I refuse to edit*
I am but a single life
I refuse to edit
look away
if you choose
but these bulbs
will burn in cycles
if forever
was a single night
*Editor’s Note: This poem was originally 32 pages long. —JT
oh,
wasn’t your lover from here, alit daffodil?
hmmm
i eat his food
they serve me and smile
i compliment the chef
for i cannot help myself
not born
into the coin
myself
i was born into a love of things
with the lights on
gunfire came later
mashed potato
when i say a thing is good
a mouth
someone’s
it just opens up
and the teeth come out as the lips resurface
without the knowing
for the lighting of the grin
of a truth
blinding its way in,
doll-face
–you call it charm
–i call that being warm
and i agree to disagree
still
you are a plastic
invisible menace
and mean
as snakes
mean as snakes pissed on
on fire
oh,
and HIM
“a writer” you say with a smirk and a grin
that tells me where he’s been
he worked, what?
8 hours a day
and saved himself for you
for two years
and he’s FRENCH …
ha ha ha
that’s funny
i bet he did
S U R E
because
you loved loved loved his lashings
and like a shark
you were helpless in his arms
because you must never stop moving
and once the blur of gray
went into fins
and madness
you could both reach full potential
as losers together
causing mutual sadness
upper-class voodoo
what money does to bright children
with bad names
plucked up from novels
two shelves up
up a fucking ladder
bathing in the glow of a room of air
poor people would breathe in
hungry
with hungry stares
if only they could eat you
in the alpines
where all was fair
so
I buy a book then
(of course not his–
he couldn’t publish
if his mother sold the house
and bought xerox
held his hand in front of a pillar of blank white paper
and begged
words do not come from eggs
asshole)
nobody coughing over their shoulder
making a sound like a cough
if it went HA CC KKKK
spoiled first he was self-served
THEN became a brat
(one must allow ample time at university for that)
oh, and plenty of hip-hop
white people on porches memorizing rap
about setting themselves free
from your fucking parents’ money trap
and corporations companies
and
however many fucking people
they could summon with fire truck hoses and baseball bats
i wish they could punch your ancestors
in the face
for every noose
because you created a class system
when you were born
your parents’ lawyers advising them
if you want to pretend to be human
you’ll need evidence
(somebody grab the aftermints)
him
get a typewriter before his fingers go flat
and his mother’s suit’s damp
not wet
it’s the upper east side, for god’s sake
and they have words for that
for what i am
and then
and after the wedding
which “just came up”
with entire villas reserved
plus
master-planning
my payment of your airline ticket
notwithstanding
don’t forget
to bring the photos of the orgy
and reminisce
it will be good for the book,
he says
that one he never writes
for writing
is written
so
so i buy the bad ones close enough
in the clearance bin
one for every hundred push pins
i find words he would use
and i stick them in
i imagine his eyes
and
what adorns that face
and dream a swarm of hornets
hovering with pulsing stems
of unicorns unstoppable
with fangs
trampling his bones
crushing his limbs
and pirates
named Jephry
dressed as businessmen idle and unbusy
with friends with names like Hank and Lou
marrying your daughters
your mouth’s agape
as they off them to the suburbs
where
track housing and television dreams
eventually bury them
except their souls
which they suffer through their children
your legacy
your second generation
for
every wasted word
i demand a shift
when i light the candle
i make a wish
black
black as a fucking hole
in the universe
in the walls
of the house of the damned
and i smile
perfect timing
perfect pitch
on note over coffee
not even trying
half smoking a cigarette
and
i saturate this place with my scent
like a tiger let loose
on the wronged
and i am screaming mad and covered in sweat
devouring every moment
you lied
like i was starving and blind
for love
which i was
thumbing the wall for anything
anything that felt alive
or like a switch
i needed a light
you gave me a church burning
with eyes of amethyst
but get this,
get this,
when the bottom comes up, if this ship is intact
on its side
you will salute a ruin maybe
a revenge, not likely
done unto a thing
because
i am alone
in my lost
and
in this fire
we do not burn together
us,
separated only by the lines
of mistrust
waiting on the roller-coaster rides
in that endless ring
of unneeded desires
broken
for how hard you hit it
the last time it rang
now it’s rung
a rich person’s problem
up comes another museum
because
i was just a fantasy fuck
a cinemax
and i will always be better
and so much more
than that
your mother’s daughter, you certainly are not
but also
they will know that
for genius always “outs”
and if nothing else
coin-born book of skin
any old whore can be something great
but to be a knower of a home
and refuse
to be better banged
with a later coming eventually and steady
down the midnight shift of the telephone
that was mine
is surely just another slut with wheels
waiting for another to be trapped
and caught under your horrid tasteless heels
those get-away sticks
with trashy give-aways
stuck on the bottom
matching
in tweed and twit
so
from his home country
in my labored rest
i say fuck you
assholes
you deserve it all
and
all the best
i hope you are happy
and ready
for the balance is so strong
and steady
even it penetrates through
the houses of the printers
of the slavery you call money
honeybee
so thanks
it’s like i got out of jail for free
with a silent
golden pardon
now if you will excuse me,
back to my book
my perfect omelette
Baltic Sea
that was her
at night with the striped socks, legs exposed
under the quilt
watching t.v.
