know it

maybe drink more water than empty belly,
let you touch my thighs like he does,

carve the history of a wild tree,
lady i could name all of these forests

with my sharper teeth, choice for the sex
or i didn't know what kind of boy i would be

before my girl hands said, ya know
maybe we could be manly man hands

& i took a hammer
to mend
them.

gumming a cold thing

& then you read a poem
because or, because not enough of a reason,

don't get it,
but you like it so, you love this man,

cute in the teeth,
or those jaws talk funny-- speak,

but it peaks in the right places,
feels good on my fingers, lickin'

& you read the poem he writes, right?
well enough
to get it. turning out to be--

lessons

a beach or where i stay for ever,
you say that might be a long time--

it's cold but the gull seems to like it,
pelican, im loose for the perfect world

or i could be smart, i sound like a smart
person, find yourself obese in a bathing suit,

because it stretches, the pockets look like--
bigger pockets, pools of pockets & empty

the way drowning victims
think they can do anything
the day before.

farming

it is important, can we agree to do--
making a point to, point to do.

walk & walk, say things like:
i am tired of all this silly walking,

maybe i could just sit, live sitting,
make a living out of all this ground,

play for awhile in your dirty, get dirty,
feel the darker dirt thick in the nails,

& then someone tells you
that you smell good,
like growing things.

cat poem

by the way your small girl legs skinny through
an awkward short or two, sand covered

a beast for each cat you name, slay one
or notice why the pope is framed above us.

i could spend more time watching you from behind
in small rooms, or feel a sunburn cool,

because i laugh when you say: swear words--
fly my plane across africa again, & again.

would risk my ankles
to see you,
in my driveway.

shotgun

dangerous names i say, hello lady
or by the way i was with, with it

greener but it smells olive drab,
taste the small tomato later, when

we aloped in southern indiana
by a statue of military savants, i joked

about the laws that we could break,
smoking things before we say

words like, for sick &
i bet
you never saw me again.

angeles

small sexless boy thing dangles in sun beams, you
look at stars & feel silly for an open mouth on you.

why the 'comes out's don't sound angelic; a bathrobe
meant to be tied, blue but darker blue when wet,

or white skin looks fat when you fold, pretty like
groove the small blonde hairs together to fur it.

send telepathic e-mails to the brain accounts
of simple minded hunter-gatherer types, maybe laugh &

let the message kindle
while you take jerk-motion steps
through the air.

more of a mother figure,
another finger,
bad ass mother,
figure.
more of a bad ass,
than a mother figure.

take your tight braids; unbraid into manly manes.

open

take out the bones to skull
them; make your naked parts feel nude.

do not deliberately watch-- nipple hang
inches above the cloudy bath water,

notice your neck curl around my wrist or
so the blood stays, room temperature palm

rough from the working & dead when it digits.
count the times: heel was a signal,

leave the sock on when i sex you.
i am going to say that again,
when--

snow

an arm of tree shadow dangle
bird peck through seed of skin

bent over autumn sky wing deep
thick curly beard for the knowing

but in the know breaks each twig
scare off the mother so we dine

blue jay face pecks the shell free
making a feast of neighbors babies

or the new moon says things like
i forgot
your name, bite then.

falcon

old folky baby, talk this way, humming
when you're naked, let me see you shine.

heave the dead brush through the air,
a pick up truck full of things we picked up.

tell the kids you put too much sugar in their drinks,
ask them how old they are on their birthday.

so the broke neck turns finally caught you
by the hems of your sewed pants elastics.

know that the leather seat is skin
or that it sticks to you the way
my words cannot.

rose

maybe i'm sorry, or maybe it's too late
baby,

can i just coach you this time, can i just say
hey let me in,

maybe i bet too much on me,
or maybe i forgot to bet too much on me, me

keep questions in the question box
or who is next in the question box, to box

maybe i should just be liked & thanked for being
too sure of a sure thing, or
maybe i was just too damn good in the first place.

