floating and leaving no trace
i am stretched thin as a hair
speak to me and i vibrate
a single guitar string
in the cosmos
tying star to star
humming one note
if i were more
i would be a minor chord
complete and harmonious
yet melancholy even among
the celestial furnaces
stretched thin as a hair
tying star to star
if a fuse
i would burn
my embers meeting
in the middle of all things
summer strolls through
my backyard
leaving peaches fall
baking in the sun
attended by fig beetle and
squirrel
overwhelming sweet fermenting scent
fills the air
a thousand pies all at once
i long
for the taste of melting
ice cream on my tongue
the coarse grains
of the vanilla bean
a car
on the freeway honks
and i pretend it’s
one of lake geese
welcome to the slaughterhouse
we are all red in here
inside and out
i am a brick
or
i am made of bricks
one is reductive
the other an amalgam
both are red and brittle
and you can draw on the sidewalk
with a bit of it
clutched in your fist
hanging of the the bottom
of your hand
like a turd
that won’t drop
they say the jews
made bricks in egypt
and built the pyramids
even though that’s
probably not the case
but who knows
i have a time machine
in my head
but it’s faulty
no matter
how i try to travel to the future
the damned thing always pulls up
to a new york apartment
i don’t know and wasn’t
expecting
a doorman opens the door
his coat is red
the color of bricks
i’ve been thinking
that dorian mode
would be a good name
for a secret agent
who works
for the pope
i take my wrenches
brand new and gleaming
chiming like tuning forks
shining like suns
and disassemble these
clockwork angels
gears for guts
tightly-wound spring hearts
hollow aircraft grade aluminum bones
unseeing marbles embedded
in deep sockets
[they do not need to see–
they fly in darkness]
their oxyacetylene lungs
power their songs
their wings
their breath of fire
strewn about
their parts litter my garage floor
run your finger over
eight laid out in a row
and they ring
in the dorian mode
i watched the water
take the soap
in a small spiral
down the drain
it carried the dirt of the day
sew my mouth closed
pack my tongue in
pickling salt and alum
i have no benediction
left
blessed are the hungry
they will be told to get a job
wire my jaw shut
pour fast-drying wet cement
up my nose
and leave my head in the sun
to dry
blessed are the infirm
they will die in misery
replace my head
with one of stone
use my vocal cords
for penny guitars
blessed are the other
they will be forced into corners
into alleys
into slavery of all forms
cut out of their skins
and trapped within them
——
classroom full of desks
empty of sound movement energy
the whiteboard traps faded
and fading ghosts
see you next year
have a great summer
a giant smiling face
outside sprinklers
fire like machine guns
in a 40s gangster film
and sunlight washes
the room in heat
and smell of pine
from the floor fills the room
lizard rests on the sidewalk
looks me right in the face
–hey, he says
i stare down into his black eyes
his ribs don’t move in and out
the way i think they should
but he’s definitely alive
definitely talking to me
–hey, i say back
he shakes his, and odd human gesture
on his little reptilian body
–seriously?
i’m a talking lizard for fuck’s sake
that’s the best you can dredge up?
he scuttles toward the fence
almost makes it underneath
–check out the peach tree, i say
there’s lots of flies
sure to find a meal
and a pile of bricks
to hide behind
he nods
–thanks
sorry for swearing
i shrug
and he is gone
Words and Feathers 