Baltic Sea,
whatever, ok, whatever
she would say
over and over
over and over
eating ice cream
straight from the container
uninterested in conspiracy
or
laughter
or
fucking
even
i can remember pictures though
fucking some man in a villa
at a goddamn wedding
much like the one you know
she was attending
while i walked the coast-lit lined beaches
of Amsterdam
furious
bloodletting
into myself
Baltic Sea
so confused of the night
i am a tugboat
hauling with me terrors and sight
empty of horizons
the sway only of the waves
and the endless crossings
of oceans
in efforts to elaborate my plays
so where were you that night
if not in that picture
with that man
Baltic Sea
heart like a fire engine on fire
in the snow
awful lover stuttering bedroom talker
and slow
huh Baltic Sea
“i don’t know anymore,” she says, “i dunno.”
for a nickel
and a laugh
we
we got touched by a ghost
in the ghost house
ha ha ha
it cost
like, a nickel
but you pay later
because
well, you know why cause
after you walk out the back
and that place
it looks like the back of any place
the back parking lot like
you know,
where the Real ghosts are
well
you know you done it now
and
ain’t no use pretending now
just get in
get in the car
and when
when she drives you home
you go in
and now,
now this is your world
not hers
that is haunted
and you
you
that’s fucked
for a night of peace
for a nickel and a laugh
ha ha ha
oh my mouth won’t say your name
it says ( )
like treasures
in a chest
so many
a sea could digest
and i
i am the drag of the pulley
at the end of the sea
and the pier
tied with shift-ships
sailing into port
i am still
i see those birds
those seagulls
pesty critters
picking at the popcorn
while you and i
you and i, we ride the rides
at that place
where the subway ends
or used to
on that line
lines after avenue
X, Y, Z, and Q
i think of you now
as i imagine all of it is
your face, so many
stars
i feel the ships pulling in fast
and then slow,
you know
too aware of a dock
to collide
and make them feel the water inside
new eyes
like when you and i were young
younger
and from the well
we drank each drop
like it grew up
each bone
you kicked your leg against the gravel
outside the restaurant
me
across the street on the telephone
now i sleep all bad
and dream of being at sea
at one with an ocean
like so many treasures
like
how i think of you as i write this
your face,
so many
stars
At a distance it moves
this thing in me
that growls at my gut
it plays strange games
with cards
and sneers at me
from the shadows
it stays SUPER busy
when i escape
i am lucky
if only for an instant
At a distance I can see myself
a grown man aged 33
but none at all in years
if those years mean
each one
like a fallen wall not a built thing
a piece of mortar maybe
missing from the bright
morning-side wonder
thrown through a window
by a child
because
becausewhy
maybe then, yes i can see myself
but at a distance
at a distance from myself
from you
from everyone
safe enough
that you might never get through
i know that i do not know
and that neither do you
not your gods
nor your books
not your analyst
not your family of crooks
because
like all things
they too
they too will pass us by, as we pass
and fade into the dry-mouth
of history
barely a stain
on a rug of electricity
floating in space
so,
pardon me if i grow up already
i see
something shiny
beautiful maybe
over that way again
at a distance
but my feet will never give
not even if they were but a bone
stuck bone through
a tennis shoe
i was there
i was standing in front of you
my hands were out
i held a heart the size of a question
up to you
with marvelous affection
star-struck from heaven
like an ocean made of everything
a love has ever given
but
not too close
at a distance
i felt the spit
and that
that is that
i guess.
