Thursday, July 23, 2009

Scissor Morning

Green chairs and sinks reflected in
inescapable mirrors and
art of the wood on the wall.

he had been cleaning the guns, spilling the beer
on the bed.
"This is the fucking end" he'd said.

Some music made him smile on the two-tracks.
some lawn mowers and broken hoses
threw him down the well.

When the crowds of coffee
and five o'clock tickets moved
right on front street,
he was at the bottom of the hill,
burning furniture.

"you have failed".

Away from the skyline
he threw the jacket on the floor
and ripped up every
sincere word into bits.

after the bark thickened and the lids peeled
he remembered some lucid dream
like a headache.

He can see a bald spot
in the inescapable mirrors
but the freckles I remembered were wrong.

Saturday, July 18, 2009

A Sonnet Concerning My Brain

The night you killed the faceless boy we ran
into our car and drove beneath the land.
A school of fish began to crowd our lane,
you whispered fast, "I'm sane, I'm sane, I'm sane."
In India we built a bungalow
and hid from civil cuffs, the marching row.
We pranced in floppy hats and skirts that drug-
and ate and drank- from tusks we made a mug.
Our powered hearts and eyes would not sit still--
Those rhythmic drums and ticking clocked the thrills.
You said Polanski hid beneath the ice,
and elephants made India so nice.
Your jungle bracelet broke from pelting rain,
I roll down hills. I'm sane, I'm sane, I'm sane.

Saturday, July 4, 2009

Animals and Children

I saw myself
fumbling around,
bumbling over piles of clothes
and yawning.
washing my face
and rewashing my face,
dressing
and redressing.
sifting through the delays
my voice
saying the usual saying.

I set down a plate,
leaning passed the glass wall
and a pair of fat eyes
appended me
'Ill speak with you in a moment'.

like an object of consideration,
calculating the yawns
and the piles of clothes
the delays
I fainted a bit into the cloth,
'How significant is a rose to you?'
he asked.

it meant nothing to me
but I lost my lungs
during the pause,
the consultation-
a lull before a bombardment
of truth.

strengths and weaknesses
formed a palpable diagram-
which floated around
making emphatic notions,
sweeping below the orange
dangling fixtures,
decoyed words
like smoke.

the pros and cons and
light and dark spaces
from the bulbs,
whichever, selectively died.

the space
changed like a seasonal tree
going from lovely to lifeless
within just a few
songs on the table.

'don't tell her what I've told you
but you will because I know you'.
and I did.