death scenester

If you don't aim the gun, squeeze
trigger-pull
tap, don't expect
any bang, nor the smell
of a cap.

But if you've neglected
to thread the red strip
with the gunpowder bumps
into slot, or you did
- but it sticks,

you have missed
your shot, lil' pard.
Pop pop, now you're dead.
Don't take it so melodramatically
Oscar-bid death throes
hard.

these deeps

These deeps we explore
were not here before. I checked
quite obsessively last time
through. And the time
before - when I wasn't
with you - these deeps
were but shallows, then.
What did you do?

life threat

Quit making light
of what's heavy
and dark, and I promise
you I will let go
your heart. If you don't

I will stay, and hold
for keeps. We will sink
in despair, and giggle

to depths
of these deeps.

give the nod

One time I nodded
while someone was talking. She saw,
kept going. At an interval,
as I was moved to, I nodded
again. She

stopped. "What
are you NODDING
for?"

I looked at her. Soft
steely eyes and impassive
face (my face. Her eyes). Wtf
was she talking about, nodding? The pause

had come to fruition already.

Without breaking held gaze, without
change of expression

I nodded.

Comics Hero (Female)

Her tits
weigh ten pounds each,
the size of cannonballs
they cantilever weightlessly
despite their heft
her pivot waist
is always stressed
and flexed to show her
bam backside, her
effortless thighs
are splayed, arrayed
in battle poses
every page, even
when nothing's going on

her outfit
what there is of it
is skintight
and white
and pink, so
in certain lights
- yeah, you can just
imagine

her powers are
mental. She can read minds
project fantasies into wide
open eyes, powerfully influence
the weak of will - depends
on who's immune. She also
can objectify
herself. Turn
into an object
in other's minds.
Effortlessly, in fact
this power's unconscious,
involuntary. It's out
of her control. They call her

Mindfuck
or Birthday Girl
(the skimpy bikini
part of her constume's
white, and, what with the pink
you can imagine, looks a bit
like tan lines) as a joke,
but she calls herself

Serious Bitch
and she does just fine
although she keeps switching sides, which
the villains don't mind

A few years back, after
five decades at
resolutely
and canonically
age twenty-two, they gave her
a redesign. Not popular
with the fans. So
they wrote in a new archenemy
called Backlash. He was nice

kind of a wimp, though.
Kept switching sides too,
but no matter what you do, man
you're enemyzoned. He'd listen
to all her problems while they fought
over what being enemies means.
Visually-based on a prominent
(as such things are) and vocal
(as such things always are) superfan.
Also unpopular, but

what do you expect. Gotta pander
against the demographic sometimes,
to remain credible in

this incredible biz

not about nudes

hey, so I was wondering
I know - it's been
so long, but do you still
have those photos you mentioned
sending me, so long ago, as

a possibility? Although
I'm not sure that

you'd taken them. It might have been

an offer that if taken up, you'd spend
the time it took to set up shots
and angles and
to then
review and
whittle down

to chosen ones
to give up proud
of what you'd done,

to risk and wow. So
that's a separate question, then.

Had you even taken them, and
if you had - have they been kept?
Right up to now?

No, I'm not drunk!

Just haven't slept.

Well, thanks
No, that's cool - no
don't worry, there

's no need to do all that,
at this late date. I should have asked
back then or, rather
just said yes

No, really. Great! No,
Thanks - no you don't have
to, that's
not necessary, no. No need! I just thought if

they're still around. But if
- no, yes, I understand. That's sweet. Oh, okay
sure
Go right
ahead. I'm down

You're wonderful. I know
yes, I have always known.
Photography
is in your soul.

pure cinema crave

I am in no rush
to rush into another poorly-planned
contrived high concept
action film

even if the director attached
is one of those big-namers, staunchly
acclaimed by darling critics

for all the refusals
to compromise that marked
previous films as uniquely
theirs, alienated and disgusted
the public's all-but-exhausted
patience, and further drove the chic divide

ever deeper between those
who disdain and belittle intellectuals,
and the intellectuals who disdain
and belittle them. I am just

so tired

of the argument. Give me

a movie ABOUT popcorn, or
ABOUT butts in seats. Like a Pixar
epic set "in a world" of butts
in seats. Or something yet
more pure

pure what, not sure,
but pure. Perhaps instead of
a children's movie, a movie

about
people who make a children's movie
and it turns them into children
and eats them

homuncular

As I recall, the recipe
involved man-sperm
and horse manure

Incubated in a flask
with special oils, herbs
and more - no "eye of newt!"
These alchemists

were no witchcrafty
charlatans, but proto-science
men! I guess

They never quite recovered, then
from that black eye: the whole lead/gold
dichotomy - which, unresolved
and unfulfilled made jokes of them.
And they got old, and so
dissolved
themselves in tasks uncanny
and arcane, and eldritch -
secret stuff! Most bold of which:

Homunculus.