let’s just take three hands
one free
and make a machine
that sweats
on summertime beds
pour a glass
of sweet tea
over our heads
ok,
or
instead,
let’s build bridges from here to Leningrad
with lights attached
that fade
into the hyper-lit orange sun parade
because
we
us folks
don’t talk about our feelings
no
not us
of course, unless it is too late
and
the night is at the door
rapping away
on the metal handle
wood shaking
our endless ceilings
babydoll
i
i am not your feelings.
goddamn heavy strings of shiny purple
shoelaces
with cherry print
tied
in a bow
go
on top of a box
with pages
–this thing i make from words
to be given
at once, suddenly
to her
and be forgot
or
swallowed and drowned
with sugar on top
also
from a spoon
is the nectar in my lungs
suffocated like a scream
round my tooth
for the only girl i knew
who
makes me go lost
like a shaking a curse
or cops
if she or i were a punk
with
eyes on the stranger
past a hot dog stand
body and soul all tired
again
or
white snow flurries come
onto cars
and the sides of buses
onto the christmas body rushes
she sees an old lover
but i have given her to me
and i go
a given thing
now as a gesture
of closure
for
this awful thing
a new party of one
did you see that?
fast fast fast
letters turning to ice
like winter breath
those nights
gosh they came and went came and went
i am not at the party
not dancing
not laughing
not drinking
not holding a glass
not seeing your dress
not under a moon
not with you
not facing east or west
did you see the witches moon
it hovered and stalled
like a car under piles of wet
puddles oil snakes dancing
inside them like metal rainbow worms
in that dirty mix
i am not with you inside that room
not under stairs
not under lights
not hearing music
not talking
not knowing if it’s alright
you are not putting your hand on my knee
i am not breathing
i am not at that party
not tonight
i went
fast fast fast
did you see?
did you see?
i think i thought i loved you
i always did
vampire eyes
milk skin
i think i thought i loved you
how you moved, your body
ownership driven
natural slave runner
i hate you
your matching pairs
your split ends
your dying figure
your shadow
i hate you
your collapsible will
your petty drip
of a wordless silence attempt
you bite your lip
moons crack
you looked like a hill
climbable
of clouded rose
tree spirit and blue-eyed explosions
of marble-headed jar break
on the cement
full-on spring
light everywhere blasting
but my how evil are you are you
tornado t o r n a d o
in a neighborhood
soft
with us quiet dreamers
i think i loved you
your power pains
your hungry stomach
your hair falling out
your scraping shower gloves
pink and blue
i think i thought i loved you
in the shower
trying to remove yourself
from your own body
into a drain
clogged
like my mouth forever silenced in awful
horrid
disgusting pain
i hate you
i hate you
my god
once
once in a while
i think i thought i loved you
on your side now
is books
i moved the pillows
up top
like they forgot
or i did
but we did not
me and the pillows know
something’s missing
and the room
the room does too
it sighs
when i come in
the door
when i arrive
thinks i am you
and sighs
or is that me
my insides
hmmmm
i scare myself
see my shadow or myself
in the mirror
sometimes both
i sigh too
on your side now
i leave the phone
the books and space
any single lifetime takes
if it took breaths
like it climbed
a summertime hill
all day
that bed
so sad
it limps and lies down
shuffleboard headed
old
and
on your side now.
if only i had enough rope
i would lasso that moon
down
and deliver it to you
even though
it would split the ocean
and the sea
in twos
and threes
i would beg for your mercy
i would cry at your knees
god
i miss you so
you have no idea you know
i am lost
this place in time, where is this, what is this, why
why did we do this?
to me
it is done
by us both
the isolation
and speculation on, how much rope
is enough
enough rope
i am imaginary letters
hopeless telephone feathers
zero till fade
i am white-out
ghost after ghost
33 and in ruins
i am research now
a controlled experiment
for her favorites
i am in the out box
no return address and no topics
a landmark
a call for help
red
surrounded by three guides
truth beauty and justice
a t.v. screen
i once walked across–cowboy-boot drunk
on a glistening ship of a night
a four-post bed
where everything that happens
is only something in my head
in my mind
and outside
it might as always be snowing now
for the lack of going out
or in
how sad
how sad
and this
this is no way to begin
but i take meaurements
to keep me sane
to validate
what is real
and
what is pretend
just for now
just in case
how much
is enough
enough rope.