ate ate

going to eat the spit off the spit
going to watch you slide slowly down
going to take bigger bites of your big thighs
going let all thats left swim around

born in three places to tell you yours
a heart & your home, they go together

& so on

i'm not really sure if i can die in this box
the smell of christmas trees or fake trees

my angry hands or dot in the center of my hands
hands me the passing on of many other dots

send me the check in the mail, or send me to hell
in a hand basket made of my hands &--

so i'll sing you a good song
or i'll see a sad song

because i don't have any good ideas,
because those things don't pay for themselves,

or you know what you got for xmas
because you asked for it specifically

season

my father was always poor & is,
or is always. as am i. she says

that i am boyish, refering to my hands.
my poor hands. i wonder how long i will remain:

boyish, or if i can come to terms with--
my grandfather, or his father was once

boyish as well, in the face or with no hair
in places that boys are sometimes surprised

to find things suddenly appear
the way turkeys jump out of tall grass
when you shoot at them with your hands.

arms poem

my arm is a part of my fathers arm
so on, they are all partially arms.

all arms are partially your arms
which is why, or why we are at arms.

the length of an arm at arms length
measures distance from my arm to my other arm.

my arm, partial in arm, connects
to the other part of my arm on my arm.

they work this way in unison
one arm around your waist, the other too,
while we dance slowly, listening to nothing.

bike poem

your lips, or i told you to see those
lips of yours, rolling on bicycle wheels.

i tend to tend to those lips
but did i mention or mean to, mean

a partial description of your parting lips
around these partially parted parts

a gear crank costs me so much money
did i tell you that, to those lips

for your bike part to be a part, partially
to part with my lips, i call mine
because i have stolen them from your face.

birthday

molest an idea of your creation, bone in his chests chest--
just because i gnaw on your bones
does not mean there was once meat here.

i expect there to be far more provisions in my next lifes life--
if i remember your name then, i will kiss the word
where ever i see it.

i am too far in to what i am going to die for; my death,
a small place on your neck to rest in.
& sheppards were warned i would be there--

so that i might comfortably die again,
smoother than the entrance,
or why i begin to find mirrors to remember me,

changing more frequently than this slow earth
despite hearing constantly when it will die, & when it was born.
but it sits in the sunlight for millions of years
while we effortlessly move up & down by the moon.

whistle

did you know me as sampson
the locks between scissor/ appalachian*

sting the knees, or kiss me where i hurt,
your ache gave to me; a random gravel--

lesson from who you never, less
sweet on the after, catch home in a shipswind.

at least the last length i feel, at-last
you measure. a bow in my off hand for the hunt.

i'm gonna go spit in y'r eye
for an eye,
i'm gonna eat the rest of y'r--
i'm gonna papa bear,
i'm gonna mama bear,
i'm gonna baby you through jr high.
i'm gonna file for a tax extension,
i'm gonna delete that email
about penis extension,
i'm gonna.
i'm gonna put this ring around your
rosie,
i'm gonna sing you
a song to sing,
i'm gonna leave the oven on,
i'm gonna tell you when to turn,

nod

you call it thin ankles in trees
bend the branch or, trunk to heel,

i sleep with my arm around your--
measuring the eyes by eyes, see.

you might notice that i am indifferent
unless i am intoxicated, or in love.

my bed on this side or, your bed over there;
i can see you with my eyes closed.

you mention there is this point, that
becomes another & so on, talking,
while your hands move about.

word of mouth

old bones in the morning, creek run
tells a finger, scratch sleep from y'r beard

never let the water; never let it
grow the swelling wood ten times, larger

tooth & bloated tongue, you need that drink
to keep saying what you hope--

watch your scalp run out, by
the torrent of hand-grabs, a flea

marked by the gravy, no that's deeper
takes your baby & names it godawful
to keep the music turned down enough.

wipe

going to mug your smug mug.

hardest part of hittin' them,
make the spider spin my speak

dig shallow holes for the seeds
mark them with hand broke twig'

i can ride a horse,
i learned how in my dreams.

description

so where your seem sews so
i neck the hip of your hip-bone

a rhythm bud nipple unnipped
for a suckle or suckling nub.

at a glance to the spot i spotted
mouth over, over the place

stress over each hair follicle
drug over the nerves in my teeth

fire escape

pleasantly reminded of the meat on your bones,
i take swelled bites of the nodding neck.