Don't scoff
at this disgusting chap!
A little tiny man, grown-up

from horse crap

and from jerking off

rebottled wine

I don't understand the resources
around this house. This paper towel's
been sitting there for some time
now. For some purpose? Dedicated?
How? Too much
has streamed down bottleneck
run over hand, the other holds
a long-stemmed glass
poured too much in

enjoyment's past
so back you go
for later sin
debauchery. That chardonnay's
got overwrought and cluttered
notes of butter, oak

right now, it don't mean
ought to me. But later

it could mean a lot. I hope
I haven't lost too much. Dear bottle, you

are all I've got. Let's raise this tall
round green-hued glass to light
- ah, yes. More than enough

tomorrow's toast.

(never a bad) day at the beach

Clouds tower up
to heights to slouch glowering,
stalk inland on legs of lightning
and wind, feet of churning surf
- the beach is set like a breakfast
nook, time to begin. I wait
and wade, and surface
from plunge, and go

back in as the cloudburst breaks
and the streams of fresh water
fall and run
over clammy and suddenly
chilly wan flesh. I descend

to my already plastered
towel, take a swig
of my Coke can

put ball cap
and sunglasses on,
and wait for the sun. This

day

was the only one
I was able to come.

false advertising

Making space
out past the stars
the aliens race
their souped-up
hot rod cars
in shapes
from saucers
to cigars. That's
how space is made
in this sky of ours. One day

maybe we will step out smart.
Join them up there, in silvery
tights and big plastic dome
hats, with antenna on.
Everything stylish
and state of the art.

They'll kill us, of course

They've seen our shows.
They've seen how they end,
and they know how it goes. With

one last, desperate rush
they'll unite and crush
while we die there, wondering

"What's wrong with us?"

Arrangement of ways

There weren't any ways,
so they tried both
and failed. Fell
to arguing, divided
and apportioned blame
one way, credit another

argued again
over which was which,
and whether it was fair

(it was not)

and decided
to make a new way
behaving thereafter
as sister and brother,
friend, enemy and
acquaintance combined

- with benefits, natch
but with some things to remain
unspoken, undetected, unknown

and a little bit hard to catch.

the panties song

Her panties are a song
she wears under her clothes
no beat
no refrain
no verses
no lines
she'd be mortified, no
there should be no sign.
This song
is no hit
blaring forth to the world

it's a little-known b-side
everyone knows
- a favorite track
from the secrets and rarities
disc, released
after the band fell out with the label

and they just put out all the junk
they could get their hands on
from the private vault

in an obvious
and cynical cash-in.

No thought to
overexposure or reputation,

to things that really probably
should never see the light

of day. No, just shove it out
to the public - let it drop! Let
them lap it up

dross, treasures and all

obsessive fans moaning,
rolling-eyes in ecstasy fits
at these previously
(justifiably) hidden bits

of mad talent and integrity
exploited and exposed
for what they are:

a pair of panties. Different
every day, really

She digs this song
like the comforts of home.
Doesn't care who knows
or what they say.

mutual blackmail society

Everybody's got
their own little story
that nobody needs

to know.

We know each other
far too well
to hint and guess
and intimate. I guess

we've reached a point
or two, to turn upon
- which way we'll go?

Well, let's not be
too hasty, yet. There's time
still left

to hesitate

Remember what we've lost,
along the way
to everything we know.

I don't know whose
would be the bigger shame
if it came out?

So let's be reasonable.
Let's not find out.
We like suspense. Let's
plant it deep,

and let it grow.

Line breaks are.

Line breaks are
not
that
important,

just don't fuck up
it

dish cold

Remember, some
son of a bitch
is going to pay -
if it takes you
the rest of your
life, right? Might
as well. You weren't

doing something anyway.
Purpose acquired, now
figure out who

and prepare to plan
to fight.

unask

She looked a question at him, then
walked it back. He saw it go
all the way, said nothing

but he knew. This

was not
going to
work, was it? Still

it was a question.
If only he knew
- if one of them
only knew.

