Extemporary

This is why people like "dangerous" looking magic acts. People want to see them not make it. I know that it's morbid.

But it's true.


Extemporary 5/7

She's wearing that sequined number
        the one with the sheer top that makes
        it look like you can see her tits

All waving hands and red face
        fingernails flashing airport
        traffic controllers - LOOK OVER HERE!

She's pointing at the giant glass box
        all filled with water, you can tell it's thick
        because it looks blue around the edges

He's in there again
        chains, the whole number
        I'm here because I'm waiting for the keys
        to drop the lock to catch
        the jacket to snag

anything really

        just to see his face go purple
        rise up that fear face n the eyes look
        out at her really not there tits
        and think...really think...

Heavy Lifting

Sometimes I think I'm trying to be the lovechild of Hart Crane and William Butler Yeats.

I promise not to jump ship.


Heavy Lifting 5/6

One could talk about the bridge as if it were a cauldron
Large, black, possessed with foot soles
It is a marching thing with tentacles of steel
A holding on between sides of a river
Large cascading handles spreading hypnosis
Of progress from above the liquid void

Like it is the root of something
A questing darkness, nothingness that is searching
For a key to unlock its powers and bring the dead
To life to roam and flock the towns to bone

Mortar and pestle of hope, that is failing in every aspect
Large alright, but spindly, tiny narrow threads
A spider-hold on a moving continent
What falls into the darkness? What pulls itself hulking out?

Caffe

I try not to write about work. I like to keep my lives separate.


Caffe 5/5

It's 6 o'clock and the gate is rising
the sidewalk wet from hosing a box
of pastries melting cardboard

On the front of the Times there's
a war happening still Vonnegut
died and his calm face stares up at
bombings above his head

Ducking in and out the whir of blades
in a rotary bean box the sudden
coffee smell a vomit smell

Death always gets the front pages
look around for an Anna Nicole
while you drink and eat look at it
his book sales jumped 10 fold.

Instance

Instance 5/4

Construction sites smell of campfire
Which reminds one of the Boy Scouts
Those little scarves held with wood loops
I picture a climbing wall
Small selves attempting over and over
Little legs against wood
Nostrils inhale s'mores and then alcohol...
Later a fire in a mountain hides from view
Blankets and a tank of watermelon drink
The hush of leaves attending you
Small yellow faces snapping in wind
That's Aspen for you nosy and loud
One large root system with forcing fingers
The tremble like frightened children
Little legs bicycle in the air
So fast smoke pours out...

Macro-flora

When I first moved to NY there was a Corpse Flower blooming at the Brooklyn Botanic Garden. You had to wait in this insane line to see it. I was impressed by the sight of New Yorkers wating in line to see a flower.

If anything it proves we are not going to hell.

Yet.


Macro-flora 5/3

corpse flower in brooklyn
engorged hibiscus
tea-pot honey-filled pendulum
bell jar flies collecting
streaking red over green
phallus in blacks and slime
pointing at moon eye

Narrow Cell

I went to a very fabulous wedding tonight.

There were these great arrangements of flowering tree branches on each table with lanterns hanging from them.

It was on the roof of a film studio in Brooklyn. It was August hot and humid, but an amazing breeze washed over the roof during the ceremony. Dark clouds rolled in and by the time I was catching a car to come home it had cooled off greatly.

It makes me want to fall in love. Which is terribly cliched.

But true.

This is a poem about death. When it comes, like love, unexpected but right around a corner.

Or the next.


Narrow Cell 5/2

And I rap my knuckles against the smooth spot one more time.
And I feel the groove, depression, spoon-like and cupping.
And I notice the trace of moisture around the seams of everything.

It's like a waiting, it feels like there is nothing to wait for.
It's the calm press of soil, overhead, under, around - peace-filled, moving.
It's low-pressure days where you float on your feet, always.

Some people think of angels, flies, the coming Jesus.
Some manage a throw, vaulting, slate slapping.
Some do, but, it's just slipping between parked cars into a busy street.

Moonshine

May!

The new header is a photo from a moving train that has just left the Philadelphia Amtrak station. It was taken on April 16th around 11ish in the morning. It says ASAP!

There was an amazing full moon on Thursday night. I walked home the long way to see more of it. These are the things I miss about living in a place with fewer obstructions to the sky.


Moonshine 5/1

...the better you look!

slowly leaning to one side

...as you drunk I am!

arm dangling, leg slipping...