Poem-A-Day #337 : Manhattan

Manhattan

On rocky tops the lighthouse beaming
its mirrored sun - arms
spread a veritable wide embrace -
there is a sand in the gleam - winking
causing pearl in the ducts of the eye

That pool created dip of earth
sinkhole - cocksure - earth loosing itself
a new address would be best - the beam
pressing buttons of travel making lease
on a room in Crown Heights

Oh the sound of gulls - this city on a hill
garbage belched from below it echos
reflects itself - reminds
what could an echo be - the
whole a twin sun binary edging

Poem-A-Day #282 : On Sean Bean's Numerous Deaths

On Sean Bean's Numerous Deaths

Does Sean Bean die in every movie he's in ?

I wonder about actors and their type - are we too so categorizable ?

Here is my face
what is gleaned from it - the breaking line of mouth
the slightly lower right eye and ear

Do you sense the phrenology of me - colors across the surface
of my glasses are light and dark and project a lot that could be metaphor or not

I think about the times Sean Bean has died in movies
each one a slow motion shot of his tortured face in scream

His eyes a crystal slough of ice

What type is it that dies all the time ?

His deaths have started and ended and coalesced plot lines  - have ended fellowships
and launched wars of secession

The ur-man

In the mirror my eyes are tired - they green - the red in my face
is amplified by the red in my face

A sort of repeating trance - spiral - would these lines start or end anything ?
there is a daylight ending and I have only stared into this window -

I fist the glass

Imagine the stack of scripts on Sean Bean's table
each with a death inside it

Poem-A-Day #122 : O'Clock

O'Clock

Every thing is a mirror for mortality

The tick of the clock is obvious though it hides gears wearing each moment rounding their teeth like a rodent itching a plank of wood

Think about the grease pasted over the turning mouths

In the back of the mind a story about how oil is the remains of dinosaurs that was pressed like apples until the cloudy mists collected in cloudy jugs

The clouds settle themselves on the horizon like vinegar under the oil blueness of sky

A news report of a bird wing preserved in amber and then the image of a bird losing its wing in the thickness of tree sap the image of it chewing its own limb off

We always end up talking about James Franco cutting off his own arm in that one movie

Not 127 Hours

Poem-A-Day #31 : Night

Night

          Blue shadow on the cheek

                    Smudge of gray ash in the fireplace

                              At night the vines hug the walls they are heart-shaped purple and bleeding on the bricks

          I'd say they were bougainvillea but that's obvious they may as well be ivy itching at the stone walls and pulling mortar from the cracks hiding animals hiding so many windows

                    You hide blue with orange

                              The cadmium is opaque is breaking

           In the YouTube video they show the woman covering the man's face with thick tangerine-colored concealer then with thick beige concealer then with rouge

          I don't get a five o'clock shadow

                    The bricks pop and fall the mirror hides itself