Because questions
may not deserve answers,
and curiosity might
kill - but sometimes

you ask

and an answer comes.
Called by curiosity,

not will.

bitch bitch

Don't call me bitch
bitch
she said
I said I didn't! Almost

added bitch

but didn't
didn't say you did
she said
I said that's true
you didn't.

in these parts

Testicles are THE BALLS. Important,
manwise - and the "bozack?" That's
the ball sack, considered exclusively
and apart from the balls, which

probably flaps a little loose,
if so, but macabre or not
we need distinct terms to be
precise! In case of surgery,
or disagreement leading to
surgery - or resulting from. Meanwhile,

THE PEEN is of mounting importance
in many men's lives! Though true
- not as many as would wish. Still,

when it sticks out (or, from a prone
position) up - the indicator is
"HOP ON!" Or perhaps - "POSITION
YOURSELF ACCOMMODATINGLY!" All with
a blaring, wheedling undercurrent
of "PLEEEEEEEEEEASE" and "please
pleasepleaseplease" "THIS

THING'S

FRIENDLY!"

- let's pretend it is.
Let's admit it's a friendly
sort of thing, or anyway
ought to be. You need trust

- the foundation of friendship -
and a pretty big, sloppy hot interest
(not the foundation of friendship)
(necessarily) to want to
have it out
in a sexual way
with

something that's objectively
winning no beauty prize. Let's say.
At least,

not if they let ladies enter. That's
unfair competition - it's the reason
we're such dicks about gender! We know

We know

we will never be the prettiest
down there. But, to be fair
- as they say, to be fairest -
you have to be "in the land"
as well as available
for the magic mirror to conduct
inspections and rigorous
(not lewd - this is an impartial
judge who lives in a mirror) scrutiny,
breaking everyone in the land who's
at all fair down, and fairly determining
who wins. The prize, as I understand it
- they send a huntsman!

Let's face it

not everybody's interested
in these parts.

In this poem, we see my hesitancy and irresolution

In this poem, we see my hesitancy and irresolution
throw themselves off, and reveal who knows what,
and how they came to. Still a mystery what
knocked them out, but as neither seems
concussed or drugged, let's assume
nothing happened - or say we do.

My hesitancy
and irresolution
have never felt the slightest bit
chirpier, or more easy going
for the disorienting experience
of having been self
(apparently)
thrown
off,

revealing
underneath, well

who knows
what and how
they came to

now
if only I can frame this mindset
and use it
later, put it in a jar
and sell it, take it
to the bank and

smoke it like a fish.
I believe I could eke
some living from this.

sunworshipper

I am the sun, and
I want to smack with a kiss
every
square,
bare inch
of where you're white,
and turn your skin
to burnished rose and gold
in the dawning, noontime, setting light
of my love streamed in cascades
over and up, and into and
all through you
'til you glow
inside,
wherein lies
every spiritual inch
of your soul, or could it
be heart, and mind? So far from control
it's indomitable. And yet
you will say you're mine.

lights

I grope in the dark, blindly
habitually with my eyes closed, only noticing
when the switch clicks, suddenly bright
but I still can't see. Oh
I guess it might not have been
so dark as it was. How me

urge to annihilation

I am going to rip my eyes
out and stuff them in my ears

Then I'm going to take my balls
and tuck them
into my asshole.

If that doesn't work, I will rip my head off
and go bowling, and then

I suppose

As a coup de grace, I could to something
awful, terrible
to my feet.

It would still not still this awful ache
inside, of undeserved alienation
in a world where chaos can't even
do random right, where no guarantees

are even advertised. Time's out of joint
and so, my dear, am I. Welp,

I guess it's plan D, then.

Improvise.

accolade feedback

This would actually work,
except aspic,
ticks, the event itself...Miatas...
who's got a Miata? Sal, you've got
a Miata? Point is,

Tony, it seems

like you're home free on this one,
but what with the unanswered questions
and the logistics and potential consequences
involved I hope to God

you've got a backup plan. Because just in case

and for all our sakes and
Humpty Dumpty's gotta break
at some point. You can't just
skate by on good luck and charm

all your life! That's my sweet trick,

damn it.

