When we know little more than a name
wasting away in red
a free moment that glasses over the moon in repose.
I am silent in the bog.
Watching. There is a hope
of limousines and remorse.
Broken rings break constantly.
We come home from the past
seeking abuse of the horn
I am whipped again.
The leather is the bringer.
Frayed among the lashes.
having nothing to say.
“That’s not fair,” she said.
An afternoon sidewalk.
A cafe where
the pigeons come and bus the tables.
Whiskey was spent afterwards
trying to wash away
the syntax of things.
The words become a river
where whispers will only say.
This is missing.
It’s all bullshit and shells.
Empty chairs or pages or
the taste of warm Dr Pepper has outgrown us.
Glass alters the shadow,
it now shimmers on the table top,
the pre-distressed concrete floor,
with all the hints of a broken life.
But they said you were missing.
Hidden under a presidential beard:
guns and top hats,
swimming pools and cocktail dresses.
The simple hedge of mourning.
a glimpse of the blasé.
My fiction is newer than your fiction.
I dream of rustled spines and yellowing pages.
The fit of letters into each box
the fit of a book upon a shelf.
We speak in favors,
the race to fill each space
with words is ungodly.
This is the dream that fell asleep
because we could not wait.
the mouth listens to mercury
capturing each echo on the teeth
tapping the saecula out
be sure to look the oracle in the eye
Come over here.
The vineyard of dreams
The slow rolls and baubles belittle,
Husbands and wives mingle in the abandon.
Tonight we will mine the soil and leaves.
Pressed in, pressed in.
If the stone breaks
if the rough pebbles are broken,
a lattice is stolen in smiles and vows.
We will spit and smoke,
and dance upon you.
jangle in pocket.
Jnagle dangle loose.
Keys open doors
The way home keys,
list in the oceans a ship in the snow
placed. Under sighs and collapses.
Portable brass, the black earth is covered.
Underfoot, a nethe.
When hands are pressed together, the feeling fails,
as if you yourself are not really
there not touching, a dream of existence.
I wander in the wonder,
imagine what snow meant in melt and drift.
I have no new news,
the ant still paces along the cracked paint of the window sill,
Seven nights watched and baited,
sugar crumbs and cubes.
The white white white.
With a breathe it could fall
carried away by exhale:
The sugar and the ant
carried away from the sight of exhale.
Not sure how allegiances lie.
How I’ve missed you.
Again I have missed.
My brother wife.
The leaves fallen from my hand,
no answers in the station.
Again this is from the hand.
Pond water is the bath,
Lily pad scent obscured.
Coming home was never easy.
A simple return in the steps,
a dance with no end.
Shuffle in place if you’d like.
I am not bound by your points.
So much to be unsaid,
withdrawn from the throat.
Kept among the puzzle of lights,
so wrecked into trees unseen, unanswered.
Opposite the envy. No bringer of a jury.
I yell “Fire!” in the room.
This is for all of us to die.
to remain certain in our beliefs.
So constrained, almost an explosion.
Thirst the moment before the boom.
The stillness of the second that passes.
I want to be left here before it ______.
To be left during the falling of fruit.
I collapse, I collapse.