you call me, say wanderer in farmer form,
always aware of my chaucered tone.

abbreviated speech from the speaking teeth,
lick my wounds with a silent tongue.

i grab for white powder, or the novacaine hose,
filter whats left in the urn down a drain.

there are no more homes where i used to be born
somwhere upstream i made a wrong turn
& your rocks gashed the bottom of my boat.

a date

i caught you helpless in the chair or
i saw you naked on your porch or
i made you breakfast or
i washed your back with a sponge or
i showed you where the attic was or
i bit your finger tips or
i took you home before dark or

bird

put a hawk by your teeth while he knew
where to wear you,
rich for the feather,
caw you mother, say your name.

red tail chicken comes down from
the sky,
snatch up your day
in it's basket.

lowering the level of the lights

savior

i try to exist, to burn these eyebrows,
edit where you were born, or
how tall are the bones in your arms.

skin is a fur hide, shady dealers
lend me their ears--

a man is there,
he watches with the light on
as you take off your dress,
& this is why he says he loves you.

postcard with a picture of some random
art museum.
i hate when i know these things.

poems

digest you from the neck up to the upper neck,
maybe see what i can see when i'm seeing you.

write poems about people i am no longer in love with,
write poems, & poems about you.

a poem about turkeys

marred in the arms where they mar,
take these turkeys to market.

take these turkeys by the arm,
they don't know where the brass comes--

sure i have two eyes to eye them
or i, two eyes to spare

seldom my shoulders support the earth,
or the globe i lay on supports the air.

these turkeys will know where i met them,
or in the next life where we meet,
remember i met them there.

thus marking the dawn of the video game age

tutsi a hutu, sans black face on tutu.
burundi too soon they will shake you for money
so many got caught, lit up on my birthday.

absurdity in death, a jest

we move because we are going, too
much distance for a vast universe

expands between your mouth &
the thing that makes your mouth--

move down a line for years, say
these are years in definite.

i am partial, because my mother or
my father can screw.

going somewhere with this,
i will always be going somewhere,
with this.

story

a story you call a poem where there are gods
in one hand, but nothing in the other.

we clap a lot to encourage, look at these
apes, slapping their right to left. how smart

are we to notice. my aunt knows our president
is a muslim because it matters to her. she's scared.

but this poem isn't about my scared aunt.
it's about numerous gods who tell us things in our sleep.

fuzz

smell my skin to keep from
vomiting. weaker than i say i am.

your heads a numb one, but your
fingers will find where to go.

we come to

i owe you, oh me oh
heard that before.

a womans voice is it
keeps a devil near.

walk through-- streets
your cape flows, over

here are the pennies,
cigarette butts still smoke

when the tickle hurts more
& we end with all these things,
we begin with much less.

math

write a poem for two hours every morning,
writing non-poems for years or so.

smoke several cigarettes every day & don't die,
but smoke several cigarettes every day.

i told you when you leave, this is a distance,
but when you leave, i leave without length.

measure the thickness of your skin by a pinch
which might wake you up despite a thickness.

expand the time when i exist & you know me
or is it the expansion of my belly & thighs
that meet you here to divide ourselves.

it gets cold at night

leave the window open
all night
so the mold in the ceiling doesn't kill you,
wake up, & there is a spider bite here,
here,
there is one under your armpit.

where were you when i bled out of my mouth
or spent an entire july shaving my beard

where did your words go at night
the way i would kiss air with my tongue

when did my face or my hand on your leg
become

big girls

okay so i stretch myself too thin
because i'm fatter than i used to be.

the paper route i know, skinny
or i am going to deliver.

run over each mail box on this side of town
because nobody is there to see, me.

feel her hips getting bigger as you eat them
tell her you take big bites.

it's a sin to love you from behind, but
i will take you
down to where i know my words still ring.

ours before

run my hand up your no-moss thigh
a skirt goes, or am i revealing you.

tickle the notes white against soot
but you're darker every day, i see.

the problems of breathing go in & out
but you still continue to do this, don't you,

possibilities of words stream from the naked
void, this takes away what we thought we had.

going over you again, realize that i missed a spot
which is nothing new to you
when the boys dream of making you into something.

beale st.

laughter so you do this, so you do this,
or this.

give the homeless man a dollar or more
because you know who he is & his isness.

ride your bike w/ your friends down to memphis,
get into barroom brawls you won't remember anyway.

make it easy on her, i'll take this one w/ that or,
i am going to need more time to decide.

you're not afraid of drowning these days, you're
just worried you won't be able to swim in the blues;
listen to the river pick up speed as it leaves mud behind.

