...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

...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

...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

...summer solstice...

could it be

any more perfect

today

yes

but you are

at work

...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

...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

Holstein's

I tell the guy

that's where I live

and it sucks

just as bad as that

stupid show did

...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)