really want

They want to know but hate to find 
what really goes between closed lines. 
So no one really wants to say;
they'd rather look the other's way. 
They know that if they'd knew, they'd know. 
It's more piquant to titillate and guess,
and want to know
without the deep reveal
and disappointing mess. 

children of above-average age

Children of above-average age,
please do what I do and don't say 
I ever or never warned you wise, 
or otherwise you can just choke 
on lies and grow up, bones and teeth 
all whitening strong. If you'd do 
as I say, you'd be there all along! 
But you've lagged behind years 
of maturity now. I suppose 
it will catch up with you 
somehow. 

I kicked a nursing baby in the head

I kicked a nursing baby in the head.
That dude just kept going, 
and 
the mom 
didn't even notice, so 
Maybe I Didn't 

implique

Has anyone ever been shocked and dismayed 
to find I've been untrue? 
Not really, my love.
No one to speak of.
Not even honestly you. 

My streak of vaunted honesty, 
a mile deep and wide - is just
the fact you can't catch me, 
however you never tried. 

No matter how hard you never tried, 
you've never once given up. 
You prefer your idea of me, it seems 
flowing silver tongue from golden cup. 

eldritch cheeze

I have a recurring daymare where 
a demon rocks himself down stone
temple ziggurat steps with big, huge,

thundering leg thrusts,
and the chorus
goes
TOAST-CHEE: "I was worshiped like a god!!"

TOAST-CHEE: "By ignorant savages!!"
TOAST-CHEE: "I do allllll RIGHT,"
"TOAST-CHEE" Then the screen fills 
with a package of snack crackers, as the 
suave, urbane ad guy voice intones 
and assures, "Lance Toast-Chee 
snack crackers. Not affiliated 
with any ancient demon."

But fading in from behind,
we see Toast-Chee himself.
Standing sideways with his arms 

proudly crossed, meeting our gaze
and he gives us a big nod 

as if to say 
as if to say 
I don't know it's kind of cryptic

beyond our power

In light of what a pain in the ass 
has been, you've decided not to let 
ten strangers fend for themselves
against a man in a rubber suit 
called a space alien, in a British 
science film from the sixties. It 
came from a crack in the wall 
and is still whispering as if 
the wind could find its way 
in the dark on a night like this. 
At the end, everyone comes back
alive and takes turns on stage, seated, 
soberly assuring you that it's all okay, 
none of this is real. And it isn't. You 
know - you've known since shortly 
after it was said. It couldn't be real. 
We wouldn't be watching it like this, 
coming towards you, nothing we can 
do will change what happens - we'd 
be living it. Maybe then we could 
have done something. 

skillsets

Supposedly good 
at poker and chess, 
pool as in billiards, 
but darts are a miss 
and a mess. 

I want his happiness

I want his happiness
that guy over there 
that's just 
the sort of guy I am 
I want people's happiness
I don't even know who the fuck he is 
but look at him 
he's kind of half standing 
half walking it's like 
he has someplace to go 
but forgot 
now he's trying 
to maybe get his life 
together. That's what it takes 
this drive 
this ambition
he's got it 
I want his happiness 
fuck it 
I don't even know 
if he has any but 
I fucking want it

sunshine hi

As I lie
an hour by your side,
wide awake, I look to
your eyes aflutter in dream.
You are merry and beautiful
And you make mornings good
just by waking up in them.
Sunshine hi, oh you are my 
and I am your. Our day is nigh 
and dawns galore. All finally
this 
is what it seems. 
I only want more, and
I'll never want more. 
 

disappointing adaptation

I was watching a 
movie of a dream I had 
and you were not in it. 
They'd cast some babe
who was pretty bad.  
She was beautiful, sure 
but not like you. But 
apparently, I was expected
to kiss and have sex with
her, and call her you. Well,
what can you do? What 
could I do.
'Til the sudden twist
ending when you walked in. 

I forgot
all my lines at that 
point. 
No win

keep dreamer

Born in the year whenever 
in the forests of town, 
she at the age of between  
started a microeconomy 
based on love and dreams.

Within bright years, she 
had purchased a plant 
which tripled in size 
and was covered in ants
doing busiest work like  
a hive-minded team. 

