing precious air space biologic
and dangerous to canned commerce, as if
all the truck stops should shutter
between
Kansas and the greasy backdrop of
youth
the cotton stained, deep in the weave
of things
still so thin, still the
stars are pin
hole to oblivion, cold pockets
hints of the indifference
algorithm, searching out
name after name until
the last spent syllable
corrupts
time with it valuable silver and spares
no sinner
trading names for shekels
in the nameless temple.

quickly the teeth grind show

LET ME KNOW something ABOUT FORGETTING
LET THE sparrow
be my witness
to the slow spring of mid June
and the collapsing future's fall
an autumn so hue golden
that this now spring dies
like the shadow of AN empty glove,
like a town disappearing in to
its own population, watch the dog on the chain the
fortunate one that remembers nothing
clinging though to
each moment as it is jumping
down.