poetry

unemployed

i am taking apart

a world of legos
color by color
ink is dripping
like blood
from latexed hands

putting together
my feet slip
and I lay sleeping
where I have fallen

i wake
in bloody morning
to dip my pen

i make a list
of poems
messy
as the dawn

People of the Corn

The dry corn clatters
grey and crumbling
a mocking death.

the wind blows from deep
within a fetid machine

it is a wind
of power
of money
of commodities

the corn knows
the wind.

snaggle-toothed
it speaks:

Listen prophet!
hunger it knows

dry weeping
for water

drinking
what is blown

grey and dying.

into the night: adolescence

whiteness

is a dream
i woke to
soul screaming
with bad rock
in an adolescent doldrum

suburban night
was quiet
i ghosted
in obtrusive black
a glowing cigarette
against an empty playground

the night
is a dark love
of mystics and devils

the moon
a perilous mistress
hard against cement

would you ride her to God
small man?
as yet
untested
by the mediocrity of morning
a thousand sands of day
wearing the heart
to a lumpy putty

a rage
would crash against the sea
at least a few times

and tear a king
from a white paper heart
burning

and pressing on
towards the shining letters
white in the headlights

a billboard in the distance
brilliant with moonlight

and another billboard
tall above nebraska's
golden waves

not even out yet

God

A tender God brushes,
gentle
insistent.

She asks me to ask
“Where have I been?”
I am asking
myself
less gently
than She.

Who could neglect Her?
that tender power
un-presuming
I cannot speak
after all,
what does one say
to such a God?

A love
so whole
I must
but cannot

the distance
She reaches
to touch.

a living god

i am falling
(it's true)
so far, i think

a living god
holding
in this abyss

am i ever alone?

so tender
a feather
floats...

alone
but this tender furious
God
is holding
rocking.

i am none
in black
soft vertigo
to where...

is that
un-knowing?

remember in absense

Memory is a world

the sawing bow:
a violin strung with humans,
quiver with melody
and ache forth tears.

I am a world
I carry with me
dying a life
somewhere else
I am a memory.

a poem
frozen lipped and dead
the world is this woman
gorgeous, a keening wail
the wind kisses her hair
she is memory
and I the wind.

and walking back
to walk the slumbering walk
in this world someone killed
but vexes continually

The Taming of the Verbs (or) Fathers and Sons

The Taming of the Verbs
or
Fathers and Sons

On all sides we were beset
By Adjectives and Nouns
They pressed against relentless
But us Verbs, we held our ground.

They tried to hold us still
To ponder where and what,
But we quite had our fill!
We held our tractless rut.

Like footprints in the sand
They wooed our formless band
To mold our frenzied act
Like beads encased in hacky-sacks

But we proved
Impossible to ride
Foam stallions of the tide.

We rushed about in frenzy
Like tumult of the gods
And I was one made dizzy
Smashing through the odds.

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