Wednesday, August 27, 2008

Augustus Autumnus

autumn smells
on whorls of autumn air.
sniffing, the season seems to err,
but faculty deceives
as sense confirms:
two discolored prongs of poplar leaf


my mind, like an amoeba
begins to shift itself,
wrap itself around an idea,
a concept,
a problem,
a person;

probing pseudopodia
into its crevices,
trying to penetrate it,
surround it,
digest it,
absorb it.

sometimes too large to take in,
it has to snake its reach,
grope blind to find a back door,
a way through,
a way round,
a way in.

seeking for a way in vain,
it hesitates awhile,
is first given pause, then it
makes a start,
moves along,
leaves behind.

Monday, August 25, 2008

rejection syndrome

initial signs misread,
you were too good to be true.
Quickly it was clear:
too early transplanted,
no proper controls,
no tests made--
my body is rejecting you.
As your presence fills
with cells fighting you off
like foreign material,
I wish it could have worked,
but really should have checked,
not fumbled both our charts.
An incompatible type,
we'll have to pull you out;
maybe you'll be replaced
with another person's part,
or maybe I'll live on
with some scars and empty space
somewhere near my heart

Sunday, August 24, 2008


We're at crushing depth at the shallow end.
I'm ankle deep getting knee-deeper slow-quick,
time's passing around us sloppy, two speed,
like the sloshing wave ripples at our feet:
trough and crest, like to see you moving so

cresting like an airliner over the horizon
at cruising altitude, hit pockets of turbulence:
takeoff's shaky, but don't jump out 'chuteless.
Destination's as unclear as the blue sky isn't,
but the flight's the fun for now, the view

to clouds and sees and lands like so many waves;
ripples; we're waves crashing and jets cruising,
crest and trough interfering, colliding smooth,
swinging back round, going down, from lows so low
to highs so high, always lifting till we break.

Repeat (played to death)

it dies each listen,
repeat enabled, genocide,
digging a mass grave
with my mind
for the same song time and again,
each play a hollow shell of its essence
killed, gutted by a thought or lack thereof,
the lack of newness due to lack of imagination
through this arrogance-induced
seeing an emptied husk,
fooling true experience with my mind,
I waste what cannot be wasted,
I bury what's still alive,
but am the sole victim of the crime.


looking behind you—it's shorter.
Distances compress,
lose depth in two dimensions,
distort fisheyelike—
to match the glass surface:
nicks & scratches, dents and dings,
if the glass won't break, will change
so looking's altered
much with time and behind,
the world and its color are made different;
some mostly faded, others supersaturated.

And most changed of all,
seen from so near,
is the reflection of self,
looking with biased eyes
back out the mirror.

Neck cricked from headchecks,
eyes strained from single stare;
peering at one's own finger-smudged face,
it's only seen partly, unclear,
discolored, chromatically false image
in the light of scattered high beams,
distracting from the drive ahead:
looking inward and behind
may land you in a ditch instead.

suckin' death's dick

suckin' on death's dick,
poison's what comes out.
You turn to him in times of stress
you claim he calms you down.
In reality blood pressure's up,
you know your heartrate's too;
really you just get your fix
despite your each excuse.
You say that you ain't hurting others;
are you so unattached?
you say that you enjoy it
while it's turning you to ash