Pretty soon
the whole industry knew
what she'd mean.

a fair die

A fair die
can not be bought off
by hot puffed breath
and rubbing of hands.
It's perfectly symmetrical, 
with no unevenness within
in centers of off-center weight 
to pull and shift with favored 
spin that settles any settled way. 
This die's mind was made up 
at birth. They made it and they 
kept the mold. Its sides and 
surfaces are worth precisely 
even facets, squared in perfect 
and indifferent truth: of nothing
said or chosen first. This die 
won't know until the physics 
tell it to, and it won't add 
a hint of lean, subjective
draw. But is that even 
possible? Can such a thing 
be in control? For look! 
Each side has little scoops!
Each dotted with a drop 
of white. But: each side has
a different count. Now: all 
that weighs, however light. 
It must throw off the calculus. 
Or: what was done inside this 
thing to subtly offset the count?
The one side must weigh more 
than six, precisely by the added mass
of five less scooped-dot negatives.
I guess 
so long as we don't know, can't 
calculate upon the fact of tiny this
and missing that: this die is fair. 
Hey wait. 
This surface: is it flat?  

hours waking days

I've been up for hours in my dreams
making up for wasted time 
making such discoveries 
and other things as shall be mine,
much as I am wont to do!
Waking hours waking days, 
and uses I have put them to - 
except, perhaps: a higher grade
than usual and everyday. 
Not the best I've ever been. 
Just a happy consciousness 
of being on a streak, a roll: 
the zone where muse and vision sit 
and flow and aim in such made win. 
Comfort in a pushing past. 
Familiar always, suddenly. 
Surprising always. Gratitude. 
But I'm asleep. The joke's on me.

curtain caller

With bows and bells on,
taking bows, the author steps
out of the wings. A bit bow
-legged, bellicose, and belting
out a hymn: himself, he sings. 

sexy from all sides

Every girl on instagram 
I know, and every woman too
and even every creepy dude 
is making camera eyes
at you.
It's pouty sexy 
from all sides 
in he-beef chic 
and she-shebang
I know 
that's what the app
is "for." 
In fact, this
is all perfectly
normative behavior
for this particular
planet and nano-epoch
end transmission. 

shy climber

If trees had knees, would we climb more
or less of them? If trees had legs,
but rooted deep - would we
be more or less nervous
to work our hands along and in, 
and stick our toes in clefts 
and push and grab our way 
up shins and thighs, drawn up 
towards hips  - would we 
breath sighs and blush relief
to find our arms around the waist?
Now jerking, scrambling up to arms 
and shoulders, perched in safe embrace? 

Or would it seem too much 
like imposition to presume 
such place?

Or would it only motivate us 
onward, upward, finding face?

the overrate

love is overrated 
pretty much your whole
life 
looking
back on it,
you can see
the errors fundamentally.
The expectations so dashing and dashed,
how cocky you were you fool.
You can see.

Or looking forward 
to it with an electric jump,
or wry eyes and fatalism, or
so bled of hope you can't see,
but you carry a deeper imprint
every year. You don't need to see
what you can't stop feeling. You
know not to get your head in
too deep, and with wise eyes,
regard your past mistakes.

You'll be sure to do them
differently this time, 
you've learned, you know
that love is overrated. Except
every moment you're in it,
once doubt is swept away
and despite yourself, you
can't believe it. Can you? 

It's too good to be true 
just then, is part of the problem. 
The other is, you've kind of come 
to know for sure. Love is overrated 
eventually. Except this time 

if humans were birds

“We are the sovereign lords
of it. We alone have mastered
the artificial and uncanny ability
to FLY - which separates us
from all the other living things
except bats, and see what we’ve
done with it! Why, we’ve flown.

All over the place! It’s crazy how
we dominate. Oh, true, bugs and
stuff - this is lower-order tool use
for sure. See how easy we eat them
for proof. We are the unnatural and
self-majestic sky-flying motherf*ckers,
motherf*cker!”

“But Skylar, what’re those silvery things?
We hear rumors they sucked Pelican Bob
into a wingmouth in a time of legend!”

“Did not Pelican Bob bring down the Anti-Bird?
Let’s have no more myth and metaphysics, these
legends have their place frightening the hatchlings.
They are fables.” “But we can see and hear them!”

“They are atmospheric phenomena.”

"We've seen them on the ground!"

"A hoax." 

long haiku

The hated lawn, ornamental
shrubbery and other plants
so loathsome and pitiable
as to need human tending: stunted,
propped, subjected to innumerable
irregular mass decapitations
and savage prunings
by a furious maniac
- the price they endure
for their questionable
privilege of domesticity.

wrack

There's no solution to any of this. 
So far away from whatever's bliss.
Innocence taking the greatest hits 
and forging ahead as ignorance.