Good job.

dream consequence

We all went out for tacos
and one of somebody else's tacos
fell in love with me but I
couldn't say anything, because
it wasn't my taco. We all left
together separately and the government

said “Obey the law.” We were already
doing that! Luckily

I hailed a cab, and it
turned into an action movie
where we were getting shot at. When
we got dropped off I still had to tip it,

which was weird

because what do you tip an action movie?

I went with fifteen percent.

Inside, everything was still going on.
I caught your eye and suggested
sex. She agreed,
so we got a male lizard
and a female lizard and frankly,
couldn't tell the difference.

Nothing happened - a big fizzle. “Now what?”
neither of us said. I went to the side door
with her trailing after and, after checking
to see that no one was obviously watching us,
we opened it and sidled through.

We found ourselves
in an alley on the top of the building. The helicopter
was gone, if there had been one. Suddenly

we were attacked by bees! They weren't
stinging us, they were just
headbutting us and going “whoop!”
It was adorable. “What should I tip
these BEES?” I asked, turning to you.
She was gone. She had been

entirely
carried off
by BEES.

I had been taken in by a distraction.
It made no sense at all.

dream journ

I had a dream the other night, I was being chased by a

oops here they come again, gotta go

So the bartender says

A bartender walks into the bar.
The bartender says, "What'll I have?"
"Scotch whiskey, neat."
"Coming right up!"
The drink is poured and served,
and the bartender drinks it down.
"Have another?" asks the bartender,
aloud. "Same."
Another Scotch is poured,
served, and drunk down. A third
and a fourth soon follow. By now

the bartender is a bit curious.

"So what brings you here
today? Got yourself a tale of woe?"

"I live here," replies the bartender.
"I built myself a little bar in my own house,
for entertaining. I come in and serve myself
drinks. I'm not interested in chit-chat."

"Fair enough," replies the bartender. He walks off,
whistling an eerily cheery tuneless tune,
toweling a clean glass.

how to hold a girl by the waist

Easy and light, with arms
hands, and wrists. Gentle
but firm by fingertips. That’s

if you’re dancing. But if
there’s no music, we must needs
make it ourselves - then put
your palms into it; and
everything else.

action plan

Visualize the place
you want to land
and take every step
you'd need to take,
and leap the gap
that you'd have to leap
and stop, look around
and see what's fake.

monster scars

I don't mind
getting down in the bad. I've found,
it often isn't there. The worst
we assume, interpret, avoid
- just ghost and monster stories
we tell ourselves, so we'll

behave. And not find out
who the real monsters are. Us!
Such good monsters, usually
if we stoop and poke enough
and dare enough to really know.

If we cease to fear the gnash
of fangs, the protruding claws
- unseen behind pleasant faces,
unseen and presumed retractable
into seeming kind hands, trying
too hard to look pleasant

and good. We try so well
it's the least we can do
not to investigate. So we shirk
away wincing, declare off-limits
everything that comes to notice,
and agree not to expose
the worst we are
- the worst we know others to be
- we are always at our worst
not knowing. In doubt, in suspicion
in gratitude over not having
to look into it. Over having
been spared that facing
of worst.
I don't mind

getting down in the bad.

It's usually no worse than we think,
and
we can compare scars.

why I romanticize the rain

Rainy days let us all
off the hook, somewhat. A day off
from being out and productive.
Sweet permission
to spend a day reading,
or watching a movie. I love
to go out and see

a movie on a rainy day,
brave the rain to find myself
warm and dry in a big theater,
watching the flickers - some film
I might not have seen, without
the excuse rain so generously
provides. Sometimes

the theater’s surprisingly full.
Fellow raingoers. For those of us

who kind of like
being out in the rain,
it’s a fellowship

of everyone we meet
who isn’t hurrying, huddling
into themselves warding the weather
off with flapping umbrellas, cursing
outwardly at each gust, inwardly
at each drop that gets through. Glowering

at their suddenly discovered-unsuitable
footgear choice, soaked to the socks!

We who don’t seem to mind at all
recognize each other, out there unbothered
by the softness of the weather. A shared smile,
maybe, as we pass. Secretly relishing it all.
Some of our umbrellas are ill-positioned,
underused - mostly for show. We all love
a shower, don’t we? Well what could be wrong
with a rainshower? It’s cleaner water
than from the pipes, or sure seems like.

