Thursday, June 28, 2007

...sweet sweat...

I am sweating

you are sweating

the quiche is especially dill

the brownie you eat

you are sweating sweet

that is fitting for you

take a sip

berry soda chill

and sweating sweet

the body is still

Tuesday, June 26, 2007

...blown gasket...

I cannot count

the things I have lost

today on my hands

toes may cover it

the recent Harvard grad

in the waiting room

had just a few leaks

a few thousand miles

past due is an easy mistake

for a recent Harvard grad

for me however

on top of it like a tick

the greasy little men

all gave me the green light

and yet the smoke rose

and rose and resignated

some more and the prognosis

grew grim and grimey

what do you do

when you have less

than the balance requires

what do you do

when you can't get

to the job you need

to get the money

you need to get

to the job

the spine stiffens

the neck locks from the base

of the skull to the lower shoulder

blade is transparent

of something that has clearly

been wrong for a while now

and that the gasket

had already blown

Saturday, June 23, 2007

...two days later...

the sun is still

in it's perfection

like you now sitting

across the rays

becoming highlights

in your novel

or explicating passages

about a child from Sudan

and how our oil leaks

and front door repairs

are nothing meaningless

in light of all

that was once beautiful

that now is not

words are humbling

when they comfort

but burn in the sun

if left out too long

we have a front door

we have oil in our car

we have each blackberry in the yard

we have each other

we are ok for now

we are ok for now

Thursday, June 21, 2007

Saturday, June 16, 2007

...stereo Television...

the park central astroturf

and the rain on the apples

lightning in the north

and the song to wish the sun out

over the city

the voices sound off

and this is theirs

the imperfection is beauty

with you to turn on

blanketed in yellow

opening up to skin glow

the angle of the guitar note

this was generous

the marquee was lit

during the day

for a few to see

and I was not

there inside myself

rather nostaglic

of the year of birth

and that comfort

of the womb

the closeness

of the belly

to the heart

to the breast

and to the ageless

song you sing

Thursday, June 14, 2007

...over at last...

the complaint was this:

to describe where I live

my drive to work

all I had to do was tell

the person I was

talking to to watch

the show's intro

(ignoring the theme music)

see the Turnpike

see Pizzaland

see Satin Dollz

and now

in a tale's demise


I tell the guy

that's where I live

and it sucks

just as bad as that

stupid show did

Saturday, June 02, 2007

...tending to the farm...

burning is the sky

tired is the muscle

dirty are the ankles

broke is the reality

soil in the savior

tired are the limbs

feeble is the attempt

lonely as the basis

corruption at the roots

broke is the situation

tired are the eyes

tender is the rootball

sweat in the soil

policy in the temptation

few in the many

leaves of the last

roots from the garden

sun in the spring

tired is the till

shovels are arms

warped wooden legs

(here in the garden

poets are merely

trellises for the vines)