Naïve or jaded, falling to bits, 
or holding together in aching 
cracks. All of the facts are piling up
to falling down, and everything
fits into many lacks. But,

we know.

We remember, 
and see the gleams.
This is the same world,
however it seems.

It's all stretched out now
and falling in. There's nothing 

to do but end and begin. 

someone waiting

There's someone waiting
for you everywhere. No, 
it's not your best self, 
your future self 
you've been imagining. 
It's someone else. And she 
can wait indefinitely. 

Ice is water

Ice is water you can't drink. 
But so is steam, and so are clouds.
And so are seas. It makes you think,
water's not too drinkable! Considering
by parts and whole.

Which makes 
you think,
some thoughts 
don't really add much
depth to life's broad course.
But passing over, washing
through, you might as well 
just sip a few and try the taste. 

And drink your full for now, 
and let the rest just flow, 
or sit, or spill, go
otherwise to waste. 

shame caution

Shamelessness is dangerous.
That aimless inhibition prompt 
lays snares of consequence and guilt
to trip us, everywhere we'd want 
to take our valor for a spin - 
and leave discretion's bare, bereft
behind at home! A-wallowing. 
For shame! Best be behaviorless,
lest valor's indiscretion wrest
some veil aside, and all be known. 
We'd never rest from labors, then. 
To soak and scrub escutcheon clean 
- a labor which we know is vain!
But that is how we've always been, 
to our acute and chronic shame.  

memory's slow will

As day moves its course
through drifting marks 
intended to class
and to organize,
divide and define
our fits and starts: we wake
to a sense we cannot cognize.  

As day moves its course,
inexorably shorn 
of distinguishing features
in weeks and years, 
decreasing distinction
of moments and months, 
the moment is now:
come bed your fears. 

But we don't know how, 
so we'll never know when. 
It's time now to wake, or 
to sleep again. To eat 
all our dreams, oldest-first 
and complain of the stale 
in the bread, and the mold
someone broke, long before
we were born - so that when 
we grew up, we could find 
all that fits in one's head 

To explain, understand 
and defend why we'll have
to be dead. 

Presumptuous Song

Audacity’s veracity not trying to be bold
But bold words call for bold times, friend
- and some truths must be told

I don’t presume that you would care,
it’s all the same to me.
Not wearing any underwear
- or even pants, you see.

I never get presumptuous
unless I’m about to get, get
get sumptuous

Intrepidation is my style
encouragement, less so.
I’d rather you intrepidly
go anywhere you know.

Intimidation is for wimps
- who wants timidity?
Be bold as brass, and do your best
- it’s all the same to me.

I never get presumptuous, etc. 

panic over nothing

I hate to panic over nothing. 
That's a lie. Honest review 
of my emotions in the moment
suggests I love it. What I hate
is finding out
it was over nothing.

You see: in panic,
Instinct and intuition 
are firing all cylinders 
at solutions to the same
usual question in the ol' 
"What do I DO?" routine. 

Full of sound and fury relatively
empty of sense, reason and judgment, 
signifying potentially everything 
at stake, anything can happen 

if you only panic right - on 
a canny instinct intuition binge!
We got this, haven't we?

Feels like! 

It's exhilarating, with a sense 
of dread and doom and rising 
to meet it: pluck and what-the-fuck,
I got this. EAT A DICK, PANIC! 

So in the moment, I'm kind of 
vested in the idea that my panic 
is about something. Worthy panic. 
Worth the rear to rampant, canny
defiance and bristling tactical arrays
rotating into and out of position 
all over the place, dithering.
Disarrays, really, but intent. Intense.   

If it's all over nothing, what a fool! 
Paging mister melodrama, crooning
that old #1 hit of his, "What Do I Do
(PANIC)?" weaving and panicking,
panicking and at the same time, weaving
- working furiously at that warping, 
wefting, shuttling loom of his, weaving
tapestry of response in brilliant hues
and fine detail, responsive to the vast dark 
shapes looming more suddenly 
than was polite. 

Panicking into error, perchance.
One knows it! In the moment, one
knows one might be! What daring
gall and nerve we have, we who
panic. All over nothing, though?

What a post-panic letdown. Where's
the triumph we risked so assiduously, 
dared so boldly for over nothing? 

One wants one's panic to be right. 