Rain renews the world. The smell
of a sunny day after rains is exquisite
and deep, sharp with wet, slowly giving itself
to the air and sunlight in evaporation.

Something is released in it, something
left behind. To be out in the middle of
that renewal while it’s happening
is like partaking in a ceremony.

Inside, the sound of the rain on wall,
window and roof is like a security blanket
drawn over the whole house. Warm and safe.

Home and dry.

The whole world has become a buffer, with this
one spot of homely-bright hospitable volume
carved from it.

Even those who like or don’t mind
being caught out in the rain tend to love
being home while the rain does its work
outside. Or at night,
day done - to fall asleep
to that surround sound.
Lovely.

Whereas those who can’t stand
the rain sit in and grumble at it! They don’t
seem to appreciate their place of reprieve, so much
as begrudge being stuck in. Or worse: called by necessity,

having to *go out in it.*

Being out with someone on a rainy day
is a strange testament to your togetherness.
The elements are just backdrop, even as they

fall on you both.
A shared umbrella,
cheerfully inadequate
for somebody. Taking turns
bearing the brunt of the drops,
shifting considerately - no,
let my clothes be dappled, your
outfit’s cuter! Nobody says

these things out loud,
it’s unspoken. So much

is unspoken.

The rain is more than half
the voice you need. It supplies
the subtext. We planned this outing,
and neither of us has/had the sense
to cancel it on account of rain! To either of us,

being here means more than weather.
And we love this weather, don't we - shh!
We relish the uncomprehending glances
of those caught out in it, imagining
what fools we must be in their eyes. Nonsense,
they’ve got their own concerns. Damn rain!

Being stuck in at home with someone
on a rainy day is all the closeness
and excuse you need to stay.

Sometimes we feel a bit guilty
about staying in, you know? Banners
of sunshine unfurling over the whole world!
Calling you: come out, come out! Enjoy me! I am the day!

You’d have to be ingrates not to fuss yourselves
into sunny-day clothes and rush forth adventuring. The rain says,

Shhh. You don’t have to do any of that,
if you don’t want to. You don’t need an excuse
today to huddle secure where you are,
while the whole world calls its sights and sounds
and wonders. You’ve got me! I will hush all the calls,
and you shall do as you please
with the pause.

Now me, sometimes I like to go forth
adventuring anyway. Right out into the rain!
The world’s very different in the rain, and sometimes
I like to see what’s going on differently. Spot the birds
and animals - some still bopping about! Others,
one imagines, cursing and grumbling. Oh,
they enjoy it! They know what it means

- as do the people, threading their ways
through the drops. It’s a different sort
of people out in the weather. But staying in
is nice, too.

That’s why I romanticize the rain. Or maybe
I should say, that’s how. I could go on, too.
As long as the rain goes on.

The Opportunity Mist

Under clouds of misfortune
through fogs of mischance,
we seek
the opportunity mist.
It is hard
to distinguish at distance,
at glance
through the halcyon haze
of nostalgia's last kiss,
through the glooms of despair
and so many foul airs
visibility's down
to one foot - not one's best.
So you put that foot forward
and onward,
you press
Ever seeking this chance
again, this
is only a test.

turvy

You turned me upside down. A tree
with stars between its roots. Eventually,
come days of rain and after days
of sun,

Perhaps my roots
will learn to bud
in leaves and blooms,

As limbs and branches
learn to drink from grounds
where they lie spread, entombed.

Then I could know what you have done
and call it luck, not fate
or doom.

Artist's names

Artist's names have images
attached to them; they radiate
in plumes and halos, circling,
rectangling, composing forms
of gathering and memory
from galleries trod lost in awe
and snickering, and sharing quips,
critiques, that go beyond us. All
the words that we let lamely fall
in tribute to what we just saw.

longest on record

This year's been
the longest on record
since records were kept.
Only November yet, it feels
like it always was. This has gone

on forever, and will continue
to. But we'll make it through,
like stones wearing away

as the long, slow-motion days
pound crashing down upon us,
as the saltwater seconds

roll down so slow

they're overtaken by hours.
As the sun sinks inevitably,
eventually low. Night comes

soon enough, at least,
but we know how long
it lasts. We'll make it
through, we know.

But in this moment

neither of us knows
how to. Just hold,
hold steady, and we

will know.

