shit rains but
you think it's silly when
there's a pause
remembering what actually hit the fan
you tell them again
about the shit
thinking this time maybe
they will understand
& you will be interrupted
less frequently

forgetting or
i was
a plan & knowing
something contrary to belief
she said
she looked
like a sixteen year old
woman
it was simple to be
but far from the truth
you take this
wall
for instance
say maybe it's no berlin
but she built it
& it's gonna take
one hell of a
hammer

forgetting or
i was
a plan & knowing
something contrary to belief
she said
she looked
like a sixteen year old

i have been friends with anthony vandenberg since i was in the 6th grade. thats what... a long time ago. i was thinking about friends a few... days ago or so and thought that i couldnt really see losing the friends that i have. i mean like losing touch or whatever. not seeing them and not really thinking about it. right now it just seems like everyone is gone because of christmas, but theres a pretty good chance i wont see anthony for a few years. possible. i really miss ellen right now, but i also feel ok i guess. im trying to build up my solitary stamina.

theres this girl at the bar of my coffee shop talking to her grandma i assume and they are talking about boondock saints and how its a good movie and the grandma agreed. she may not be a grandma. actually she may be a boss or... just an older woman. this is strange.

theres this girl at the bar of my coffee shop talking to her grandma i assume and they are talking about boondock saints and how its a good movie and the grandma agreed. she may not be a grandma. actually she may be a boss or... just an older woman. this is strange.

i am losing count
of all the cars that drive through
my drive thru


STOP DRIVING THROUGH MY DRIVE THRU
THIS IS NOT A STREET
THIS IS NOT YOUR TURN AROUND BULLSHIT ROUTE

GO DRIVE THRU SOME OTHER DRIVE THRU

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHH QUIT MAKING
THE BELL GO OFF!!!!!!!!!!

i am losing count
of all the cars that drive through
my drive thru


STOP DRIVING THROUGH MY DRIVE THRU
THIS IS NOT A STREET
THIS IS NOT YOUR TURN AROUND BULLSHIT ROUTE

GO DRIVE THRU SOME OTHER DRIVE THRU

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHH QUIT MAKING
THE BELL GO OFF!!!!!!!!!!

several dog—
night sledding by
bob or squeal a pattern
frigid foresting
steams under
what is called a ground
&
a line so agreeing
her hawkish
features tell me
to shake these geese
i vibrating—
a pattern now lost
more than a disaster
she speaks to me
saying things
softly

i draw too much
touching
& or roughing up
go down & a-
round
someones lines
forgot to re-
hearse
walking deadlike because
the sun
smells less like breakfast
tonight
saying the time is irrelevant
or perhaps
a watch
was lost

take one
breath & it's over

one exit &
the way is small

you believe
& that is enough

you forget why there
was ever a question

& you take
one breath before it's over

i dont edit these enough

creation
god's head was resting
forever
on frozen lakes—
seven if she counted correctly
but doubtful
where i
bending trees to me
with the weight of my
winterous core
sometimes alone in st paul
looming in impotent shade
skate wild
chiseled circles around her face
pressed to the ice
eyes like moons
pocked pale children faced moons
that die
every morning

a snow
we were questioning snow
of its' cold
with our faces planted
firmly to the ground
legs up in the air
being dangled by moon
& its' arms of tree shadows

you still new me then
when my face was a blue jay
pecking through the nests
of children
in the freezing depths
of a worthless february

spicer
that marvelous finger
he gave it
after being asked
to take back
comments made on ted
williams' contribution
to the bosox
i was there
he said i was there
when he gave it
but it wasn't worth
a goddamn thing
if you want to win the pennant
and my poetry
does

midwest-voodoo-physics
never ending
sky
not so much the bison
both can be
killed to borderline extinction
i
drive faster the further
things grow apart
between potter/dix
in back country pan—
handles where
rain is a whitewashed
wall never seeming
to fill up this dry bed
who can sleep—
when there is no wind break
& the howling is mistaken
for hungry coyotes
nipping at
your feet all
because there are
no more bison
to kill

new york (state)
oh god
where the buffalo roam
and remind me
again
& again
how bruce
smith never won
a super—
bowl
no relation
i always thought
my grandpa smith
was from cuba
like the missile
crisis

