The dog fell down

The dog fell down upon its breast.
Her hind legs did a sprightly jig.
She's only seventeen at best;
I fear she'll never grow as big
as personality of hers once loomed.
You will forgive, I hope, the term
of -ality and personhood,
Please be assured: hers
is well-earned.

zipper slid

The zipper slid down of its own accord,
or gravity's, I guess
but - either way
that's a finely-tuned
machine! And I'm glad that it's on,
and that it's scored with best steel
finely-scaled rows of teeth. Because
I heard the zoom-rattling down

and I said:

This zipper holds its worth
in the easy and gliding descent

I've found

Into and out of

With mincing steps, sometimes
I storm the doors
blood-deep in gin and whores
and stride with purpose orderly
inside, where I stand fast,
hold forth
and ride it out
until I'm spent. So topical!
So eloquent, so passionate
I pour it out. Then I
bow imperceptibly,
to all the room
which I might well have
not just done. It was
quite imperceptible! But
thoughts that count
are carried through
in some amount.
And then I turn, as if
with some decision, and
I storm the doors again
- the other way, this time.
It's pull! Don't push,
remember, on such finest shades
of gesture hang
impressions made
just now and when. I storm
the doors, and I go out.
My steps are mild,
mincing then.

envy seed

There's only one girl I know
of all my crushes
more beautiful than you, and she's
just luscious
But dumb as a post. Now
ain't that just
the way it always is?
I confess, I made
that one part up.

Brave face

brave face
sad spirit
heart fearful
body proud
mind vexed
by all suggestion
any of it's not allowed

Stance defiant
Viewset skewed
by all the weight
of eyes combined

Hey, fuck you man
mind yourself
I'm only always
doing fine.

rear-view driver

You want to climb into the rear-view mirror.
The road seems clear, the view more fine
back there. All the boring ugly lies
forgotten in the press

To keep and memorize the truth
and beauty to compare. Besides,
you got through all of that. And so
in hindsight - can't have been
that bad. You just

wish sometimes you
could drive that way.
Your eyes

keep on distracting you
with what's ahead. With what
looks sad,

Or likely to get lost
or stall. Or dangerous
and screaming huge, now
bearing down upon it all
as you confuse the thing to do
with who to be - while obstacle
and opportunity converge,
merging to one lane, too soon
for you to thread yourself
into
by any taken pains,

or swerve.

Can't we climb up in and back
to that bright shine and slightly
cock-eyed frame? Wait, just

a tick

split-sec

It's crooked, isn't it?
Adjust, just so. Fond look,
look back. Ignore
The crash

there

there.
Remain

spike the ball

I dunno I always suspect
knowing what's wrong with me
would be useless information.
It would still be wrong with me.
Hardly impressive or helpful. I mean,
if I find out what's wrong with me,
it doesn't make it "not my fault."
It's still my fault! It is a fault,
and it is in me, therefore mine. Anybody

saying otherwise will be rebuked
for their disgusting presumption,
and their weak-minded daring - trying
to divest me of any part of my own!

Yet I remain vigilantly curious, despite
the likely unsuccess and uselessness. I mean
rationally speaking. Why should there be
anything wrong? Let alone with me. The whole
situation seems arranged to prevent it, or
punish it at least. So I'm curious.

It's no reason not to know.
There is never a reason not to know.
Any info that comes out, count me in
on the know! I'm keen as spiked brass balls
in some murderous beach volleyball pick-up
game. I range the sand in wary response,
unconcerned in victory, indifferent
to points scored for or against
- there for one person and one
reason: to expose the flaws
in my strategy,
and if necessary,
execution.

Sociological approach

Science I think has an inkling in general.
Some inkling. Same thing wrong
with everyone I suspect. Fucking
uniqueness. Humanity's curse
as usual. I mean - of course
yours is different! Everyone's is,
I don't mean yours isn't. Still. Some
seem to notice it more than others, though,
and that seems to be their problem. Those
are the ones who have a much harder
or else easier time of it, excluding
the ones who don't notice it
more than others. Those have by far
the much easier or harder time, too.

What's the use of generalizing, though? Can't
compare apples and individuals. What we need

is statistics. Or at least odds. One
in seven point eight billion and climbing
seems about right. Fair odds, 'cause
we've all got a one-sized stake
in the claim, some skin in the game
- and as Marshall Mathers or rather Rabbit
observed, only one shot.