One day, all our everyday
holding-out hope was for
will come true.

all smiles now,

antidotes
and curatives
serums and panaceas
all smiles now, we're
almost free

we're out of danger now,
it was
like something's meant to be

and your fever's broken.
Gathering the pieces,
I lave your forehead
with a clean rag soaked
in lemon water, cold
then cool

I wipe your never
troubled brow

and bless myself for a fool
of little faith
to have worried, now.

And finally I
have stopped hallucinating.
All I see is you,
and you

are everywhere

just the way I know you are,
without again
a care.

coincidance

There wasn't much
that any one
could ever do
to be with you.

Just if the stars
spun courses out,
and if the fates
coincidance,

and if the two
caught in such paths
are such matched ones
as to be struck
aghast,
askance
in later years,
look back upon such slim threads
tangled tight -

how easily it would be done,
a near-miss passing chance
through life

- that's just about
the only way. That any two
could make you one.

It couldn't have been
forced, or even sought -
such games are rigged,

not won.

When out on wild limbs

When out on wild limbs, it's hard.
The difficulty is
whether to proceed to branch
in orderly organic fun,
sensibly, potentially true
- or stop and bud to leaf
and soak this sun.
Or sudden - lark about! And fly
- to other trees, or other sky -
or just concede myself
to breeze? The pleasant zephyr
everyone
was so delighted by,
refreshed - has shot itself.
Over a fatal inconsequence,
never hinted at. With a cocky
and pocket-sized comical

gun. Most

who shoot the breeze miss, but
its own aim tends to be
infallible. This breeze
has slipped an air too far, lost
its limb and felt the buffet
of gentle and desolate descending
blows, and never will be seen again
- nor ever was, alas. At least

there still is sun. It shines
warming down on everyone. And really,
all of us shall be released. It's just

way out on wild limb, the nerving
hunching, wincing feeling is
how close one momentarily gets

to striking root.
and drinking deep
and finding sense
and peace.

Scientific living.

I've discovered
the volume of feces my butt
excretes
is in proportion to what
I eat. And so,
in order
to balance it best,
I've decided to eat
the same, more
or less

Vainmodesty

Vanity
is supposed to be either
arrogance, or fruitlessness.
I can't deny that hers is vain,
despite it's so productive of
effects and fruits of great
good use. Nor can I quite
deny the pride she takes
eviscerating it, and beating it
to bludgeoned mess. As modesty,
propriety, proportion and
perspective all descend
in gangs of beasts refined
to savage and destroy
what's best.

The hunt is ceremonial,
and it concludes with pomp
and grace. She's shining
from exertions and regarding
her reflected face - improved
in every foible, flaw
exposed, brought low,
effaced and mocked.

It's just as if she didn't know
how perfect is the plumped-for case
she was so fair to cop.

ice cold water

Fill the front part of my throat
with ice cold water running down
in constant stream and gulp and gulp
and gulp until the pain of chill
outweighs the pain of thirst I found.
Keep swallowing, to prove a point. How much
I love you, thirsty friend! I let you
thirst insanely on. So here's
relief in stabbing cold
to throb down throat
to stomachache,
so let it end.

Your kiss doesn't suck

Your kiss doesn't suck, it rules
my toes
from all the way up
to back down
it goes. It
was unexpected; unplanned
that time I drove all the way there
to make you mine. Which
you already were. We sealed
that deal. Your kiss
though
made everything, this
more real.

And I want to become
everything to you. Like
I already am, I guess
it's true.

dynamus quo

I've rigged the status quo
decisively,
deceptively,
identically
to how it appeared
to be found
by me.
So that no one will know
or suspect it's rigged.
Or even if they do,
they won't know who. They will
look too high, too big
- they will all blame 'They'
as they always do,
for a joke.

Meanwhile
I sit back, so invested deep
in the bankrupt and compromised
gains I've made,
- that no one can see
how I plan to keep -
well, it just takes hope
and sagacity,
and cunning and shrewd
application of dreams
- that I never give up!
Plus a secret weird trick
that I tell you now:
I have just made up

to give to you
as a tip.

