sand.gravel.limestone
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

a shiver through

sand.gravel.limestone
III.

measure the unreal
by those who are not real
emptying eye parts or
i can
pretend not to feel
galaxies forming in the pit of my pitness
& other dark floating
where you can't see
me
does that make sense
see,
there is this machine
there are always these machines
that can carry
voice
or the physical parts
together in my
thought

sand.gravel.limestone

I.

a part of me is not appart of me
voice to lung or wrong tube
a singer & dance

queen annes 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

somehow i walked back into
wicker park w/o you

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

hello mountain

to trace you
warmer part of the chest skin
feels
my remembering where i brush
my beard
the slopes of your profile
our identical hands

sweater poem

i bought this sweater
because i
fell in love with you
it cost me 70$
& does not even keep me warm
unless i wear it
in the summer.

kansas city poem
for claire

you light up the plains you
scan the great plains--

saw good ol' boy become
& then the kissing word

moves to the softer animals from sea
priced by the moist

you can gum these soft sea monsters
for dollars & the cost or

i could save
all my money
from the open furnace

untitled
for title

in silence the silence finds
it's noise
or my voice is made by teeth
& the flesh i bite
calling the sound gnashing &
raspberry spit/split
the lickity of traveling so far
when my throat can vibrate
i say "simple"
in that way
how i feel
how the crater in my torso
actually feels
vibrating into message of--
that i can't translate
in any real word
so i pretend your ears, painfully
soft
grating into the build of my skeleton
yes
the whole thing
can hear

poem
for face

dont know her or knew her for
just half a day
the way the unknown curls around
a straight part of head hair
then the bending
where you did not know could bend
say money does this
or the kissing words that hold
around the nothing known
until you realize what it is
keeping you up late at night
trying to bring her closer
w/ words only
feel her face form in language
say this is chin
& put your thumb over it
to see again.

part of a poem

see the language of you, danc--
ing word or
fuzzy mumble i
can hear the approach
under arch
born the mississippi quarter
my kansas side of kansas city
moves

poem

the words are hard
sometimes.

nothing is
coming to mind.

i would like to write a poem
today, or

tomorrow,
even yesterday would have been nice

but
i
suuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck.

a famous statue

hide the light from your
light eyes

shade sun on a guest bed i
remove your legs to walk w/

or run along your handsome prancers.
forget direction

on your no-moss thigh,
mars sleeps on us at the same

time the gaps of when i
think your face & still--
you are.

tonights the night
for z.s.

look at us fuddy duddies
talkin bout some love stuff

grow a beard why dont ya
just run off

into the desert-- she say
that furs for hangin on

weaving our faces into
a woman or

parking your car on my lawn
in the morning
we are.

you &
for guest room

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

maybe more of a man w/ man hands
than i want to be

be yours in an instant measured
by the silent minutes

between when the airconditioning unit
clicks on

carry over water
for you

or do i know what i'm doing, with it
said

i know why fog is here.
you're

softest when the rain hasn't stopped
& a small line

can be curved into something
easily held

so my mouth runs over your
collar bone
still.

carry over water
for the other side

but you don't look where you're going
& pass

greener is only temporary, as green can be
for the garden or

just a damn lucky--
going to just turn around

& walk back towards the greenless
things

that we can talk about
when we talk
about

carry over water
for water

& then there is a reality
filled w/ real things

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

next
to
you.

stand-by
for claire

a whim & the fog
rolls, i can say what the fog is. where

smart cats keep breeding
w/o consequence, then love--

knew the sun
would return even when there is no sun

or if it took months becoming more months
so on &

a great distance
that i can push back
behind your ear.

for eyes

dare the rain to
to touch us

with house taps--
scare the dog.

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
move

twenty six
for twenty eight

reached some peak
or at least

thought i touched it.
know my hand is now

your hand,
lost in the land of your

hand parts. connect
to other places

hidden by my limited vision--
& there
people are

west
for west

tell me again--
you are the reason i

move-- freaky fast
when it can be to easy to stay here:

comfort.
gotta get outta this

zone, feel the goddamn dry heat
flush against skin

stretched over the bones
of what lived
here.

for keeps

muddy river, here's that sad face you got.
long baby, reach in to your mouth

with a full arm of sweet things--
im sorry you.

a kiss is. pull away from your wings for
just a fly

know the seasons come when you won't
want this much

when a time like this walks in
to your life
& takes you home.

2010

space you can fill up
with your

lovely noise,
we can lap the humidity

here in nebraska, a gift,
the whole state

from each growth of feed
meant to keep

the fat cows here,
so everyone can eat them,
even other fat cows.

thousands of years

a good look stung
what ever me could be found

pick up the pitter--
or one thing a world has,

patience.
her horns of joshua

enter my jericho-bones,
say

harlot boy
come down to the creek
& see.

no title
for greg

the cancer i write
grows up like a poem

alive it seems, or
everything has happened

he screams at the frozen
pond, head crossed

by several other pond people
who ballance

their child feet
on
water.

for walker

we walk down the street
to become better goers,

im sure you know.
a tuft of fur

glows over
where i want your back--

my hands wrapped;
position

the soft parts where
my teeth
will taste.

on the way

still there's the wander--
stretch your neck

to neck
where she stretches to find

some understandable trait
of connect--

friction in move;
a great distance by any means.

find the spot
where
she knows what you are saying.

for creator

put together new animals
from scratch/no scratchy

is the beard too much
for nature, i mother i

guess i'd better
surprise you w/ bright colored furs

on all the animals i make;
they will be

tiny as this poem
w/ strange smiles all over
their bodies.

be like, etc.

want the ghost of it, is muffle
speak through me spectre

gone from the sh-shaking
my hand did not, seem

touch the face of her, face her
from all angles

passing through
is quick & painless

except for the young ones
who still
live here.

nude poem

that is when you lie
to yourself

about what you forgot to do
before all these people you know

were naked
even in the absence of liquor

even in the absence of god
as if it ever were

that easy to be naked
in front of anyone
when you really loved them.

for friends

& the whisky is there
for your friends

because your friends are there
to kiss you

when the ones who ought, are not.
when the raspberry burn

on your face
feels like a fight you don't remember

but you remember everything
about the kiss
or the one you ought.

saint

boy i, a
catch

me before i, too-
where the eyebrow might not, or

you touch it
when nobody is looking

which is a task
but then

i lean in & don't kiss you
which is
a much harder task.