With odds like that
I always guess what's wrong
with us (or right) can't go
any distance at all
to evening them.

infallible is where you find it

Yeah, I intuited you were kidding
on the murder part.
I always intuit that.
I've an incredibly sharp
judgment of character when it comes
to finding people are kidding
about murder,
most likely.
It's been flawless so far.
100% consistency of finding.
I like to kid
about horrifics myself
as you know. One time
I ate my own eyes. I used
a grapefruit spoon.
But I didn't! I was only kidding,

which anyone could see.

Hunger House

Why is there no restaurant
called Hunger House? I bet
that they'd be always full
of people drawn in from without
who'd suddenly feel hunger pangs
or just the fear of feeling them
reminded by that name most cool.

"We're not Food House" the name
reminds. The people come
for just one cause:

Hunger.

Hunger sucks them in.
Impatiently, they wait, then sit.
Consult their menus, and

are lost.
For all that's on there
is themselves.

For Hunger House
has eaten them. Perhaps
that's why there's no such
name

for any restaurant I ken.
I could perhaps try search engine, but

I don't think I want to, though.
Some things it's best to know
you want to know
before you know,
you know?

Made to blame

If you make me to blame,
I won't
find fault
'til there's nowhere to go
Just here
to fall.

If you pick me back up,
don't mind
the cracks.
'Cause if anything breaks,
I'll bring
it back.

Next time you die

I'm sorry I didn't return your calls
I'm sorry I didn't tell you why
There really was a very good cause
I'll tell you next time you die

Next time you die, look me up
I'll be your date to the funeral
Next time you die, so happy we'll be
or one of us will. The event
will not be dull

Poem-making advice.

Use as much nudity as you have to.
In the poem, it's art. It gets a pass
- the raunchier, the better arguably.
Why pass up such chances?

During the writing process, hey
Nobody's business. Nobody needs
to know, but combine them both

- that poem will be so hot, people

will be like "I do not believe
the poet composed this

nude." It will seem too much
like some lurid and gaudy
dream of pensive flesh

quivering for words

Protest all you like
"Yes I was!" But some critic
will always insist: "no,

this was the work of
a clothed poet. Observe
the lines"

Fair enough. Maybe
you were

maybe you weren't.

Just so it gets in
the poem, that's

the main thing.
And as with nudity, so too
for anything else you put in.

Rain poem? Write wet.
Wind poem? Write tousled.
Sun poem? Write burnt.
Love poem? Write yearning,
or aching, or so fulfilled

you should stop. Writing
a poem, I mean. Bigger game
is afoot.

However you did what you did,
nobody needs to know
if you didn't.

A note to future reader.

Are you - wait, are you reading
this now? Go away! Come back
later, it's not ready.

This

is a note to future reader.
It will never be ready
if you show up now.

Sheesh

People can't even
read, it's a wonder why
we write

things

belong for you

As long as this world has turned,
I've hung on. Seen some beautiful
blurs as I've dragged on past,
always hoping to see my way to home
always hoping to find some place
to last. Some fit to catch

and clasp.
Well I've more or less given up
on fitting in. Getting by's
been enough, and circling by,
as the people cling tight
to some place they've
been
only wanting to stay,
as they wave goodbye. I think
perhaps none of us fit quite here.

And I know I don't,
but somehow you do.

The world found its focus in eyes
so clear, they could only
be yours. And I knew
I'd found mine
for a mile or two.
But it's widening miles
for circles around the earth
since we've danced and walked
and shone. With a roof of skies,
cliffs and trees for walls,
I've finally found
my piece of home.

So long
as you're here,

I've decided I will
belong.

these rivalries

The sad you see
and the far I see
do not get along
convivially.
Like the Pharisee
and the Sadducee,
forever bickering
biblically.
The one thinks the this
and the other the that,
and where shall the twain
ever come to meet? Well I
can see far up ahead. It
looks sad
without you there.
Want to come and see?

Please perfect

Please cure me
where I need to be cured.
Strengthen me
where I lift and drive.
Light me where
I need ways and views,
especially inside. Guide
me where I need attitude,
or anything you could see
to improve. Perfect me to fit
this perfect mess
which I was born into,
and order some corner of it
in a gift I have shaped and made
in giving me back to you.