Monday, August 18, 2008

Put all your apples in one basket

it's a lonely stalk, a single branch pruned to nudity, obscene
it's a winter's night spent all alone, kept warm by hopes of what spring shall bring
it's a solitary bee, so busy
it's a rocky-ledge tree clinging
it's a one man carpool, an empty bus,
it's a we in thought or word when there's no us
it's all one's hope placed on one mere chance, though many prior went so bad
it's a single solitary tree left standing of a forest
it's a tiny cloud abandoned in the middle of a wide blue sky
it's one plane, contrailing so high in the stratosphere
it's this place in here where none can come
it's cold inside though warmed by a hearth, sheltered
it's a vacation with no one there
it's a dream disappointed to find that it was one on waking
it's what we're left when all else is taken away
it's a will to resist, to fight
it's the fear of an empty night
it's a thing so vital, one so deadly
it's an oasis of plenty in a desert of lack
it's a bastion of life in a vast empty universe, a small blue planet, a speck in the black
it's knowing a change when the old won't be back
it's a feeling that's left, but sure to return
it's a melancholy feeling sweet music distills
it's a flockless shepherd who wanders his hills
it's the refuge of love and the center of will
it's the reason we live and the reason we burn

Tuesday, August 12, 2008


desp'rate grabbing, clinging,
remove it, cast away;
no refuge here,

I feel nothing for it.

stronger, I stand watching
worm wither, whimper,
wasting away
'fore my eyes:

and I do nothing.

I wait for it to die,
drying up the while
as it cries woe
up to me:

but I do nothing.

it squirms, struggles weakly
with its destined end,
futile its fight
against fate:

so I do nothing.

forlorn of its sole hope,
only home haven,
finds no harbor
in my sight:

for I do nothing.

gripped in the throes of death,
panic pathetic,
prostrate in pain;
soon is still:

and still I do nothing.

Finally motionless,
no stir in its form,
now starved and bled,
lies there, dead:

I watch it do nothing.

Of its insidious need,
its selfishness, greed
I am rid:

To do anything, now free.

Saturday, August 9, 2008


crept up on me,

struck a blow
heavy, fatal,

pierced right through
armor, caution,

sent point deep,
searing hot flesh,

wound won't mend
but by your care,

Friday, August 8, 2008

So Simple

a chemical ton of bricks,
a sky of cotton batting,
a purely imagined kiss.

a layer of tiny flies hovers,
a blow to drive them off,
a moment ripe, not rotten.

a soft but dampened grass,
a couple bodies sprawled,
a gaze to lock all eyes.

a hug awkwardly parts;
a passed-up chance;
a week of regret starts.

Saturday, August 2, 2008

one quarter (twenty-five)

a shiny quarter left,

making up more than half

of change I was short.

you short-changed second,

I returned for unreturned ten:

just five given when fifteen due;

can't blame you at the end of the day.

the third time back,

gave change I'd found

to make up my lack:

set atop the cashbox.

Discrete, Disgust; Disgrace?

Help me destroy what I need to not be,
smash these false constructions with a hammer for me
like poor sculpture: litter the floor of my studio-soul
with their remains, undeserving of form and space;
a waste to take it up and better dismembered.

Their fragmented eyes will look up,
shattered hands, fingers reaching out;
piecewise mouths scream, disapproving,
but objections ineffectual, they die,
last bald breath taken false as the rest.

Socially constructed, carefully designed,
the artists long since passed on, architects absent,
none present to see sordid fruits of their labors:
story-book blueprint sketch long ago laid forth
for price unknown, commissioned anonymously.

What money changed whose hands unseen?
Jingled coins silenced by sackcloth,
hands unclasped clandestine under table
passed the papers, drew the plans,
to erect romantic forms concretely.

Objectify me, fetishize me to excess,
so long as it breaks me out of marble inflexibility;
forsaking all lofty ideals, do what pleases best,
take these rigid mores in me to task
till they fail under strain of sweet sin.

After we lay atop their broken mess,
once we've done away with the remains,
scatter them as dust to the four winds;
ground to a powder we will reform them
in the image of freedom, our own.
easy to be glamorous fireworks, a sunset, aurora,
but more unseen are subtleties:

ripples of light in a water glass,

the change in the waves as they pass,

a glimmer of sun on a gloomy day,

a tree's gentle sway in a breeze,

a single cloud resembling
a hungry hungry hippo;

good photography locations
good photography

a good view
an interesting perspective

what happens
what you do

waiting for life to happen
living it to the full