closed
that is what i am today
closed
robbed
isles fucking broken
baseball batted
winged
with colorful sweets scattered
all over the floor
God, I hit my knees that day
and wanted so bad
just wanted to say
“please, please bring her home,
back to me …”
but all my mouth
could sputter
with tear dribble
was,
“i am so weak”
“i am so weak”
like a record player
floating in space
forever on repeat
water
running down my snotted face
from my eyes
at the foot of the bed
head touching the throw blanket
i used to fuck her on
and sleep next to her in
Jesus,
what a thing to feel
the eyes of Brahman
and us
upon the wheel
and in that moment she was on a beach just then
with an old man who collects million-dollar checks
from taking people’s businesses from them
and breaking them into things he can sell
their hearts ripped out first
and placed at the ferry well
eventual ice-box dinner food
microwaved
and fit for moveable trays
and football games coming
those poor people of the long winter
a fat fuck with a driver, a car
and some special foreign name
on a beach,
two of them,
him, at least 50-something
while I was asking God,
asking God for someone
God,
who must be so busy his doorbell is bloody
on a beach
the two of them
i saw a photograph later
and puked
into the toilet
my guts
for what I had left of love
or the knowing
closed
that is what I am now
closed
robbed
riddled with effects
of a clearance sale
when everything goes
but the walls
skin and bone
so lost
and
closed
… when
when the brass blows
down that crooked lane
is that when
is that when you will
you know
say my name
once more
and
maybe even cry
no
no i doubt that
very
very
much
… when
in the days of a man’s life once in a while
it happens,
where you see the whole thing
a whole life
on a carton of milk as plain as day
like you picked your own pockets
and your heart alights
and you see
all
the
way
down,
to the end,
in the days of a life,
as a man might,
i have peeked into that room
maybe once or twice
at the shining ember
the ash
of a life
that i once had and it keeps me
and it demands
demands
i steer this into worse waters
further i go
obeying its commands
a death’s
each time
because inside tough guys inside men
is just nothing but
crocheted lined dangling legged walls
of afraid kids
making up names for things
telling ghost stories
while the walls rattle
of something cruel
something terrible
just
outside
the
door.
missed birthday
forgotten
slipped my mind
under the door in the doorpile
of forgots
and a fistful of carnations
just browning on the edge
that was NOT me
not me
i had a silent view of the backside of the buildings
and i looked through
and i saw a family
a couple
their privacy
untouched by my sitting in the chair helpless
alone
wondering where were you
and where was i
and what does it mean
when the bedroom
says,
“maybe lie down now and don’t get up”
and,
“i will hold you in a dream until you close”
clutching a cold cell phone
wondering
helplessly
dying to show more love
like an animal
feasting on the remains
of a carcass
of my own dried bones
in the desert
with two blankets at the foot of the bed
one blue
one brownish red
when the ship goes funny
you know, on the sea
like the bed were a boat
is that you?
or is that me?
because i lost my glasses
like two summers ago
and i can’t fucking see
for shit
i dream more about the desert now
which is better
less animals and sand traps
less chance of civilization
people like you
and your friends
so shallow
when you die
you will look the same
like laughing rattling bones
on pirate ships
smiling like corpses
surrounded in gold
i fucking hate you
your shallow madness
anyway,
i am almost home
and my ship is flying steadily through the air
tonight i am going to go find something to send me
sixteen thousand times higher
than air
and look down on you
as i die
and laugh
as i return to the part of the sun i am of my father Ra
and wish doom upon the parts of you
that destroy yourself
your ability to heal
or anyone
and you will live again and again many times before you learn
i can hardly see for the
rays in my father’s
cauldron
so goodnight little one
every time
each tide
each continental drift
each and every time my house must move,
my apartment,
my whatever,
for all the loose things in it
i did not know
until today
one was you
that they could move
become displaced i knew
but you
or us
in that brown shadow of a wall
could go into the mellowing
if it grew darker
in time
and left us yellow
and like smoke
in the room spinning out
and upwards
and into the draft
and toward the places in the window
where bigger things were kept out
and people too kept out
some people
where smoke goes
hurling into the safety of a wind
outside
this vaccum
of home
