Helicopters thud the sky with air commotion and caution
over brow crop dusting judgment light over fields of cement and barbed wire
Pot holes and cigars rolled.
Augusta Fells Savage, beaten as a child for sinning. Her sin? Sculpting clay animals. And still she worked. She worked to share her vision. Her vision took her to Rome and Paris and back again to teach, to create, to better, to live.
been wrong before. thought maybe everything was all good now.
slept through Pride. laughed about it.
snored while a parade was marching through
my upstate neighborhood.
You look like a thug’s sister.
You look like a thug’s mother.
You look like a thug’s grandson.
You look like a thug’s pal.
Click, you just received
another donation,
another like. . .
trading,
remembering
we have no life boat,
I know the truth on the hazy summer days.
when heat squeezes the odour out of breeze
caught flowers, sweaty inner thighs, and chlorine pools.
I know the truth of the sky mid-turn, mid-hack
in a cloudless space, dazed by the shimmer
They dance badly. Thousands of preteen heat proms
burning each other alive, smashing wheels into forks and spoons,
and fucking on beds made of thick, wet, addictive paint.
The wolf in the woods took my daughter
Locked her in the boardroom where she took
Down that dummy corporation
With only straw and a spinning wheel
Sinking into the fine fibers
Fluffed cotton candy
The aching head marvels
Over the fading soreness
That was just unbearable
subtle as a snapped neck’s whispering
drag/drag/drag alone
of the bitten blood
semblance of dry light
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O’er a galleon, reflected in the river the frightened animal’s open mouth land a table covered with candles of a large hole at the top of the world the cars drive toward me with muffled headlights free an animal sitting high in a tree
Maybe you did not (openly) feel shame. Or you understood shame, attracted it, embodied it, were given little pieces of it every time you called a parent, every time you handed in an assignment, every time you drove your car or rode your bike, every time you went to the doctor or therapist or your beautician or barber, every time you walked into a gym full of perfection, every time you looked into your crooked mirror.
We explore soft minutes with interlocked fingers, while in a building half a world away another man sits waiting for death to lick his ear like a lover. Death has written him a letter wishing him well and inviting him to come visit soon. It begins, Dear John, and immediately music can be heard as if at a wedding or a funeral.
not everybody who dies will be guilty
not everybody
who dies will be coward
nor deserves
to be ground up and roasted
what you loved were
the impulsive turns and
errors of my defeat,
broken over your exquisite
lies lounging on desert-
beaten back street--
rejoice! for now among ye walks
a myth amongst mere mortals
drink up if we be friends and
can you get this one because i'm a little short
freedom keeps changing its definition on me
Do you want my granddaughters and sons
who are sweating it out in foreign lands
to starve me after getting wind that I am
attending useless meetings arranged
by the same crazy and clueless fellows...
my wife cooked another magnificent
supper and a poet hundreds of miles
away said in an interview that poets
would never be famous as Hollywood
Stars and I erased almost everything
I wrote for the day pleased to surrender
I too have started mornings
with kites made of lead
flying off foot, pushing a big
lint racket up the mountain
domesticated as the dozen carnations
you carry where you used to carry
a dozen dead elephants
inside a dozen dead snakes
And I will also tell you, having grabbed
the silver handle covered by a dozen
glittering fingerprints, and leaning over
(for I am near-sighted)
the Mighty Subway Map,
as if it were a star map - I will tell you:
Neither word nor name represents anything, but together they move matter, as if by magic.
Being a fucked up woman is an absolutely healthy response to living in this culture.
No auto-blocking is available at all, but you can block specific phone numbers and addresses.
I paid for a genetic test and they sent my money back,
saying my sample was contaminated, parts of my dna unidentifiable,
from atlantis maybe, or one of those countries that continues in mind and myth
though hasn’t been on the maps for centuries.
crowed of ants hide in their undergrounds lairs
their red wrinkled slave driver armies
are not marching to gain power
just yet
from now on the money's
about sentences
if you think you can place
that surprise litany
around your eyes
same mistake christ made
same mistake krishna made
same mistake crowley made
same mistake carroll made
conversation or a song
to fill its spaces. The night
remains quiet. I discover
Listen Listen to what you hear
to what you hear yourself telling yourself
listen to what you hear yourself telling yourself
while you are brushing brushing while you are
brushing your teeth
the gang walked in on them
dragged him across the floor
the door opened again and a different
female breed strolled in salty with blood from
route 66
Once we fully understand the mechanics
Of quantum consciousness,
We will finally be able to prove that humans
Create poems at rates
Of between 40 and 120 cycles (i.e., poems) a second.
I stopped, even though I can never
stop because the worlds
are revolving and the direction
of this world is not
the direction of my
world in thought
Your ass looks just like I thought it would—
Mike, ex-merchant marine, to me, fourteen,
phenomenal flicker of my puerile form
quickened by his glance, made real in his words.
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