Naturally I

St. Peter met me at the door
and he was jangling all these keys.
He asked me pointed questions
for an awful spell, even
made me go down on knees.
All the while, he seemed
unconcerned.
And he made me recite some
cryptic bits.
Then he said, "Get on up!
Come on in, good boy!"
I just barked, and took a shit.
I could sense it would be
the last time
So naturally I
felt allowed.
Saint Peter just beamed
as if he'd seen
a few stranger things
from this crowd.

"house of clocks"

We pass the time adjusting hands
in circuits none too circumscribed
symbolically attuned by touch
in nicks of time, as we pass by
we've memorized the fast and slow
and understand relationally
just what we need to do to fix
the face in front of us, by glance
at its three nearest neighbors, and
triangulating on towards tea.

projectiles

Projectiles project.
It's what they do.
And when their trajectory
intersects you, they may penetrate,
deeply embed, hooked and held.
Or just bounce off! In which case
it's probably just as well.

style tips on foul

Don't be foul, my love. Be
raunchy as hell, but
be not foul. If you must

be nasty - be nasty
as you please, dear
but foul? That's a step
too foul for your style, trust
me

On your style,
I have become expert
and sensitive to nuance

where your style is concerned,
if nowhere else. Hell

what other style do I need
besides yours?
And mine.

fix yourself

You greet every day with a fresh start, fix
your messed up hair, your face
fix yourself some bite
to eat (of course
it's to eat)
(would you fix yourself
bites to spit out? You
would not) and a thing
of juice, or something hot
or cold and fizzy, and then

you get out of bed
you're a miracle before
you even begin

and then
you do it all again,
for real this time. Some times
fresh from sleep, you have
to lay things out in your
mind. Before it's for real
you decide what you'll find
because it's for keeps.

Two nails

Two nails
sticking up from a pile of slats
under the deck
I had to cross
searching the hidden key
stabbed straight
through the rubber sole
of one Chuck, and I grieved
the loss

But in a flash,
the shoe came off

There was barely a kiss
of blood on my foot. And the holes
were invisibly closed
I suppose
the rubber has suffered
no ill for it.

So it's good

"break in the rain"

You and me found a break in the rain
and we bolted through like a couple of dogs.
We were crashing the surf and sniffing the spray
with the sun baking rainbows out of the fog,
and blowing away. The clouds parted towering
where we went through and the storm bowed out
making waves for you, as you came to me.
And we found what we came to see.

normal eggs

I got normal eggs
at the store, sorry.
I know you said get
the free shit, but I got caught
by suspicious looks trying to
pull a sneak, so
these are more expensive
but they said just as good
for the recipe.

projected inquest

A bit of a bloody denouement
has transpired to cap
our wildest dreams.
- So you play accomplice
- I'll be the corpse
And let us conspire
to taint the scene.
By the time our accomplices arrive
to detect all this wrack and ruin of ours
- unwitting at best, every detail pristine,
they're sure to give verdict:
a natural cause.

Please move in

Please move in with me I'm
in a crucial phase in my life
right now where I need
an in-house distraction
to throw all my focus on
that interaction, and off
of self. I can't go on otherwise
any longer without actually knuckling down
to get my shit together. Please

I'm desperate

Give me a reason
to procrastinate

on evening out and taking stock
on hard looks and decisions just
waiting to run amok, I know it
- a reprieve of weeks, months
or years would be great. As long
as you can take it, I will

overcompensate. And I promise
if you do, I will try not

to blow it.
Or break it
Or even break
through, no matter
the time and attention
it takes.

full coverage

Are we still on for never?
Because, you know. Never's just
forever with a negative twist. And
the twist is this: whichever you're
not into, if you change your mind,
I can change my wish.

gratitude solitude grows

The lonely with nothing to do
sit in houses, cursing and mourning
decisions they'd made, or circumstances
unfortunate, results of which
have played out as displayed.

