we like it when things are over again

the world turned over.
the broken little lights
melted one by one into blue sky
and sunrise.

you were sitting on the moon and fell,
you who were always waiting
too long.

"it's only time,"
you'd said,
as you closed and closed your eyes.

the beach was washing rocks for your sand,
the seagulls clearing way...

"let it all be clean,"
you wrote,
and "open, open, open."

you never wanted to change again,
wary of false resurrections.

you never wanted to be
perceived

as you fell
face first
into heaven.


.

the truth and you

let them fall where they fall
in little colored packages
dripping with string

close the broken eyelids
take them up the down stairs
then down and down and down

one of them will be fine at a time
as though they have reached an arrangement

one will wist
and one will worry
and three and three and three

will repeat
stutter
collapse
repeat

three who will not know
if it is right or wrong to try
three who will be four and even five

this is somewhat of a spatial arrangement
let them fall where they failed
empty the furniture
paint the walls
repeat repeat repeat




.

the sun keeps coming up it's getting awkward

The war horns, or something.
The warnings.

The blue birds talking black sky back to blue
just past the blinds.

Please
if you remember
come and see me.

You were always comfort
and are gone,
and this is summer
showing darkly in the window.



.

yes of course

on to walk a thousand tripping lives, I
missed a step, fell into place
with suns the kind of yellow
that catches dreamful leaves,
darts to land on shadowed concrete...

you are glimpsed and wishful misconceptions
which just this once are true,
following me -- me! --
down steps
through courtyards
past undesired masses,
to a place of thin steel clouds
which we could only ever glimpse.

yes, of course you're phrasing
misted understatements.
yes of course,
all worlds will falter...

two dreams down roads
that might have been different,
yet were you never
misconceived.



.

what to do with weekends

Are you less distracted?
Do you feel seven -- even eight -- times better than before?
You are looking super!

You are looking like
the vibrant Sunday rising!
You are looking ready
for today!

You are clear in your head,
and your eyes are both working,
and you do not need to smile
to be happy...

don't you feel better than before?

Of course you are better,
strolling two-footed through people
like visions!

two feet...
two eyes....
two hands...
This is so much better it is difficult to calculate!

The sky is very blue!
The trees are very brown and green!
Isn't it so nice to come on-line?

co-erosive

Fitful Thursday wind
intent on making changes,
carving long and wistful currents
through the after-dark...
.
Do not let it wake you as you walk.
The wind will break the mountain,
but you are... hardly fragile,
watching calm and sturdy stars outlast the clouds.
.
One or two long words, and it will finish
as you climb above the aftershocks,
up until the rocks you can't remember,
looking for a height to match
your depth.
.
Do not close your eyes
to end the dream.
Do not break the mountain with your worry.



.

missfortune

death
was all she wanted
from a calm and simple morning

so she plucked a leaf
despairing
from its tree




.

plastic.explosives

edit.
plastic
edit.
explosives
...are in the dining room table
yes in the table
and there is -- don't you think
we should communicate by handsigns? --
on the wall there is a painting
an..di.tportray..sdisconnectio.n
re.assertion
trans.formation
(there should really be a book
on all things mis.construed)

beyond the point
there.is.our house
outside a window
with people
edit.
people
(edit!)
maybe they will.settle this
and we.can sleep.

two.
One that old compulsion
overanswer.ing the silence.
Other your.eyes are
every worthy
chapter in the.book.
(you.will.show.me.will.you?)

forward movement access
granting edit. tall compulsions...
(I.say jump
and you.say
edit.
plastic
edit.)



.

up up down down

Kleptomaniacal Tuesday stole me, took me
piece by piece to uptown parties
long on sentence and short on structure.
.
She was every which one of my favorite people,
long on sentience, and short.
I wrote of her in past tense always,
lent her my books,
looked over her shoulder,
left crumpled grey notes
regretting her absence.
.
Whatever the sun saw fit to dispense,
we needed.
She sat backwards on the lawn
looking for words in the trees and
wanting nothing
repeatedly.
.
.
Carefully doctored Tuesday
took her, left me
little but her sense of motion,
rocking on the backwards lawn,
.
long on nothing,
and wanting.
.
.
.

nine seconds

Every lonely person walks
from supermarket to bridge to stare
at apathetic currents
tracing rusted grass.
Land approaches water slowly,
creeping down to kiss and be torn
away from unearned comfort.
.
You also stand too close, and too long,
dismantled by careful mosquitoes
who carry your flesh to the river,
and to currents far beneath you.
.
Clearly,
you will be reconstructed,
fall and scrape your knee again
on this bridge,
as a child,
eyelids so carefully lowered...
.
Contrasts of stillness and water
breed vertigo,
displacing the indolent dream.
Still you will stand
too close to high ledges,
leaning,
just waiting to fall.
.
.
.

coldfusion

Was that
the last
combustible,
or
did you
just need to
regroup?
.
There is caffeine
on the table, an airplane
caught quite high above it,
and little black spots
gathered like teeth
around the quick tongue of your eye.
.
I would be wary,
believing
in nothing
so close to conceit.
If I were you,
I would watch
and be wary,
dancing far clear
of the forest at midday.
.
(In those woods are
careful scars lost, and
early caffeine carries its cadence
onlysofar into dawn.)
.
I am defused.
Alone at the table are
scented disconceptions
carefully wrapped and alive
in the grey-blue space behind windows.
.
If you were I,
you would watch and be wary
lest light
begin to
slip through.
.
.
.