Never playing the same game

Never playing the same game,
each wins undefeated
while the other fouls
blatantly. A humiliating loss
in a victory dance
as the other looks on,
shaking head
on the inside, whooping
cavorting, popping champagne
corks anticipating all
of the awkward drama
of a shared locker room
where the difference in rules
doesn't matter any more,
and everyone runs up the same
kind of score.

wastewhile

Waste a worthwhile while
with me, would you please?
If your time is too valuable,
take mine from me. I can think
of no way I would rather waste
time
than
to tell you I'd give away all
that was mine.
And if you tell me too, something
like, something else, something
anything you care to tell, I will
help

with
the details, hilarity, everything else
that ensues. It's the one way
to make sure we keep
every moment
we use.

narrative for shadowing

I was inspired by your
work it
was the reason I got
into this. I've followed
everything you did
best, and you
as well, and as to
what's next

let's talk
about it

before reality
sets itself
to break

the spell.

paradox xo

The real trick
in the root of rootedness
between two who've come
to trust too much
is forgiving the lie
they won't admit,
because
it's a touch
too small
to fit.

And you know
your imagination's been
wrong. Like never
before, eventually.
They wouldn't have gone
and done you so.
Perhaps you'll
believe again.
We'll see

But we'll never
know now. Nor will we,
love? There isn't a test
of this history book
when the winners
who've written
it

have
died.

Well,

lost.

It was all an act
of faith

we tried.

find selves

Whenever I'm not around, I'm like
what was I in the middle of? I've
got to go find myself, ask, make
sure. Sure, I know how sure is
made. And I'm off, but - my mistake is,
everywhere I go I take my problems
with. Which I wouldn't trade
for a whole pile of yours, not even
if you came with. Well, maybe
then, as a temporary arrangement. See,

I'm kind of sweet on you. I never told you,
except every day. I make bold comparisons
like sticky honey and a wild mane
like tumbling seas, caves of molten
gold, filled with blue-butts bees.

I think of you like

a diaphanous impression you've
made on my mind that slipped in
and hijacked the whole thing, which
is fine. I always see a thing like that
coming a mile away, which - in your strides

at current rates of pace, could take
forever to catch me, and I'm
not hiding. Not to worry!
You already have. You've caught me
fair and well, and whenever you're not
around, I don't pause, doubt or wonder

for a minute

what I have to do now. I won't
tell

Invisible Itinerary

The thing about you as a person is
I never know why I know you so well.
It seems not remotely approachable,
where we currently are vis-a-vis
ourselves and each other, considered
in terms of the past. And each wending way,
when we weighed and went where we wouldn't
have thought we'd have needed to.

And we didn't.

We wanted.

Maybe we were sent.

sane and sound

I've been thinking about you
lately, a lot. I know
that I'm not supposed to,
though. I've been thinking
about that, too - whose rule
was it? Do you even know?
You do? Oh, I just told
you now. Well, okay. So what
do you think about that?
And - whom does it serve? Oh
ok it's about
the stupidest thing
that you ever heard.
I agree. Let's

swerve, maybe veer
in our mutual separate course
to discover a way
more about than around.
I've been thinking a way
even over, or through.
So what do you think?
It is sane.
It is sound.

intention forked

Deep flesh seared
charred broiled
and forked, knifed
pulled free in huge
fall-apart shreds and piled
on paper plates steaming
with molasses-dark sauce
bubbling from the heat
next to potato salad. This
was originally going to be
an unpleasant metaphor
about me and how I
feel. But

it got delicious
on me

groundbroken

That one scrambled egg
that impressed you so
to begin this mess
has long since grown
into a scrambled bird
and flown. You should

have been paying attention. Sown

your eyes shut and reaped
tears of surprise and
joyfully leaped
from your demise
to announce your triumphant

well, begun. Your shovel
is broke. Start
digging,
son

no show

I slipped again
- out of myself, into the movie
I'm not in.
I am not in
the audience, or anywhere
behind the screen
I could be underneath
the chairs
somewhere, I'm still
observing all
from no peculiar vantage point
until the light
goes dark
and credits crawl

come together

Persistent mental illness
and the American dental ideology
prides itself in joining apart
the primacy of denial
in finding new ways
to change. We must
if we must
seek ceasing to
make enemies monstrous
and hug them, each of us
palming a boning knife,
our trust
demonstrated in its use.
Only then
can we fasten teeth
in each other's neck
and truly understand
how the other feels.

unanticipation

unanticipation makes
the day go faster
than it takes
you to recover
from the fall you get
by having missed it all.

someone is loving you.

whoever slides your panties off
whoever's fingers fumble
nimbly down the front
and up the back,
buttons slip
unclasp the strap,
undo the belt and let
drop down, whoever's hands
are helping now,
I hope they hold you gently
too. And fierce, protecting all
you do, with guiding hand
and sheltering arm. Especially
and even if its only
you.
I hope someone
will see your steps go safely
through; to never come
to any harm. I hope someone
is loving you.