something dies
every time
forget the sea that drug your body ashore
and the murder
if that is what you wish to imagine
this heartache was
because
like something in a dream
this did not happen to you
it happened with you
and
you don’t care
you
really don’t fucking care
the
champagne will be aboard a boat
the streets will be made of cobblestone
and
the moon will be yours
you will recover
but
when love takes the very thing from you
that made you what you were before
by fire must your bones alight
and
your soul should not return
for true love
is
more
more than the money’s worth
and on good advices are the graces of the gods
the seas are parted
and
the waves are long
for
the hunters
when
the innocent scream and theirs are the words of pain
recognized
by
a fateful world
with
a merciful law
of
ebb and tide
and
for that
any shore is too expensive for a loss
when it could walk away and leave in dust
nothing anyway
and
keep those others talking distracted anything
but
in the way
of
those here to concern the world again
with laughter
and
real fucking dreams
when the house goes quiet
and she stops
you know
moving around inside me
i can see her
smiling
made of flesh and bone
heavy as a jewel factory
and bright inside
and brick outside
with lights
lights on
and the sound of typing
endless and still
moving through my head
on the windowsill
basking her in unneeded light
we made it through
summer
winter
not always night
but we made it through
to this
this end
when the bells crack
and the door gives
and all a man can do when he feels her go
who doesn’t drink or die
is sit down for a second
and thank God
she was born
and cry
If I were as mean as I would like
I would be small
and
your stolen bike
I would
go
get it from thugs
and
beat some asses
but
we don’t talk anymore
and
I will never hear you laugh again
because
we left
and
it’s over
and
one of us had trouble letting go
so
no bike
and
just me
and
lots and lots and lots and lots
of
questions
and
too much night
nobody is going to be able to save me
and i AM going to die
but not old
and not slow
but suddenly
in a flash
i mean, a truck may go past
maybe i slip because i am tired
maybe i know to slip
but i can’t watch beautiful women go by me anymore
and grow old
and lose my grip
and know my words are lessened by the days
the dark days of the artless
i am a fucking fool
you know
for thinking this is poetry
or that anyone would care at all
i don’t address you
when you read
because it was only one girl i wanted to need
who i wanted to write to
or for
only one set of legs
for me to set the seed
i am a dirty old fuck on the inside
but not
i am all kinds of trinkets and Southern things
forget
spoiled by loneliness
and made of forgot
i am rot
and i AM going to die
and it won’t matter because you all will be dead soon enough too
time does this
and i’d rather slip
into the tarmac
into the ocean
unnoticed
like i was
like it were
than feel this kind of pain and know i am only turning green
from new growth
i could never stand
i am not fit to be an older man
not now
nor ever again
i am broken like the lamp on the nightstand
i am the ghost on
the foot of the bed
i am
a pair
of her shoes
and obsessed
like i am supposed to be
and filled up full gut
with infinity blues
In the Middle of the Night Goes the Bang
in these slow moments, when there is too much time, i feel the entire inside
world of me collapse into its pile
the words drift from me
and i am but a calm swarm
an endless end
my skin touches the edge of the desk and i know i am alive
sort of hanging
and i feel a soft heart
my own
go into the gears, go shredding
for lack of tears
and more words
for the things i could not express
and time
which will not wind itself back
where the folds of what was me and what were wishes
came undone
like a slow dress in a brutal wind
like when a flock separates
and takes no shape again
was that my soul
my heart wrapped in tin
with a wire
on ice
and a bulb too thin
or a dream too long
or a breath too kissed
words they do fine
but cannot touch
this thing i miss
a heart
inside me
when
in the middle of the night goes the bang
when a woman leaves
she leaves
and leaves
with scents
and all the smells
of the house
when a house is calm
go
with
her
she takes with her the essence
of a place
painting the insides invisibly
while you were not looking
or shall i say, i
when a woman leaves
her smells
are small
hells
each much nastier than a sting
burned into your bed
in a fiery ring
and with her went the candles too
white ones, delightful ones
lit from time to time
shining
when she left she took the pictures
too
no diety confusion
or something
either way my retinas are masked with shadows of lines of the burn mark of her
face inside
