Pillow Talk

Your songs are leaping teeth
In cascading masquerade
A celebrated hourglass
I hang upon until the last
Sound falls, and I am mute
Before the deafening

Blindfolded Poems

The thing to remember, always to remember, is that consequence is earned and nothing sacred stays sacred forever. Eventually John dies and eventually he’s a punchline and eventually someone writes a damn book about the damn book that the guy had read. I think we can all remember that alone in the dark, at the right angle of down, listening to the snoring sounds of someone we love in the lamplight with an old book my our right hand.

All the time at a glance I think I see bloodthirsty. I think about dying a lot, not because I’m depressed or have a shit life, although I have been and into each life rain must and will fucking fall, but it’s important to think about the big stuff before it’s too late, I think, and the biggest thing I can think of is not thinking, or blinking, or conducting mitosis ever again.

The sensations of silk astonish the body as sure as sugar but if there’s one thing you can’t do it’s blink your way out of something unless you’re a hostage or something. Sometimes all it takes is a fresh pair of eyes to look through buildings and you don’t need super powers to do it. That doesn’t mean it’s not worth mentioning. That doesn’t mean it’s going to help you in the long run.

I see what everyone else sees and blue is the same to me. I know it empirically because. That’s all you have to know, no matter what it is, that you know it, and it makes life run a lot more fucking smoothly for you. It doesn’t make you happier but it makes you stronger. I figure the last thing said on earth will probably be “See?!” and then he’ll slump over dead. That’s what I would say.

Never be afraid to look foolish and never be afraid to be different. I could tell you stories or write a whole book about stories about guys I know…not personally, mind you…but if you look around it’s everywhere. Right man, right moment, and you just never know. You never know until it’s over and really you never know unless you succeed. If you fail you never ever really get to know what you lost. Good.

O pull back these forsaken gossamer shrouds and let me see the sunshine for the first time in years. My skin is so thin and it burns at the touch and chaps at a gust of wind and slides around like an old orange when I move. Can it have been night? That alone? I triumphed over cities, I ruined my enemies, I overcame myself and this is what awaits me.

First Sight

Within my landlocked veins a poison beats
A grace antique whose pressure cups my heart
Mercurial in kiss and still with depth
A picture of my hand asleep and black.
A pool of blood for Lady Crocodile
Memento of an idol’s face of white
The Longing Goddess swift of vanity
Her crescent glass all full of dust and dross
A ring of calm upon a chain of seas.
Close streets and tidings washing over me
A madness on my cup she smelt, and thus
Begins the drowning season’s rush of gilt.
While rising from his chair a man of coal
Has seen a lily new in harvest light.

The Hollow

Two o’ clock moon broadcasts a
Pall borne by my haunting helm,
Reflections of liquid sleep running
Out beside me glinting in the bi-light,
Peaceful warrens overlooked by
Passing shadow make-believes
And predators of principles on parade
The dead are dead or dyeing ghost orchids
A mock-up of an institution against exposure
Celebrate celebrate the sins of place
Conscience of tapestries suggests
A collector of minds beguile the while a
Way to moor the marrow of my mirror
At the expense of lace hosannas reckon
The disposition of tinkling symbols discarded
In the beginning back past fury and song
In the end words fail backwards
Leaving thinking leaving calm continuance alone

Remains

The phoenix which did not come back arose one great gray morning to see what walled-up Sun could show him. Coquettishly Sun shone its bright roving eyes through great gray morning and beamed down at the phoenix on the blue-brown world. The heart of the phoenix, that great bird’s fire, leaped and quickened in Sun’s shine gaze. But Sun, as he does, went away. And, angry, the fire in the phoenix consumed him, his eyes still on the great gray wall. And Sun knew this had happened because no wall can truly keep out the Sun. Now phoenix, he would return if the Sun came back and shone down his smile. But the Sun had been burned in its heart, too, and would not look back down where poor phoenix lay. The phoenix which did not come back remains today under walled-up Sun, and between them great gray morning goes forever.

Two Elevators

Floor two
Down too
The only other floor
I take the stairs beside the pair
On purpose
Between floors
In defiance
Among prepositions

Bang!

Today is the day of the Arizona State Speed-Walk Death Valley Penguin Five-Kay. The runners are at their marks and the bird to beat as always is Aloysius “Parka” Parks. The crowd is eager but surly as old Mister Sun is doing his job well today, a-hah hah hah, so let’s go down for the lowdown from Cid Clancy - Cid?

The race has been delayed momentarily as the ghost of Richard Milhouse Nixon has descended on the course and has begun screaming at the contestants in some…some language, Tom, I don't know, eliciting shrieks and honks and coating the already treacherous course in a film of thick, oily sweat. Tom I’m getting word, the race is about to start, someone found the signal gun

It’s time to shoot the bird...

And they’re off! Feathers Mulligan kicks up a cloud of dust and regrets as he leaves Parka Parks in his wake, leading into the turn around Desperation Butte and UH-oh, fast and low from the outside! Heeere coooomes CHEEP-CHEEP!....