Some summoning

I want you to meet me, here
where I am. There's no way to find
the way to here. I can't tell you how
I came to this place; I can't help
but wonder what time you'd waste

but the view

is worth all the missteps
and mistakes
that got me through.

Not all those who wander
are lost. They say,
but you probably
shouldn't

have followed them.

Turn aside, let them wander
and come to me now. I have
no idea just where I am

but the sky's going wild
with orange and rose
on darkening bruise
as the sun comes down

and there's only one sight
that could tear my eyes

away, down the path

where
I know
you will bound.

two approaches

Who I really am won't work
with all these people, they want
something else, I don't know

I can find. But I withdraw
a bit, detach and use my mind.
I'll find a fit - and pleasing,
too. It won't be hard.

So if it takes me all
my life, I'll rise a bit
and lower guard.

I'll find out who I need
to be, and where it fits
with what they see.

And one day, I
will be the same. Until then
it's an okay game.

_____

Who these people think I am
is such an easy spin and shill.
I can't believe each one of them's
a fundamental imbecile.

They must just be so desperate
for trust, that they'll trust
anyone. A sacrificial offering.

I almost wish it wasn't
so much fun.

imagination's endless melodramatic death scene

We all take the imagination we're dealt,
and what we do with it determines
what it does with us.

Whether we believe it, especially.

Mine is horrible
but luckily, I never did believe
all the monster-movie moments
that unfold around me.

I prefer to believe
in what you say you have meant,
and will mean. To me,

it's a bloody absurd
British humour-type comedy,
where nothing happens, probably
- and all of it gold.

And the monsters circle warily
in outer-dark corners, waiting
for the night

they can increase their hold.

wild congruity

I just now experienced a sudden burst of love
for organisms.
For everything
that excretes waste and metabolizes energy,
from loam and air and sunlight
to leaf and blade and meat.
Especially, I thought

of amoebas and paramecia, then
sessile organisms - like trees
and fungi. Things

that travel by reproduction

where every step you take
roots you for life, to send life on
ahead of you.
All around you,
finding the directions
where goodness is.

I felt so beautiful

a surge of commonality
and community in this,

which is weird

given my propensity for emphasizing
alienation where identities are

too much concerned. 

thing we do

All our cutesy bits and skits
should really make us sick
by now, to judge by the effect
on unsuspecting innocents
without a warning, ow.
They're caught
in this
with wince
and doubt of "did

these two

just make mouth-faces
of their hands,
and make them kiss?"

Indeed. We did

it's just some
thing we do

wist of etymology

The word wore away in use
down by the stream of everyone's tongues
and as time whittled over, it no longer meant
the strange, magic tone it once held
in the flash of eyes, and the crooks of minds,
the bent and slip and scope, so easily caught
in pages of books, unspoken and not
the same. We are puzzled and charmed,
and we find

that it settles in us

as it did in them. By context and use,
and we get strange looks

when we speak this way. Something beautiful
has become much harder to mean. A passed-on word
nestled in like an egg
worn smooth in transition from hand
to hand, unknowing

what bird lies within concealed

But it's okay.

the epicures

Who knows what lies after
the abattoir? Sausages
I hope. Ashes

aren't worth much more than scattering, but
maybe some part of me will be called fois gras?

dined upon
by an elder otherdimensional
(and getting ever extradimensional
all the time) connoisseur? Perhaps

our spirits are injected into flesh,
to crimp and pinch
and mature into souls
of breathtaking exquisition, only

for the delectation of diners
crying out bravo, compliments!
in some heightier, weightier
or greatier reality? Oh,

they synthesize and mass-produce
cloned souls, too - from those judged
best, but

there's nothing
like the real lived-in and enfleshed
savor of a soul self-grown, marbled
by its triumphs, made tender and succulent
by its agonies, and - cases like mine, (I will not
say yours, but feel free to self-include) gamier

by its untamed wildness. Which isn't exactly
prized, but. There are aficionados.

As with everything.

No accounting for tastes