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 & then i wont tell you at all

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

sherry on a hill

yasafuka tells me i'm changing
say, the parts were welded correctly

but the people i work next to say,
i need to shower more frequently.

their parts were not welded correctly
& are toys; say cheap labor--

i've always enjoyed the view of nebraska river valleys
looking down at them,

say: that is where i want to be burried,
& i want to say the hurt i feel
when i think about how real that is.

the three longest rivers on earth

the mississippi river is long but very poor--
a road of mud that floods & worships abrahams god.

the amazon river is long & full of sharp things--
spends half the year still while small birds walk across.

the nile is a long river & goes past some pyramids
that were built by aliens several thousands of years ago.

because we are something like the way
that we speak to friends

but you dont keep staring,
when it's too early to call late; talk

if you could be the familiar--
knew you or knew who you were,

i would let you press the apples in your hands
to my eyes when you're sad

i'll whisper you to a smallish creature
like me.
and it will sound something like this.

house of, etc.

my range of movement is restricted
by your shoulder in my shoulder,

i am eating this formerly frozen food
that i have recently unfrozen to eat.

the temptations of being eager for this,
& then you avoid telling people things.

naked is not necessarily an advantage
to doing what we do to change a view.

you come to a room in your own house
that you don't remember being there,
& paint it w/ colors that already are.

What is a poet? An unhappy person who conceals profound anguish in his heart but whose lips are so formed that as sighs and cries pass over them they sound like beautiful music. - s.k.

drying off afterwards

the sounds that it makes
or wondering when it is it, she
had to admit, was something.

looks down a mile to the next cross country
sees the ugly in everybody

knows the chin the hip the tooth-smell of rotting
flees for the next town in a fit of coughing

glares at the plain the hideous and gaudy

royal
for betty ann

my mom goesby her fathers name
because my fathers names not hers

flower, a

she gave me a flower she
is the only person i can think of who has

but i lost it, or forgot it, then found it later
either way it died at some point.

chop

where i break
tail & run or
off w/ that--
my ache, my executioner, to be
more accurate
it was not you, not you, not you etc.
grass where you are
still sticking to my feet, bare foot
to the intentions of letting you love me
or when i can pay you back

for thumbs

if i had time to help at all
could i grow something in your garden

drink the water from the well,
watch the broccoli flower in the morning

shoo the rabbit, sing the robin,
wash my hands when it's time to kiss the basil

check the time before the sun goes down
i'll see her around this neck of april.

knuckles

i bend you because i have to or
i love you or this won't go anywhere
so i tell you
i love you
& i almost mean i am still here
so i am telling you i am still here
so i might tell you
i'm not leaving.

fresh fruit

gobble going gets tough
or 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 hole--

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.

not to say

your back to carry the birds nest
made by cardigan for desert nights.

close off where you age
or where you know it shows to--

rain spitting where you tell it to spit
because the clouds are always your clouds

even when sun sneaks a snicker.

it off

nicks in your hands pads
pick out the gravel bits

too

tethered to what i am tethered to,
or what you were about to say.

apples

i slur my words
because my lack of teeth
replaced with the things i now use as teeth
instead.
or when i was young & don't remember
the side of my head hit cement & damaged my ear drum.
the cartilage in my right ear is smashed to pieces.
the cartilage in my nose is similarly broken,
but for other reasons;
it might still affect the slur in my words
because i cannot breathe through my nose
very well.
several times in any given year,
i have to explain to people why i cannot eat apples,
unless i cut them up into slices
like this.

follow

the dark blotches of skin
just above your hips
where the hormones are working
to keep you in season,

small hairs that grow down the middle
of your chest, around your nipples,
& rabbit trail.