Don't be a teen

Don't be a teen 
Don't be a teen 
We've all seen reports 
and evidence. We've all 
seen the special episodes, 
the movie plots, 
the behavior of teens 
that made us wince. 
Don't be a teen! 
Don't be a teen! 
So just this wince, this once 
just don't. Step nimbly past 
that awkward stage. Society's 
afraid of teens, despite 
we say they're all the rage. 
Just be a kid 
Just be a kid 
then suddenly, 
when you're too big 
to pass for child?
Take one big look 
around, big step.
Grow up. 
Take charge!
No running wild 

hunger blessing

I bless your larder and kitchen and cupboard.
May they be overflowing with choice,
'til you can't decide deliciousness
- until some inner, impatient voice
grabs the next thing it sees, and fixes it up,
and lingers it so deliciously down.
May all of your appetites find sate,
and smile redeem each privation's frown. 

I'm the bad

I got your year in rock right here, bay bay
I came to be the one who’ll stay
The Anti-Nice: the opposite
of what you meant when you talk sh*t
I back you up against the wall
because you’re indefensible
you lost the last best chance you had,
you can pray Good luck,
you can Ugly it up,
But

I’m the Bad.
I’m the Bad.
I’m the Bad. Get
off
My
Tip.

Conspiracy is on my side
Step to me you get swept for a ride
They’ll lock you up. Who held the key?
Don’t put yourself through hell for me
I’m so mean I mean it all
My soul is indestructible
You only did the best you could 
God he is great, Jesus is Good,
But

I’m the Bad, etc.

the sexy part

if you were a deer
I'd be an antler. 
Sexiest antler in the world

and if you were a tree,
I'd be a twig or a branch or a limb, 
sexiest twig, branch or limb 
in the world

and if you were a bird - 
I'd be a feather. 
Sexiest feather in the world 

and if you were with me, 
we'd be together. 

And I'd be a part of you 
never apart from you 
the sexiest part of you 
in the world 

and if you were a rose-bush 
I'd be a petal. 
Sexiest petal in the world 

and if you were a road, 
I'd be a pebble, 
sexiest pebble in the world. 

I don't mean on top of you, 
I'd be embedded. 
Sexiest bed in the world 

And anyone could ask me 
where this road is headed 

'Cause I'd be a part of you 
never apart from you 
the sexiest part of you 
in the world 

And if you were real life, 
I'd be pretending. 
Sexiest daydream in the world 

And if you were a song, 
I'd be the ending. 
Sexiest fade-out in the world 

And if you were gone, 
I don't know where I'd be. 
Sexiest missing in the world. 

And if you were wrong, 
I know which part I'd be. 
Sexiest excuse, justified
insanity plea or otherwise 
exculpatory factor in the world
 

call me back

I was sitting outside on the patio 
when from the distance, across 
the common depression (flood 
basis) I heard a staccato horror 
movie scream. It was human 
but barely, all jammed together
into one word: callmeback!

It sounded like the scream 
of not the victim. But 
the monster. It was 
scary not scared. 

"CALL ME BACK" 
a very different voice 
sang-song rang out,
in long alto notes. 

After a long pause. 
Farther off. Then finally 

like a whisper directly 
in my ear 

call me back! 

It was really a high, hoarse
holler but from so far away 
now,

I don't think I will

catholics think fish

Catholics think fish are vegetables. 
There's a reason for it - Jesus didn't 
come here for the fish after all, plus 
there always is - but somehow come 
Fridays in Lent, I'm always eating birds. 
Missing the find, feathered, friendly 
distinction. Birds can't be animals -

there are too many of them. "A few 
fewer wouldn't hurt," I purr,
feasting fancily fast, grinning 
like a canary with whiskers 

think look

I think of you now and then 

never less than fondly 

and you'll cast me a sudden look as if

to say hey man what's up? Can I help you?

and I'll be like wtf 

NOPE. JUST THINKIN' 

that's all

abiding rule

I admit to being stronger on parentheses
than quotation marks. I mean, I never have
much doubt on quotation marks, but it’s all

instinct at this point. This particular case
must've been some teacher or professor
who disliked the thing on arbitrary personal
principle, and

as time went on,
that opinion crept over the mental fence.
Mutated into a rule.

This is why I abhor rules,
and abolish all obedience I cannot abide
by never making habits of it or them,
since - why would I?
They don't coincidentally meet
some inner need that pleases me.

Which is what rules and obedience 
are for, correct? 

