image

I REFUSE

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

Alit Daffodil

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

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.”

ha ha ha

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

i can see you still

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

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.

Babydoll

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.

A New Party of One

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?

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 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

Your Side Now

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.

enough rope

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

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

Brass

… 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

Terrible

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.

Carnations

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

Goodnight Little One

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

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

Real Fucking Dreams Come True

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

Sit Down

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

too much night

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

infinity blues

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

Lighthouse

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 Rushes

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

i’m a sick man, buttercup

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

I Fucking Miss You

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.

Hammer It Home, Slugger

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.

That Door Is Closed

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.

Cocooned

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

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?

My Favorite… Ever

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

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

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

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

Spit Hits My Face

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’s Time

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

I Am a Cemetery

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

But Still

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

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

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