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

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

this is not a poem fyi

when i was in grade four--
my sister & i would get rides to school
from my sisters friends sister
who lived on our block,
though it wasn't a true block,
but they lived near by,
& i forget their names, i'm sure
my sister would remember. so
this girl, she was in high school
she would give us rides
in her maroon camaro
& every single morning from the time
she started the car
til the time she dropped us off
we would listen to what if god
was one of us, every single morning. & all
i remember is that car, that song, & the back of her head,
but for some reason, i loved her in some way.

i had this dream that i loved you
in the dream,
but i couldn't say it
so i climbed the black walnut,
that grows in the backyard
of my dream,
to hunt song birds
with my bear hands,
leaping from the high branches
& falling,
because this is what i do.
almost break my knees,
but only break both of my ankles,
crawl for days to where you're at,

dad

i lay on my side for hours,
the way my father would on the living-room floor
while he watched matlock or gunsmoke or
something more grey.
a vessel or maybe a nerve starts twitching
& it bothers me so my toes curl,
i tilt my head to the side where my leaned shoulder
burns.
then my belly sleeps out, a pulling ooze
that buries the differences that were there before
i got older &
he still stays the same.

perc.

hear me, i'm
not here. following the line of flight
along the pacific coast of mexico.
so i am,
not too soon,
that you might take off for this other,
place.
i will tell you to look for me there, i'm still.

haiku 19

separate the thicker parts from what i can
swallow with a spoon
held tight against the rim as the sour cream
pours

comfort food

when i was naked,
you smiled.

long as the platte river &
then some.

there are knees here,
underbelly.

swim for the sand bar,
taste of current.

scores of places hewn from maple nut
that i am surprised to see

this far inland
sturdy as a house.

your eyes

hangman's noose, you glance
lean across what i'm looking at,
touch the harbor around bat-wing,
think the words you wrote
with your feet in the sand, will
reach the sleeping gods you know.

throat

hard on the ears, she says
my voice
enters the room & ignores everyone,
a glass put here then
picked up,
feel the room move to this room,
keep the lips & tongue
so she feels it,
& knows where i put it.

i was hoping i would write a poem tonight, but have nothing. there is absolutely nothing in me to give right now. i figured saying that might make it easier for me to go to sleep.

i was hoping i would write a poem tonight, but have nothing. there is absolutely nothing in me to give right now.

i was hoping i would write a poem tonight, but have nothing. there is absolutely nothing in me to give.

bend

thank your thighs, alright
so i say things like;
your hair isn't curly,
when you wear white socks &
black shoes i keep my thoughts
to myself, put one hand below
your rib cage & still kiss places
of you that look like boys.

neighbor

i break as the east wall
because i have to,
you see this.
the wet leak curves the wood,
so it seems to be a globe,
or some
world i spell with a slang.
& even though you devote
your entire life
to something,
it still leads you
over the edge
& into the next room.

dream

we, linked at the pearls
desperate because we have to be.
you knowing
where you put the keys
when i don't know where the keys
are.
cheating on her,
or i cheat on this one,
because things are easier
when we can both be half way.
the cost of this
drains you from the eyes
where sleep sits
& waits for tomorrow to take.

we moved in

shotgun shells over there by the mound of dirt--
he plays in.
whether you're going here, or
here, or there, it's gravel road for miles. then more dirt.

when humid summer suffocates
drenching you in sweat
you can feel the acrid reek of the sheep farm
a country mile to the east,
as it seeps between the cracks of your leather

half indian boy in the corn field
stepping on fresh manure.
the walls you can hear through, feel
the expanding plain
stretch you from genoa to scottsbluff.

but the whip of wind against white washed walls
is nothing to trouble you
or the pioneer family that drags behind,
because this is a temporary stay,
all of it will pass. all of it.

coast

in the west where you're from
they hold their words
like this
in their mouth
so it rolls around before barely--
tasting,
the taste of it tastes like fresh fruit
grown in their backyards.
the bitter citrus & warm acid
makes me happy,
because i cannot have them.

a poet you should know is

mao zedong. while reading about j.d. salinger i stumbled across the note that catcher in the rye had sold over 65 million copies worldwide and i wondered- what books have sold the most. obviously religious texts such as the bible and qur'an have reportedly sold a shit ton, but i was surprised to see a book of poetry near the top. mao zedong's poetry to be exact, selling a reported 400 million copies. eat that salinger.


heres a sneak peak

I

Mountains!
I whip my swift horse, glued to my saddle.
I turn my head startled,
The sky is three foot three above me!*

II

Mountains!
Like great waves surging in a crashing sea,
Like a thousand stallions
In full gallop in the heat of battle.

