Summer 2009

I dont work a job in the day
and I have no time for hobbies
Instead I stand in my doorway and chew gristly questions
That taste like cigarette filters
That most people have chewed and digested by college
But I had doubt jammed in my gears
A four year old anxiety boy kept asking
Probably just sparking the apathy wheels
Into tension
To see some kind of motion
If only it were a daily grind (pun in tension)

I'm lazy and bored with the day
Its ideas refuse to entertain me and so I too often return the favor
I fuck around like I'm making a point
Personify everything, then argue with the sun for cutting and running
The heated sky apart
And petition (bitch) him later about the sweat in your shorts
And the ache in my gut that joins the chorus of shouting things
A loud nature, I wish it was polite
Left me some peace

Left my head out of it

At least attempted harmony if they have to go on like they do
Gave me better sentences to write than I do

_

For now

Go back to choking on half baked faith
Read about an ascetic you'd hate to meet
And an old ecclesiast's poem gilded in black ink
Running with the same thoughts you've had

Then dip it in the fountain doubts and wash it clean
Isn't that easier to read?
To forget?
Now swallow the rest of those loose connections
And pray you have intentions in your intestines

If I could
You know I would
Be lying nude under moonlight
In the crevice between three converging boulders
Whose carpetbraid of moss is continually refreshed
By a steady sheet of spring water.

I want to see the fresh water clear,
I want to see cold water dark,
And I want the water's shim passing over my thigh to update me on the condition of the stars.

In the ice of a brook bed on the cannibal days of summer,
I am nude when the rain stops and the wind returns comfort
To the stones that moon like lizards do at sun, on them
When I am far too drunk to lull my head to see the stars myself.

***

Beaneath willow shade--
Willow not weepy, just swaying,
Shading--
Lightning bugs are happy teasing
Off my meters distant.

Lying in the vessel of a stream,
The shim updates my reality.

Round up round up
point 60

Time is 60
and 60 is from now
Till time runs out
And the knob is switched to 40

Switch switch stitch:
My pants go from the washer.

Plastic’s on the crumble
Soapsgone
And the lovely girls who scrubbed our clothes are gone.

Now we spit groundwater down a box
And churn filthy rags
Till brainslikepruneslike virgin fingers do
Set too long in solution.

6 time is 4 time is wage time.
Join the one big union!

It waits clear, conceived in sheets of farble
Draped down portholes
And sheaved in white appliance.

Behind door one two three:
Convenience

TV meanness

Isleislefreshness

Your door, NUMBER 4,
Has not so much inside;
Your cook machine,
Your watch and clean,
AC ISP.

Soon we’ll find our structure stuck like towers of cold aluminum
Where fireproof furniture can’t break windows
And the screen behind my mirror tells me all the things I told myself
behind a mirror once.

“You display the symptoms of Vitamin D deficiency.”

So take your breakfast down
before dash pinch sitdown--

eat it up eat it up.

Then bark news,
fuck,
and done begins again.

Dur Bee Gee

Intelligence is crystalline.
Nature is not.

What about matter craves homogeny?
Why do the elements of life circumvent unity?

Why is all I say bullshit?

Must everything contradict itself?

Either

Sometimes there are things
That make you think
Everything will be okay.

For Americans
And human beings,
Whatever you may be…
There are things that say
You’ll be OK.

For instance,

Have you ever seen the freeway
-All big and wide
And made of concrete-
Go on forever
Like it's always been there?

And heart surgery?
Can you believe
All that?

I saw a picture tonight
Of English bobbies
Passing storm troopers
Like what the fuck are you
Dressed up like that for?

Fake guns in hand,
Clubs on belts,
Like hey,
I’ve never felt either.

One day
Some boy
Find toy
What joy

desperate measures

A flaying spray shot his heart loose,
from quarters too many to find a culprit
as he knelt wondering after a will.
Ripped it onto the floor to soak in a cowards brine.
every drug mixed on
and flowing over
the oily floor
The angry organ slid back and forth in the pool
like it was trying to drown itself.
He fretted straight, fifteen years of thought blazed too hot and (of course) he fucking lunged for it.
He slipped on the floor as he scraped it, sticky and still bleeding out of the mess.
He took a bite with the hope he could still digest.