tonight i missed
that scent
that smell
which is why i sleep with her sweater
it is still there
fading in the rest of a wooden ship
with a white flag
and battered sail
The house shook with horrible thunder
so we went inside
where the noise was
coming from
The spaces in
between the words
became a line
so we went under
the house
then over the spaces
with words
The words were not
enough
to keep her in my
dream
i am almost about
to speak
and
i awake
the house shakes
like
my hands shake
not
someone else’s
but
by themselves
The house and i
shake and
everything else
is moving
not me or us
it is a none-of-mybusiness
earthquake
this day
and
you know,
i have seen these
colors once but they
blurred by the
rushes of
disappearing
a sick man sits curbside, morningtime
papers just being lifted from
oversized doors
leading into the catacombs of homes
and thinks,
“when i am old, or not, and pass
i hope i become
a cloaked witch in the woods
behind your regal house
and my eyes are hollow
and eaten out by birds
and your children will see
my shadow
in the hall
and in the woods
i will haunt them
and they
will know the name of the abandoned”
then launches back upon the bench
and thinks of a laugh
and skin
softer than a cotton patch
in a cloth basket
and breasts like imaginary tears painted blue on a canvas 9 feet tall
and calm
and as the wind kicks up
a bag
and throws it round
the square he thinks,
“but i will be tired by then
and my soul
so tired now
is like the kind of cry
that becomes so inaudible
it is not a mumble
but like the constant
clicking of a greyhound
throwing a rod
quietly, trying to cut off
its gasoline supply
and i have become
the actions
of a man
ready to light himself
with something stronger than fire
to erase even
these last moments of
total
fucking
regret
and
despair”
and then has eggs
takes medication
for posttraumatic
events
and
collapses
on a bed
of fine silk
where
he never belonged
because
i
will
never
fucking
belong
to
anyone
again
despite my mumbling senile heart
rocked into its useless place
by
every
unknown
betrayal
and
line
that could have taken lovers anywhere
but
left one
to
question
why a man is even born
with pure
desire
and
hope
hope is as dead as the pigeon
floating
in the water
below the statue
in the tank
those new showers
will
wash his wings
into the gutter
where
i
am,
buttercup
To not be with you.
my God
my world just ends
goes calm
before me in a darkness
like a night
is a darkness
i strike
inside me
that moment
and
all i see
our hands
together
enclosed
around a light
it was simple gestures
not fuss
that kept me in the deep
protected by us
if I could
I would build those walls
back up
but they went Jericho
from backwards wishing
rung as clouded bells
for the missing
of your touch
upon my life
as i sit here so far from a home
written in your chest
i am sorry
for every moment now
i wasted
taking breaths
thinking
i might have that chance
to hear that soft laughter
forever
a jewel into the oceans
a bread crumb trail
ends
and i don’t know
i am so sorry
so sorry
i fucking miss you.
Last night
i had that stupid dream
again
where i am in jail
so horrible
i should wake up relieved
but i am not
me
depressed in a puddle of pillows
and lint
a newspaper
unfit to print
or a dull sauce
dream-lost
and
it wouldn’t be so bad
if i didn’t know inside the place
that it would never be loneliness
that waited for me
to break my face
but me alone
separated in a cosmos
where i couldn’t stroke her neck
of hair
outside somewhere
she is cornered, scared
with me locked tight
with me not there
but it is just selfish
of me
you know
that i would care
to defend
a woman against her own dreams
from my head
to my knees
you shouldn’t have,
really,
lying like you should
in a loved bed
why don’t you
you know,
hammer it home, slugger
and call it
before
it’s too late
and
neither of us will win.
fixed red sign; too bright;
blasting neon
red brick cloaked
in darkness
and
noise
two bodies pass the gated store
this is a nighttime fantasy
you say
“you say” that
THAT
to yourself
with panic, a body fidget
and
it’s like
somebody was not there
and
closed the doors
Dear me,
That Door Is Closed
That Door Is Closed
but
like a new thing in a new cage
i find the wall
with my face
and
etch the wall
for the future remembered dark fixture fingering
but
this is not that house
nor a home
i knew
past present or drawn by hand
in blue and white
this
is
a
fantasy
now
but worse maybe
but worse maybe
but worse maybe
but worse maybe
see what i am doing
i am writing it out
i am writing it out
i am writing it out
i am
i will
i was
i know
THAT DOOR IS CLOSED
THAT DOOR IS CLOSED . .
but, but////// … … .
but … … …
but fuck.
fuck.
fuck fuck fuck fuck
fuck
that is what.