i dont think i have ever worked on a poem this much before - it taxes

not hymn

i
deafness of one is
not underestimated
to be
by even the most atheistic
apostles &
although debt is a virtue
hanging by log
pined into our wet brains
the sounds i
am
makes when supplication—
a possible answer or
hitting coolly laid
pavement another—
never sums up
the callous silence
of an accident

ii
be a colossus of
parallel
tracks
& or rumble
of prone steel
reminds a bend
some say tunnel
who is truly coming
by
& by
but still remains un—
proven what
lies
ahead

iii
standing up
for several hours &
then kneeling
to taste sour wine
on the sponge
before standing up once
more
maybe the last
all while denying
effort transcends
triumvirate bodies in
the name
of the etcetera


iv
cannot remember face
or fact by calling
out to nameless
robes in vain
to vine
though names were never
necessary
all under breath
of rib
gnostic &
believable
when darkness was
a lovely man
silhouetted by pale
horse &
my mouth rang
with swords

v
on rocks made of skulls
you & i
sit fist-tight
against stubbled chins
waiting
for sheepskin to soak
up what is not there
or never was
some firmament
of voices
choir leering with
their omniscient
bald
beards
only watching to count
pentamerous
mistakes we make
in forgiveness
an act
of refusal to take back
all that is
set into wooden
stone by
cock crow’d motion
in lyrical disconnected
dissonance

rationalizing

& it reminds me to write
about the sexual
inadequacy of starling men
darlings
in sheets when they cant
break even

she is not the season—
ginger for tops
but a follicle & freckle
who know each other
as home—
made sin

youre telling me this
was never a joke
& it reminds me to push through

i take breaks now
between circumstances
hoping to please
every bone in
your universe

but when one end is
the only out—
come we can find
the monotony of pleasure
bleeds together
of days too long
and dry

officially the graduate schools im applying to

university of minnesota in minneapolis
university of oregon in eugene
boise state university in boise idaho
georgia college and state in millridge georgia
louisiana state university in baton rouge
university of montana in missoula

minnesota, oregon, and lsu all have the opportunity for full tuition waiver
lsu (i think) pays the greatest teaching stipend of (16k or so)

boise state, montana, and georgia college and state all waive most of the tuition and have meager stipends. 9k or so.

from what ive seen all of these schools are fairly well respected for creative writing and poetry. minnesota montana and oregon are among the top 30ish programs i guess.

mostly i care about where they are and how much they pay for my school. lsu is looking pretty king right now, but id be happy to go to any of these. i guess my rankings right now would be:

LSU
OREGON
MONTANA

this is just to say

the children are gone
& i have caused supplies
of whisky & morphine
to dry up the same

knowing full well
you would
walk in
at any moment
to catch me lying
shirtless on the floor

forgive me but
the lonely road
to sleep
looked so sweet
& so cold

going

wide by the sky
a terrain i walk casually
your eyes
says a one
but there are so many—
none or
a relentless nothing
that takes a getting used to
for the sake
of feeling alone or
underbundled
while solitude is always under—
watch behind lines
of trees
& sentimental shadowy
figures we call out
to when fingertips
twinge in the cold
empty night
yearning for—

a naked death

essentially i or
just being that
a letter
never meant to be
later
& alligator you
more spelling
where words are—
nt being
so have seen
between the lines
i again
laying in the bath
three inches of water
maybe less
& more
cooling quicker
than i can clean
saying these are teeth
beautiful white
jaws around
me in porcelain
begging me to slip
every time

telling them

even christ—
ians tell bad jokes
bad as bad
& see the mistakes
in the mud
where our heads
get smaller
over millions
of years
trying to rationalize
the coming
& going
of a sun

were all wearing leather
jackets
carrying switchblades & broken
bottles we drank
them to death i
lend my ear to honesty
but you only dream in sequence
of heat to no
heat
giving more pressure to whos
on top
who is on
bottom
& why the summer is so far away
when you need it
the most
when you needed it to warm up
the wounds
of these

capricorn

never feeling naked
is why
i sleep here
smooth whitening coverage
froth
& baying ocean
dipping my pelican
hands
where the salt line
ends
& life flourishes
warm off the southern
tropic
still north of your ambitious
pride
safe from the archers
volley
nook'd in the uplands
far from a longing moons
tide