Everyone sleeps but him.
A gaunt though alert face
turns this way, that way,
looking for someone
to tell his jokes to.

Mars shines in a crystal rain of meteor showers, comets stream
Through stellar fires that rage in a galactic night forever. 

Walls laced with bullets crumble, stacks of burning tires barricade
Cities that are echoing with prayers ghosts recite forever.

has no form, no body, only
light and sound.  This complicates
things greatly, but as he sleeps
she enters him gently, rocks
​his chest as he sleeps, inhabits

the film begins with a house and some blood on the doorstep
and the sound of a distant train disappearing across the moors
destination: unknown at this time
the only listener with his collar turned up against the damp night

Helen of Troy will die,
But Helen of Colorado never.
Counter clerks and soda jerks
Populated the old days. Remember
Woolworth’s? I do, but barely.

These are the equations
which are sought to unlock
the epistemology of rooms
where sunlight cycles through
the numerical significance
of days passing

Awake in the darkness, listen:
there’s someone sitting in the chair next to
the night stand, talking to you:

i knew Sitting Bull before sitting pretty
and images of bareback warriors protecting the tribe lulled me to sleep in the thud of the wild mustangs hooves
i have crossed deserts, meadows, mountains, and oceans
to get away from my white (wo)man’s burden

Instead, we rainbowed  the space― hung sexy lace.
I ordered Gitmo closed and asked for the extra clothes
to patch together a warmer wintery scene.
We clothed some homeless folks in Georgetown,
gave them three squares each and a jail house cell.

and why should we not feel the fluster further
sensitize our oppression and fortunes
to understudies of undertakers and why should we not care
when they don't upstage us and why should we not fight in the streets
for the same fucking thing everyone fights in the streets for

“Two scoops,” I tell the vendor, “it’s the best
way to ward off despair”—and generous
he is, loading the cone full and high.

a statue is watching people strolling

scattering the birds from his head

thinking of the man who locked him in stone

I will walk on my own, stand on
my own two feet, keep my distance
always. I cannot swallow what
she attempts to serve.  I must
look out for my best interests.

Sorry about my uncooperative nature
but I’m just not into accepting snake oil

and being bamboozled and sold
on da boastful and promising pitch.

The 30 year old cool kids are emptying their children and youth all over the parking lot. Dirty diapers without an owner that once belonged to their kids or maybe themselves, smelling like a hefty child support court story...

                                     but it appears they take themselves where
taken       their destiny is all that’s behind them on
the road       and that child’s voice   not even a memory
within an architecture of raw air

Whenever I wake from a bad dream, my murderer gives me homework. He’s there waiting. Not at the edge of the bed, as one might assume, with a hand resting calmly on my back, but sitting alone in the dim light of the kitchen.

hips puddled pale on the asphalt
path, where lately space has been
spread a blanket of columbines,
weeds seeded out in puffs hugging
her silence all after, reckoning.

is family style, is by the book.
Is none of my bid'ness.
They have a joy-free smoke,
a homemade drink.