i break the seal on the sea
i enter the water
all done by noon
in a bath
or by shower
and off off off i go
into my milky broadway
into my world
i count the rings on the tile
i clean awhile
it’s never too soon
in a minute
goes the hour
and off off off i go
into my wordless tower
into my static
rainbows with new colors
seeds with seedpodflowers
motionless whirligigs
and godknowswhat
really
banging around in the cracks
i do not say her name
it would break my back
and splinter my shield
and i am just made of small dreams
and tough talk
and fight
and a weakness for privilege and might
we lost it
i lost it
so
i break the seal on the sea
i enter the water
but i do not leave
every wave in the ocean now stays
wrapped in her name
cocooned
where
where could i go?
like this.
swollen from head to toe.
salty as a tear
inside a sea
bothered like a sail
on a worn beach
workmen’s prints
up each side
scattered
for the love of god.
where
where could i go?
if i were a dream
i would meet us
like a mitten
gray cloud
over us snowing
in our hair
in the city
your hand in mine
my fingers
on yours
locked
i loved you so much inside me
i swallowed it up
me in a cup
my skin
stars
in the air outside and between
in a single word
in a thought
of you
where
where could i go
now?
you were my favorite
and i pushed you away
so foolish
so so so
foolish
and then wrecked myself against the rocks
like a doll
to the floor
with myself
then you
and it broke
b r o k e
you
with reason
and beauty
and grace
loving me
so reckless
we were
reckless
i was
and now
this moment
this body
feels trapped
in sickness
in grief
like
i slipped out of time
into a thing
a place
that should not be
and
i cannot break the spell
of this moment
ever
I make myself sick
Really
Fawning over a lampside table turning blue and red
and blond, all of a sudden
sitting in the middle of the room
surrounded by particle accelerators
and trash
Like I could drink the whole of the ocean
and browse through the fish
that lie at the bottom of what was the ocean
to find one perfect for my dish
I make myself sick
Really I do
I’d rather ring you up and leave you be
to be alone
than meet you there
and have to disclose what it is I do not have
sick
generator noises armpit stinks
dry heat and basement sweat
and blue eyes
this is the lot of the crime
I’m parking cars here all the time
dreamless ass-face
discovering nothing
taking as much to disappear as needed
in phrases until mutter comes
or dawn
or both
and I trash my inside to reflect walls with receipts
and directions to nobody’s house covering it.
sick sick sick
and nobody calls.
I got a blue idea
a blue idea for a blonde
and neat rows of teeth gone crooked from crime
and bum notes
and cash
I wanna try to remember what it was that made me happen so fast
or kill it in one go
paint a target on the ceiling of my room
and open my eyes one morning
surrounded by somebody better than me
and prettier than you
sick sick sick sick
I make myself sick
and this is why you love me.
Red
sleeping in the pile
of pillows
blueberry gardens
in her closed
freckled eyes
lids shut soft
under a halo
of curls and fire
Red
dictionary legged
brittle
closes the book
and returns to the rock
with her light
ships gone mad
she signals
into the frenzy of white
water
Red
do you hear my voice inside your head
when you see a pitiful thing?
do you like to watch the weak ones fall
when you see a weakness giving?
Red Red Red Red Red
go on, put your hand in his hand again
dance with someone
everything is music and lights
shining in the ballroom dresses
and shoes and feather caps
silver and gold and gray
clouds
out the window where we are
where i am in the hustling
crowds of winter coats and bodies
slightly drifting further down
the river of tar
and broadway in calm
swift movements of panic and loss
my life
was
Red
sleeping in the pile
of pillows
blueberry gardens
in her closed
freckled eyes
lids shut soft
under a halo
of curls and fire
soon it will be time to go
the kids will lead
the adults
to the jackets and coats
by the door
and rattling upon the floor
near the shoes
will be the encore
for the night
and once the handle turns
the first ones go
the dark street outside
will suck us all dry
from our skin
to our bones
into it
and we will scatter like seeds
on a single flower
single
rainflowers
and in that house
the music will dim
the table a mess
a wreck
only plates
of bones
and i will know the names
and faces
burned into my eyes
like
a book with no spine
and endless pages
because if not now
soon
once she spits in your face
not really
but close
close like everything done is fuck you
close as a person gets
before their spit flies from their mouth
and lands on your cheek
warm and smelling of salt
and filth
it is over
but a war
that i won’t win or fight begins and all inside a head
to kill the one who went inside them
that is the fucking curse
is having this dick
and this ability with words
and meaning shit
that is the fucking reason everything is fuck you and spit hits your face without
a sound
and her not even there
who is fucking
who is sleeping from depression
who cares
fuck fuck fuck
a bottle of seltzer
some cotton swabs
a cutting razor
band-aids
a piece of flesh-colored tape
cut
cut
cut
till it feels like it did when you would make yourself sick
and vomit
in case you weren’t perfect enough
in case we went too deep and someone said i love you
spit hits my face.
