waiting for mcdonalds to open.


lonely is a loud
way

but the curious is just opening



got the word down somewhere or
got it

rather not know
say no it's not known

invent the rumble bars on the interstate shoulder
on your shoulder it seems



different
.

searching homes for the right
home

meant to go by highway
when the winter sneaks around wisconsin

scared to find the neighbors--
greener on the roof

poem
for paul

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

poem
for kyle

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

trip, a

& you can sound with your mouth
sounds, i

can't take my--
his eyes fit strange in their eye holes

wish i had seen
or wish i had

wrists for you
to cover with long sleeves

or laugh
about how i can see you
sooner

home

on deck
for the swinging game

clay bits break down
into smaller clay bits

ground grates by the cleats
bone wrap tar babe

gonna find me that sweet spot
dosing on the cube

but these diamonds
are gravy
for the tree i carry.

mud

forget about the another--
other, touch where the callous hide

her elbows
ice ball, no not a snow ball

like clay, for making
the best of/of a situation

say this, yell yell mad
ha, no

do-
n't be
ridiculous

i got myself a job-job, dear
getting into your swimming pools

bake your skin hot springs
to be your friend's brown--

don't mention it.
your dirt field is all over

the mountain babies
say now

you are a mountain baby
just like
her baby was.

an enormous closet

there's enough space, moons etc.
you landing on me

no i said,
are you landing on me

when the truth of something is
an untruth

how do you?
believe in the endless void,

&
that i can make it
there.

a lakes

my jean shorts cut for summer
& poetry for weapons, ha

you distance are a beauti--
ful bitch of a son,

god, i would like that.
more of a motion--

back stroke or just float there
all damn pretty

the water i mean,
you know, when it
ripples

softer

maybe grass isn't a garden here,
greener in the roll-around

but my isn'ts just go sometimes
at the walking you walk, or

grass seems greener on my pant's knees--
sleep/wake, cold rooftop gardens.

away from the mouth you command
the night to carve a poem into us:

the stars you said
would be there
& my hands--

wind wind & wind
for the late greg kuzma

& the grass growing, smells like grass
or you watch it

take individual pieces from the dead
buried

watch the dead lift themselves up
floating to the top of the

world.
they are babies.

we will keep them in zoos
& no-one
will save them.

hey girl

you are the baby in the barn
your fingers nubbed

from feeding too much sugar
to those damn horses

nay! are my arms not long enough
to love; you

cave in my face
the hoof with metal lips

dripping milk down your throat
with the tip
of my nipple is wine.

my africa

the birth was a miracle,
the baby was a

miracle baby--
tall as a man straight out;

my baby has flag poles for legs, mom says,
waving its bright teeth

at the planets you think are stars--
a jealous heaven.

his arms, are beautiful trees throwing
figs at gibbons
who can no longer climb his white body.

on a bus

the quickness is not what scares me it's
i am your moon landing--

trapped next to rotation,
we stop &

wait, & wait some more
wondering where the polish tourists

ran off to.
or how someone would suddenly decide

hey,
lets go to
utah.

mississippi

poke your beard into
the rivers breast

a thin baby splips
out of here, all pig

no grease, just mud
for miles, is all you see

walking on a thick current
feeling the drown come

where the catfish
are
waiting.

an enormous closet

i don't care if you ever see
my naked body

w/ the tip of your tongue,
smell the dirt & dead skin in my finger nails

when i forget to take
good care

make the most of the empty sound
that sits between what i assume is you

& then there is me
sitting in a room
no bigger than your stomach.

tree poem

DO KIDS WHO LIVE IN NEIGHBOR HOODS
WITH OLD TREES

DRIVE THEIR MUSTANGS
AROUND NEWER NEIGHBORHOODS

THAT HAVE YOUNG TREES &
THROW INSULTS AT THE KIDS IN THESE NEIGHBORHOODS

LIKE HEY!
NICE BABY TREES!

EVEN IF THE OTHER KIDS ARE DRIVING
MUCH NICER CARS
LIKE A GOLD ROLLS ROYCE

trees

WHEN A TREE SINGS THE NATIONAL ANTHEM
OF TREES

IN A FOREST OF TREES
DO

THE OTHER TREES HEAR HIM/HER
W/ THEIR TREE EARS

& WOULD
THEY ALL LOAD LEAF BULLETS INTO THEIR TREE RIFLES

TO FIGHT ME
WHEN I SWING MY MAN AXE
AT THEIR ELDERLY.