nest

wild horses draw the head off
you, razor-legs show me
skin of your bite bones
or where the fir trees grow
down to the night-time-water-body, so
i can be a romantic man
talk generic about the places of you:

the off-path covered wagon,
dirt boat
my beard dangling w/ twigs
& prairie flower.
arranged to remind you

krzyzewski

under the plain swell
can you feel all the earthquakes

the man i know from Falls city
saves you sometimes
or so he says
then rumbling, loud like a motorboat

until the forest over here
sang it out for parachuters
when the garlic mustard killed your garden

path cleared of poisonous spiders
the indian graveyard seems safe now

but you realize there isn't an end to this
the spiders are back every summer,
the father still has to have it's kids

canoe #2

bending my near broken buffalo collar
bone down the winding Niobrara, she
lays lady finger between each western rib.
my skin ripples in pond
telling me
which water snake will bite my face
sweet & lonesome
beneath an other-worldly sun
tanning our hide
naked in a boat

pioneers

counting bruises oh, are we
apples
sail upon trampled fields
of water wheat
you grow gold w/ your soiled hands
she
drinks & i
drink redberry-wine cold
behind trails of bison bur & indian grass,
smelling in barberry or
may-apple maybe, we
wait for it
to get dark for
our skin to hide

poem
1.

do
i go at it all wrong; on

deck
for the swinging game

more clobber
out of my bones arm--

cast
the throwing of small

boulders or
am i
poet

2.

poet
am i

falling to pieces in my
pieces falling

zone. so girl
turns to stone

inside of my baby
my baby groans

can i
find a small boy named i
& home



sand.gravel.limestone

I.

a part of me is not apart of me,
voice to lung or wrong tube
a singer & dance-a-thon
queen Anne’s lace or

do you know all the wild flowers in Iowa
the way i know all
the wild flowers in Iowa after i see them.

my cell phone does not work well
in the centers of cities
in the centers of cities
you can buy cell phones for cheap
at cheap cell phone stores

somehow i walked back into
wicker park w/o you
talking w/ my cell phone

& texted: everything you say to me
makes me smiley.

II.

i am jealous of the desert
w/ small you

see
there are no stars
over Chicago

take places apart
to make
small distances you can hide behind
a cactus
leaves no part of me

no matter how much the temperature changes
at night

when bats fly over a desert
to kiss nectar
& move on

to another desert.

III.

measure the unreal
by those who are not real
emptying eye parts or i can
pretend not to,
galaxies forming in the pit of my pitness
& other dark floating bodies
where you can't see

or to make more sense
see,
there is this machine
always these machines
that can carry
a) voice
or the physical parts together in my
thought

IV.

crumble the mountain

is it easier to hear dynamite

does the bridge swing

can i ask small favors

put each arm around my

detachable neck

i feel

going somewhere

fresh fruit

gobble going gets tough
where i leave my skin to skin

in the sun's weather weathered,
leather under where i sun my shaded self

selfish to hide. breeze i can find
seldom despite a shiftless center--

horizon i noticed, the trees are no trees,
but the trees are still planted

i grab you by this neck & this neck
so they tell you the neck is detachable

coffea

gone from where i saw you
or is where i saw you there.

staining things on my hands
now stain the pant legs of my pants.

shower when you might come by;
i do not shower often.

the rich wet dirt you want
is under the hard dry earth.

you put this seed over here, over here
& cherries grow out of me.

oh, profile

i refrain from complementing you on a daily basis
because i am a flirt

when there is skin, or more skin
i will tell you & i won’t tell you at all

a neck wrapped around my arm
while i step on pine-cones the size of my head.

to Chicago

a whim & the fog
rolls, i can say what the fog is. where smart cats keep breeding
w/o consequence, & then the kissing words--

knew the sun would return even when there is no sun for miles
or if it took months
so on & a great distance that i can push back
behind your ear.

or do i dare that rain to/to touch us
with house taps--
scare the dog, drops

a letter
written with small bumps only

you will read to me words like hung, & hair lip, push me
back against the wall & i
watch your mouth

then know my hand is now your hand,
lost in the land of your hand parts. connect to other places
hidden by limited vision, & there
people are

& then a reality filled w/ real things such as
people eat, or
can i see pictures of you before they changed it.
walking on
hand pads for the feet to rest, i could walk like this for days

w/ you telling me, don't be so silly
my boy hands. hold--

maybe more of a man w/ man hands than i want to be
measured by the silent minutes
between the airconditioning unit click ons and offs

but you don't look where you're going
& pass the nature walk, say blind spot
Iowa rest stops
greener as temporary, as green can be for the garden or
just a damn lucky guy going for the turn-around
& walk back towards the greenless things
that we can talk about
when we talk about

or do i know what i'm doing, with it
said
‘i know why fog is here.’
now, you're softest when the rain hasn't stopped
& a small line can be curved into something
like the dirt of me, mud spittle
my mouth runs over your
collar bone
still.