hey paul check out giovanni carmazzi

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it's the thought she left there or
when
beginning again with the eyes
was easy, see her
in hundreds of small towns
to return to,
because i found her there once
half-way gone as i reached out
& said
a small gust to carry away.

squallor

wheres the candle or the money
to pay for the gas bill
or the stove
i drink water sometimes when i'm hungry
which doesn't always make sense
but it works sometimes
though it's hard to want something
that you hear all night
dripping from the part of the ceiling
that peels away
& you're afraid that the animals
in the attic might scratch through
the rotten wood
& fall on top of you
in the middle of the night.

colorado

i.

the closer &
closer i
get to denver
the more &
more i
wish i had bought you breakfast this morning

ii.

hot ash stings the eyes
the sun reflecting off brown grass
near yuma
where the spine of some america
shades my face,
lonely as a tunnel train.

iii.

driving past dairy farms on i 76
my mind lactates you
wonder
what i mean without
me ever saying
a word

iv.

there is nothing
more empty than your bones
eastern colorado
knowing past glaciers
have kissed
your fathers neck leaving
him feeling much nearer
to heaven
or what heaven might feel like
if he would have gone there.

v.

i wanted to say something before i left
either to you or this or you
about the stars & the city
how i wasn't sure which
one i was above or below
knowing neither were
other plains
of existence & your face lit up--
but
god had been absent
from this rocky
purgatory
for some time.

o' city lights
o' city lights you crack my side
walk you show
my beauty to the endless suburb of hunters
& those who gather the writing bones

o' city lights are the late night owls
looming over fields
& every corner the mice scatter--

o' city lights you
knew me before i ever sparkled or
when i
slapped pavement w/ my face

labor day

we fool them w/
our smiling faces
women in a pigeon age
knees knock in difining
moon from moon
says moon repeatedly
every night repeatly
behind the stars, she loves the diving hawks
who kill.
but you forgot the actual time you
swallowed all of the tramadol
& made your fingers
smoke even after there was no more smoke to give--
a wiked smell thickened the air
somewhere near your
home
or maybe think this is
my house for now.

shake

i am broke because
the sun is filtered by what i see
or i can stand in a river
where it goes up past my ankles or
to my knees
that sometimes shake &
hit themselves together
bones that make music
but don't break
though i am here
where you put me
& this is why

slow

where the hangman's hand hold you
tell him to let go
the sound of a dead horse beaten
forgets you
where the gates are left open
& all the animals leave
for the ocean
because that is where things go

the temptation of

the night when you are beautiful,
& i saw.
a stranger for penny; change where you like
to put it.
around here somehwere is a picture
that i keep.
treasure is not something i do,
but i dig deeper
to find a weapon from childhood--
dull.
you look at me like i am a bird,
feathered & falling.

beach

walk half naked
dune the sands
of the florida gulf
littered w/ teeth
of sharks so small
they will never
eat you whole.

nomadic

unsure where ultra-marine melts
in your hand
hold the big sky, a pink piece
of your face on the cheek--
a thousand or so natives build camp here,
& taste the plants of warning
so they might see god or
become her & dance around the eyes,
peacock feathers nest
in their hair
as if it was supposed to look like that.

millions of if's

he writes down every step, things he might do
by day & hour in a spiral note book
that he leaves on the floor where he sleeps.
lists who he might tell & in what order
chooses his wife: first
because he should love her & maybe does
but she doesn't know that,
she doesn't know about any of this.

prey

woke with a sleep-hawk; up
slay pigeons where i lie.
tallon from one corner to the next
where towered stone scrapes their sky.

the temptation of

the night when you are beautiful
a stranger for penny; change where you like
to put it.
around here somehwere is a picture
that i keep,
treasure is not something i do--
but i dig deeper
to find a weapon from childhood--
dull.
you look at me like i am an angel,
cloaked & falling.

happen light on the slipping drift
fog not where your eyes stare
makes me lonely in a pretty way
writing with your finger through my hair
shed the forest from the field
w/ each breath of winter's dry air
feel the warmth of death linger
cold as hell but not quite there

drift

steady in the lungs, fox fur mixes in
because she likes it there.
a finger, a space, a finger, a space etc.
fuss across.
do you really listen,
or is it the voice that leads--
breathing smoke whether its cold outside or not.
she tells everything to hold still
while she does this to you.

billowing

nimble the night sky thins where you don’t see shadow
grow.
naked as your bird call on the western plain of cherry highland,
silhouette of fleeing pheasant:
the winter cannot hold.
hawks in the growth of coarse rope
tight beneath my clattered chin,
broken when the ice melt
& no-one saw it go--
flush, a nice red face
bark up the wrong &
bite the sickle off these bent trees
spindle, through some three dog night
& still growing older--
a motion that keeps us & holds us
until we weigh nothing
then it drops our paper frames from clouds high up there,
where we never saw before.

walk home

flush, a nice red face
bite the sickle off these bent trees
spindle, through some three dog night
& still growing older--
a motion that keeps us
& holds us until we weigh nothing
then it drops our paper frames from clouds
high up there.
where we never saw before.

a color

polka-dot riddle eyes so vast
the sea sees what you sink--
words inside of my mouth;
lost,
but where the moon leaves,
you understand what space to fill--
circling
until im dizzy, irises
point inward at what makes me go
this way.

un-plowed

when i'm crazy but not broken
as the wendigo shrill wind
through walls & windows soft
porous sea-grated stone
skulk along smoked streets laid
hand by hand, i know
the route guided by silk-worm spindle
steams off the fault-rock
of rust-giving salt & sap
not realizing this is too far north
or how sane it will take me to leave,
but i can go on like this for some time
i think. walking still,
walking.

king size

separate rooms they snore
w/ pillows over heads
so they cannot hear each other
or anything
when they touch bodies
each discovers something
they miss the skin & friction for
wait on lips to touch it
but none of this when they dream
none of this is there.

c

dangle there cigarette, said lip
fitting where i kiss you
let me
but i won’t, he says again
love you more than the next
a puff where you exit
& warms the throat
smell of organic
smolder slowly towards
me, as a moment
let me
go.

around

don’t step so loud he
hears you coming, with those ears
wrap of wind & no trees stand stoic
by the banks of so many rivers.
your neck casts shadow
across the great circumference of his belly
that reminds you of hills in central-nebraska
where all you have to do is breathe
& someone else might know you’re there
even if they can’t see you.
even if they never actually see you.

hofstra drops football program after 69 years

not w/o a punchers chance, giovanni carmazzi cried
all of colonial pride
& by god, is it not, criminal to leave the american sport
to long island buzzards
holding no grudge over the flying dutch
or the nostalgic down they touch
waiting for the whistle of city towers
counting back clock time
for when we can play away the hours
& forget this deviled crime.

three dogs

bark up the wrong,
nimble, the night sky
thins where you don’t see shadow
grow.
naked as your bird call on the western plain
of cherry highland,
the silhouette of fleeing pheasant—
hawks in the growth of coarse rope
tight beneath my clattered chin,
broken when the ice melt,
& no-one saw it go.