III

Mountains!
Piercing the blue of heaven, your barbs unblunted!
The skies would fall
But for your strength supporting.


you can read more here

times

when i get drunker than i wanna be--
i do this thing where i make
believe;
a happiness is easy

yard tree

green-apple, planted before
we moved to prague
& there when we left.
still nothing sour--
about the year i was four,
memory of falling
& the sounds it made.

run

how you want it to be,
diagonal marks for when you check
yourself in the mirror; clean
the white snot streaks off your sweater sleeve
so it doesn't seem this way,
scratch deep with nails
& let the throat do all the work,
because no one will notice
you, except you.

drive

empty skin pouring out
your neck highways past the window
i don't spend my time
waving my hand out the car
point ahead to where i go
but my naked arms are telling
of the scars that scare me clean
when hell is a place
& i'm sure you & i can agree
it's easier to ignore what hurts
or to make it seem
like something important-- to anyone
else.

georgia

i always fell in love w/ you
again
side by side in a car

smooth

maybe i'll head there,
midnight place for strangers--
lie about who holds onto who,
or settles.
ask who put these rings around
my eyes, mine--
birthmarked wood, axed.
bench & a tree who used to go
up in smoke
when i ran my hand across &
the splinters were there to help
pick out the grain,
or tell me where i should sew it.

happens to me
now
happen to you

left

in the sticks or where you go
boon to epileptic bane--
i'm bragging because i'll
leave with-out you
hear mountain calls from a lover neck
up & down any hemisphere
but
all of these mentions of get out
are encouragements
for my own escape of life

skins

she nicks your heel
w/ the axe-pick from the shed
her father bought
in the 70's
at the rendezvous re-enactment--
before she was born.
but you didn't know
she still had it.

rabbit after midnight

sprint the blue moon, too far
for us to feel
when your ears perk-up
as i kiss at your neck for days,
long tails
swift over the powdered snow,
so i can follow them
again & again, where you like.

scattered

the strength of the drink
quiets the stampede.
belief in sand hills
hid by pasture & laughter,
arcane antelope speaks for--
knows god & all.
prairie fire every inch of it
between soiled souls
of feet, i am, nothing
but grass grown in slow gait,
measurements over ground,
layered dust, etc.


cedar canyon

so they come
from reaches of western nebraska
bluffed over broken teeth
of pan-
handled mothers'
midnight wondering, their shoulders
shrug to forget what their sons do
on gravel-road-feet, unphased
by the sting
(north american whisky & cheap
reservation cigarettes)
howling—
we have the option to sin—
at the prairie moon

no fish

there was no rain last night
woke up early
hoping we might go fish south of town,
a man-made lake
& no fish even swim there.
just want to sit in a boat,
& wait
for anything to bite,
not say a single word
about why you think nobody loves you,
or complain
about how things never worked out
the way we anyone wanted,
or understand why
we never bring any bait.

signal

feel the earth on your feet
so the snakes know why you're there
venom in the morning
a drip
for you my darling
cut through the thick bananna leaf
or cocaine fields--

see the smoke rising along
the latin american coast
to let the peregrine find another meal
somewhere

in the middle

i pulled a womans hair from my mouth
& spit
what morning had left me in a can beside my bed.
i am not sure
where she came from
having not been w/ anyone for months,
but there she was
hanging from my mouth; a lure.
making me question
who
sleeps in my bed besides me,
frustrated because i was just getting used
to myself
i had come to terms w/ forgetting bodies.

cave

notice more & more
this howl from a tooth--
ache
warns you of the cold
that swells old injuries
or the broken candies
you sucked
for days.