30 October 2008

somtimes i rewrite things

gods head was resting
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

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

over the great plains of your back
roaming bison avoid railroads
in a sense of the plague that
moses never dreamed of despite all the burning
bushes & golden calves he could find
in forty years of searching out there
on the wild of a womans body

haiku two
a voice coming from each of your false teeth
its true
you stare at the television set for hours & hours
at close range
& go blind

a shoot
sure am— or once had
to be a bison
but not a buffa—
long so many
train rides i dont really
take though should
eventually i
might stampede or just
shout past the horns
& the hairy hairy
backs of dakota
not nearly a place to
not even a voice
but whimper land—
ho for hours & hours
at the tops of topped
off lungs i bellow
as only a bison
would roam if it
couldnt go home

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

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

(twelve) a natural progression
wasp just wouldnt leave
the wasp wouldnt leave just
im choking—im choking
im going to the grand canyon
this is bad for you
dont go where i cant follow
illegally climbing fences
irresponsibly mending
from one end to the far
state of mind
telling me savannah is
gorgeous in the fall
& it leaves
the leaves
i believe
killing the grass—
breathing in
smoke i
forgive everyone
when i am invisible
i forgave
everyone for everything
when invincible
& leaving the believing
the leaves
mending & the wasp
naked when in georgia
forgetting canyons
i once saw
on the other side of past—
yours so green
spend not enough time
explaining why
i felt too much
& eternity is south
possibly in winter
i will show you
but nothing dies anymore

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 wasnt worth
a goddamn thing
if you want to win the pennant
and my poetry

never ending
not so much the bison
both can be
killed to borderline extinction
drive faster the further
things grow apart
between potter/dix
in back country pan—
handles where
rain is only 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

field of waste
gulls look
at the gulls
where have they been
these past few
while the garbage
is ripe collecting
on earth as it is in heaven
cawing over winged
decay i
never smelled
such a feast
where the devil
who would betray
me for
chump change

16 October 2008

gods head was resting
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

15 October 2008

07 October 2008

offended young bohemians

not surprise-
how these bleedy
hearts used every
gosh dang
part of their friends
oh they so clever
seemingly naked beside
each &
every cold
month you wait for
to hide deep in woven
cotton accessories or
full body nylon nude suits
finding them
strewn about on the floor
next to the bed
of the one who came
after something
that almost
meant something

golden gate

knife in hand you
the gulls neck royal tar

in the back seat
wrapped her up in news-
en route

she soaked through
bloody thing
so you
double wrapped
sundays new
york times

we rolled down
the windows

because death is
to the

honest mother fucker
wondering if
it was
the way words can be
so drunk
& stupid-
its pretty rare
when its tow and or
three in the morning
long after
we say some friendship
is lasting or
has lasted long enough
but to tease say
run me over
and know how easy it
can be
to go
to hell

for paul
on black top keen
to blood suckers

dreaming inches in straws
and malaria i take

deep puffy breaths
of my one last cigarette

because i left the rest
inside the faux-cabin

i wouldnt ask you for another
i wouldnt do that


the only suburb of chicago
i can think of
and its you

i promise if i
take you there
not to tell you about
all the forty year
old women im dating

or crash my volvo
leaving you unharmed
and scared
the discovery and conquest of mexico
for my friends

there were all but two men
in high
spirits- you say they are cross-
eyed but i
knew them by their
baptismal names
indians of our
with a virgins bloated belly
carved into the chest
of all their
native lovers
and discovered enemies
leaving us to believe
cortez would be
proud &
our lord might reward
us with more
brown gold

03 October 2008

the eternal wasps/nest
of debt i
drown baby in water
young girl trapped
at the bottom of west
virginia well min-
ding my own lack
of business you
say to be a man
to be but i
am naked to worth
my pockets are sieves
save nothing
and midas will touch my
enemies until
they are fat and dead

who cries wolf when
grown men remove
crusted snot from
each nostril
by finger
by finger
we point-out
our own flaws
and die as
everyone does

funeral poem i

there is only one
thing that is not
fiction &
hemingway knew

love poem
for nebraska

your women are big
boned they
sit at home
they sit at home and pray
your men are red
nosed and big
bellied they
drink away
they drink away

you can stare at
them until they look
you can stare
& stare
thinking about what
you think
about them
you stare at
& stare
they look

i love repetition
love it
because its
easy and important
bust mostly easy
and mostly important
like a god
like a god
like a god

dinosaurs once had
cards in their sleeves
to put your name
on them you took
them home with you
now they sit in museums
hoping to be loved
forgotten by
shotguns from idaho

you cringe &
cringe from writing so
damn much that your
paper cringes & pen
your computer cringes
and each finger to hand
to arm cringes
as a crumbling metal plane


i went to school
to rob people of
what they dont know
and what doesnt
hurt them
i told you i would
be in ithica in one
year i told the cotton
wood be in ithica in
one year ithica in one
year leaves fall in
ithica in one year
i will write and die
in ithica its all the
same to me and you
and ithica

love letter to my face
you are a beard i want
to be more vulgar like my
favorites dirty and more
queer and man drink more
like they do to have more
beard and be queer for them
because we drink too much
more than we should and
enjoy our beards as queers

o' city lights you
crack my side
walk you show my beau-
ty to the endless suburb
of hunters and those
who gather the writing bones
my city lights are
angels shining on mangers
of every corner
o' city lights you
knew me before edison ever
twinkled or i
ever slapped pavement w/
my face