you get what you want
if what you want
is a backhand
from the ticking
winding down
clock
the second hand
gives you the finger
–good job, asshole!
only time has mastered
sarcasm
grab a shovel
don’t forget to measure
yourself first
we will all get buried standing up
can’t let change
fall out of our pockets
or our hips dislocate
during rapture
alien abduction
other failures of gravity
give us the greening grass
below our feet
or else
above all your heads
Tag: poet
potential (20200409)
hold the flashlight up
under my chin
like a suicidal jedi knight
breathe out
empty those lungs yogi-style
in the light a vapor forms
the amorphous shape
undulates away
disappears as water droplets
spread and the temperature
between them and the adjacent air
becomes insignificant
exhale again
step into
the little cloud of myself
feel nothing
neither the sudden cooling
of nighttime sea spray
nor the volcanic steam
of the just finished running dishwasher
just nothing
and is this
–i wonder aloud to the dog–
what ghosts don’t feel
when they pass through
one another?
the fit of melancholy (20200407)
the poor are still poor
the dying still die
those obsessed with power
wrap themselves in disaster
like moths in cocoons
only to emerge stinking of
blood
self-righteousness
their own vile shit
weaponize everything
the weapons
the disease
the cure
cockroaches
are time travelers
come back to honor
their ancestors
salad (20200403)
mixing cabbage and carrots
folding in mayo and vinegar
even coleslaw has a certain rhythm
if not actual music
tomorrow
i will eat this properly
not just sneaking bites
to “taste” it as it is being made
moveable wounds (20200130)
the ground bleeds with each gust of wind
bullet holes appear on the mulch
on the pavers
tempted to leave the festering wounds
since they will fade to pink
and later onion-skin transparent and brittle
in this dry weather
violent eruptions of color
pocket universes
alternate dimensions seeping
oozing into my own
fluff–20200107
headlights illuminate
dandelion heads
lighting them up
small luminous ghosts
each an incandescent
fading wish
you say
–i can’t tell the difference
between human and animal sounds
each passing car
a wall switch
wish on
wish off
coyotes and owls
try to tell us
which is preferable
exoskeletal echo (20190921)
beneath the dry soil
water-smoothed rocks
the ground exhales
a fine cloud of dust
as you excavate
i found once
the desiccated remains
of a hungry ghost
translucent and as white
as the moon
in the morning sky
it had eaten its fill
and moved on to bigger
hopefully better things
though
what does a ghost eat
besides the memories
and the breaths of the living
in close up, the peach pit looks like a crater pocked moon (20190827)
let us go then
you and i while
this little light
fails in caution tape stipes
of yellow against green
yellowing grass
everything rolls up
in the egg roll
layer by layer
by layer
like a handroll
with krab, avocado
and mermaid meat
easy on the shoyu
the dog pants
the dogs pant
the dog’s pants
the table etherized patient
has 100,000 miles
of arteries and veins
stretched tightly
when plucked
the vibration is invisible to
the human eye
the sound so high
it cannot be heard
except by resonance
in the blood
cheering you up, part two (20190726)
run a needle through
grains of sand like beads
sand from my eyes
no sunny beach
the needle exits every
where there is an eyelash
this is sleep
when you die
depending on the mortuary
or the mortician i suppose
they will plug your throat
and sew your mouth closed
to keep the last notes of your
last song
from scaring the folks staring
at your mummified remains
your eyes will be velcroed shut
not exactly velcro
instead they’ll use an eye cap
a contact lens covered in spikes
to keep your eyelids in place
run me through a meat grinder
and feed me to the shelter dogs
someone at least
will not go hungry for one single meal
there is no part one
the dream of the moon (20190722)
i dreamt i was the moon, but the dream seemed real upon waking, so much so that i checked the mirror for craters and dark sides. i found nothing of interest–no man living there, no celestial maiden, no mochi pounding rabbits. the memory of that cold embrace of the dark sky, being held by nothing, floating and shining with an impossible weightlessness of being both far away and as near as a reflection in glass haunted me throughout the day and well into a moonless night.