This particular case
was never a rule I respected.
One of those I’d observe in passing,
nowhere else - and then, only because

I'd already done it! By the time I remembered 

I'd decided to disobey the damn thing,
whoops. Principles
run the same gamut
or is it gauntlet: they 
never pop up during moral
dilemmas, which don't occur.
So I never have chances to seize

my ancient and brilliant array 
of principles, compiled and admired 
in starry-eyed ideal-eating youth, someone
would say one of their principles. My eyes 
would shine, and I'd beam at them "Yes, 

that sure could take the kinks out 
come hard decision time!" I could 
totally see how it could! It was a 
lie! A false confidence job on me 
by me! There I was, patient collector
and admirer, racking them up idly
and sorting them in order and reorder,
until years, decades later I looked in 
on them and saw they were dusted thickly 
with unuse. And I started and I stalled.
And I started again, wracked and riddled 
my brain, but I couldn't recall

one single instance

where even one had intervened, 
nick-of-time, as they're supposed to.
It's what they're for! 

Apparently (best I could work out at the 
time) I am too thick in the moment, 
immersed in all factors and concentrating 
way too hard for the idle thought to rise, "Hey,

maybe some shit that has nothing to do with 
this moment could be just the trick?"

I bet if I ever did do that, what I'd get 

would be some bullshit 
"grammar" or "manners" rule 

some professor had foisted off on me!
Which knowing me, I'd be just perverse
enough to deploy, but
it wouldn't exactly fix

anything

It's why I refuse to obey. 
Only observe. Or in my best 
moments 
abide. 

made manifest

What did you always used to do?
And now you don't. And it's killing you. 

Who did you always want to be? 
And now you don't. 

Anyway, you can't. It's gone up ahead,
no way to see. 

Why must we always be these ways?
Unable to hold, unable to keep
as the changes creep in between days
and weeks, and amaze us with fits 
that suffocate - 

- where all used to be wild, free air, 
sunlit waves, green hills, trees and sheep, 
folding into dreams

that awaken to futures of cities and skies 
we'd stride every day toward, 
worth all our lives

But it's not the person who used to be
going forward to meet whatever shall come.
And a good bet, whatever there is
won't bring back what you wanted it for 
in the first place, hon.  

But maybe some. 

Then again, maybe more than what
we imagined will come. 

dactylstylography

Using a finger,
trace letters on skin -
this trick has no name,
so far as I've heard.

But it's quite the most
excellent writing there's been,
even if it's more guess
than knowing the word.

dynamic response team

Seeing each other's arousal 
("oh jeez"), we spring 
as if urgent -
for need has called 
and response has become 
high duty indeed.
Reciprocal gone 
full blown mutual.

You were the first 
- that time you saw 
me distracted by you
in the midst of talk,
my chagrin arose 
full fluster and rue. 

Your eyes awoke 
from across the room 
- you actually said 
"oh jeez," dropped 
your doing and ran,
slid the last halfway 
on your knees! Perfect 
aim in poise and élan,

arrived just

in the nick of time, stopped
to save the day, to fulfill 
some trust. 

It became a joke to live up to
and for. It grew obligation 
from gift galore, and it seems
to have made emergencies 
rather more routine, and joy
a chore we absurdly enjoy,
if possible even more with ease
than before, since we know
that we live to please. 

Like firefighters,
in a station that bursts
disgracefully in conflagration 
enflamed, we hang 
in suspense on the edge 
of a bell, making chili
and talk, playing improvised
games. Fixing recipes we've been
dying to try, killing time, making life
till the call comes in - and we drop
all our doing (and one of us always
says to this day "oh jeez,") and
we leap to respond! To begin, 
springing into the act
on high alert duty routine
at a run! 
 
We don't walk. This is
serious biz! That's a fact.
No one winks. We don 
serious mien and we 
mean it! So trained
we don't even think.
We giggle and squirm
out of uniform, into proper kit
on a call like this - as around us, 
headquarters begins to smoke. 

There are flames to catch, crackle
pop and hiss. There is duty 
to serve, and a day 
to save which was never 
in doubt or fear. No joke. 
It has gone past a joke,
as practice perfects 
in play, in routine 
going every which 
random way. 

There's always that 
one firehouse 
that burns down 
each day.

cylon eye

Weeks fly by 
where days stood still
because 
of meaning's open hand
you take and fill
to overspill,
or close. 
A trick 
by your
command.