every night
here
alone
guilty as a dogbone
chewed up
off the roof of a speeding car
thrown
beheaded by truth
dethroned
from my tower of bullshit
thank you
no
seriously
spit
spit
spit
spit hits my face
forever
forever
i deserve it.
it is time for me
to turn
the rope round the dolly
and cast the boat
back
into the sea of black
concrete and tar
and take the things i believe
are me
with me
away from the grilled cake
of this apartment
and i am just numb
and sad
and rooftops bruised
with sun and snow tan
and madness
minus the act
somewhere in the past
i turn your face into a laugh
all the way from your stomach
and we lie quietly
and sleep
cheek to cheek
like children
who found each other in the woods
hungry
and in need of sleep
and
if i stay inside that dream
one more week
i will die here
an old woman
for the loss of you
in my old man clothes
growing old with you in my dreams
like an electric blueberry tree
on pills
sweet and not mean
and
i’d rather go out there and fight
fight for it
till i run out of steam
i’d rather fish
now
but won’t because they all know
i’d throw them back
who could eat
in times like this
but you, or people starving hungry
so i untie the rope
and push myself back
and off i go
off
into some new unknown
sad
like you never seen
so i am a cemetery of new ideas again today
yay
i got greased by lightning and terrified
and whatnot
went to the diner
and it felt bad bad bad
i walk steadily alone
by myself
with the new one
and even today she said,
“it feels like there is a ghost in the room”
so there it is
again
you
so i am a cemetery of new ideas again today
patches of clouds of red hair
faint laughter
i resume doing nothing constantly
i am becoming like the hen
clucking around the henhouse at night
screaming for the eggs
like the nest
ill-fitted for the swollen bird who cannot fly
for wings too long
and body too large to fit inside
and this is why i am me
and sorry
and swollen with pride
i am like ten examples
at once
watching them collide
like broken dinner plates in mid-air crash
boom and bang
crashing as i catacomb into the tile
i should have stayed simply alone longer
for a while
so i am a cemetery of new ideas again today
I am haunted up the coast
it can’t be soon enough
that sand
that gets in your toes
goes back to the side of the sea
and our ship is forgotten
off the reef
and abandoned for a mossy grave
and fish
curious
and interested in the dark deep places
they dwell
I am haunted in the house
it can’t be for this long
that sound
that rings like my voice
talks to you still in accidental phrase
when it is for me
or someone else
deserved
with good will
calm
slowly my tanks refill themselves with new things
and light
but still
I am haunted
it can’t be for long
and
it can’t be soon enough
but still
Every Day I Die some
turn some
i get up to the gate
i buy the ticket
i wait
i watch others go by
every one
i wonder to myself if it cares
the hole
going
is it through
i don’t
not if it’s going to mean something
something to her
and not me
trying to erase a “you”
a her
to me,
i will not miss the swing
false tides and moon
throwing my face against the wall
i violate my own space
struggle
born like that
a closed-open wound
disgusting
and always too soon
i am all this
so i wait
unafraid
lazy in fact and faint
barely a person
barely
skydragon
your reflection casts light back into sky-swallowing clouds
rolling and gray
doing inner ear like shapes
inside themselves
there are lights on inside you
people in there
turning them on and off
like skin cells
activating a new tingle
in your metallic body
in your perfect way
standing alone
indifferent
cold
like a fuck-you to the sun and the night
like a drunk
skydragon
off Fifth Avenue
you old whore you fucking crooked face
did you let yourself get that way
from design
or from lack of the energy to stray
because you got tired
and if he crawled over you
in merry ol’ England
maybe you might get some sleep
and it’s more trouble to be desired
than had
or so you thought
in his hotel room, in his bed
even though you said he wore you down
that rat-face
that scumbag
you let inside
his office empty but his name upon the door forever
wasteful
on your way home somefuckingwhere
wherever that was