Monday, March 28, 2016

After Another


I can't stop hammering one
final nail after another

into an atmosphere where
wind is a stranger often

spoken of, but seldom to.
I want to build a memory

to hold its fleeting moods
at bay, but my vision is a

reluctant advisor in thrall
to metaphor. It cheers me on

like a threatened witness—
stick around to see these

words mean less than
they did before we knew them.

Saturday, March 26, 2016

Looks Like Rain


Black coffee in a paper cup
falls into a dialogue with a century of waste.

Get ready to bawl out the horizon
on its little birthday. Squeeze me

in hindsight screwed to the wall.

A good price for a calm conclusion
enters through the ear then,

scaring off a fresh carom of ball;

days fly deftly as a tossed milk pouch
my alma mater dramatized.

These images practice what no one preaches
too carefully, or at all—

I have only two hands on earth;
the rest are fatal flaws in the city,

a glorious production no one comes to see.

In time a street you once put trust in
reveals itself into a deep sleep,

hard of hearing, the hardest so far.

Friday, March 4, 2016

Just a Thought


I was about to say something here,
then thought better of passing out
on my own recognizance—a ghastly scene
too inert to interpret, a forgetful growth
on the nation. And yet,

adding insult to daiquiri, the polka dot stubbornly
refused to go out of fashion, and mere inches kept me
awake on the fringe of an idea
whose time had petered out, petulant as a daisy.

Happiness like that can be hard to read by—
you know how it hunts and gathers,
spalls and spatters—but worth every penny
you failed to pick up in your life.

Tuesday, March 1, 2016

Beauty Ruins


Thanks for the lovely bloodbath, and for thinking big.
Our bottom line is in stitches. I'm in hysterics over here;
dressed like a recommended bus, the good sport will be here anon
with banjo on the brain. You may go at any time. Strike that—

I have seen a chyron administer a fine bit of cruelty
to save face during peacetime, that notorious season.
The clergy barely noticed

when their own bare legs went missing; the ransom note was blank
yet persuasive. It served as a warning not to appear
in other people's dreams without a bachelor's doggerel.
Accordingly, the economy's expulsive growth is loath
to be alone with my mustard. I never catch up.

Instead I relax into a calamity of spacetime continuity
all comers agree on—the diagnosis that sours us
on aurora borealis. But check it out:
I nonplussed a man in Reno
just to watch him get confused, not unfazed.

It fell to a buttering flame to tell us more
of lovers and their lawyers lying down in darkness,
bonding over technology. There's no one left to thaw out
of auld acquaintance; observe the hospitals, overflowing.