Now and then one of them looks
around, and spots the house
that holds them in. "At least
I have this house," they think.
A spoonful of sugar
for bad medicine.

for want, of poetry

Poetry is "art," for want
of a better word
- and wanting it,
seeks. Seeks stones
to leave unturned
but turning in mind,
seeks leaves unspread
to the sun, as yet but buds
- seeks things undone
to leave them untouched
and well done
to a turn. Poetry still
has a lot to learn.

by garden gate, a visitor

Don't even

Those prayer flags are fucking disgusting
floating and fluttering prettily in the breeze
in bright blues, whites, reds, greens and golds
- you aren't Buddhist! You certainly ain't
Tibetan, you son of a bitch! - get that saffron
robe off! Quit

sitting all legs woven serene
in your raked garden of ordered
pebbles and plantings and curves,
and lines - really nice job by the way

But totally inappropriate! Get
on your feet, you disgusting fuck! You

oh shit

I'm sorry, I thought you were somebody else
- Is this one one five? Oh crap - I am SO
SORRY, I was visiting my buddy, he just
moved in - your neighbor. He looks

almost exactly like you! Except
you know

a little less Tibetan

Yard security log

On the 27th, all four squirrels were active

A female cardinal was attacked by a crow. This
is unusual and contrary to procedure.

Attempts to interview participants were unsuccessful

(one fled,

the other resolutely stood by its original story CAW)

A falcon was glimpsed on high. No piercing shriek
by the falcon. That was me. My attempt to engage
the falcon in this way failed of success.

The same three sandhill cranes (see many
prior entries) were glimpsed

in their habitual occupation - beak-stabbing
for unspecified grub (possibly grubs?)
down in the common depression. This time,
not coming up the rise to the yard. Therefore
not properly part of our concern (the hawk, note,
flew directly over the yard, or clearly had done
so). As always, striking dramatically extravagant
poses - possibly unintentional, owing to a long,
graceful proportion in lines of beak and body,

I ignored them. Come to the yard if you want!
I will track and watch you closely, then. Otherwise,
your doings are your own. Peace be unto you, tall
cool birds.

A cat, though
came through, pretending ownership of the area
- typical of felines. This is probably a sort
of self-deceit essential to them in the wild,
where area ownership is in any case a nebulous
concept, open to contention every moment. Still,
this cat exemplified the trait. A detectably haughty
grace of carriage and motion was noted. Nothing
actually hunted, but many hunt-like poses struck:
freeze in place mid-stride. Hunker down
with tell-tale twitch at very end of tail
held out mostly motionless behind, all poses
aborted without pounce. I realized
how the cat flowed then paused then flowed
from one pose to the next - an epiphany?

I paid particular attention to the cat,
since I hadn't seen it or her or him
before (mustn't investigate) (gender
is irrelevant to my purpose with a
feline), so naturally I was curious.
Not in a way to kill the cat! My curiosity
is searchingly benign. I seek to observe
nature only, or occasionally provoke it

with poor-quality imitations of its calls. As
a test. Yet

this cat

outdid even the usual temerity of its species!
It had the special temerity to perch and pose
at one point
directly atop the yard security log!
Which,

true to its main purpose,
did nothing. The log

is primarily a deterrent.

It is possible
we need a bigger log

the beautiful result

Remember the beautiful result,
when you knew somehow every step
every move felt ordained.
Every detail shines. Insanity

could be defined

as trying that very same way, just as if
by ritual - under different constraints
and conditions come in - to achieve
(or to try) once again

to get
the best
of all the results
there have ever been. To once again get

you. Or some other result
so beautiful
and/or true.

Proving vain
in at least one sense,
and possibly two.

balancing unused ways

Sometimes we move in unused ways
- both hands full, stood on one leg
reaching with the other, trying
at the hooked door handle
with the hand less-full, pulling open
to snag with free foot, and

- something happens, in balance.
Slight-to-medium shift, as support goes
near out of line, and the whole world
seems to stand on some brink! We pull

ourselves in, by the door
with one foot and pivot
in our accustomed way

inside. Back on firmer ground,
feeling sterner stuff - for the high,
for the risk unanticipated and won
through. Then we ponder,

how much of our comfort
and competence, our excellence
and grace as bipeds stems

from just doing things
not in an unused way,
but in ways that are used?

And then you may muse,
perhaps the same applies
to balanced thinking. And why

am I wondering this? Come, pull
yourself in
by the door,
with your foot
drawing safely back through
in a win.

sometimes you just have to be the bigger man

You have decided to act

Without my permission, and
Against my comfort. I do not
Approve of you doing this

yet you do. Well which of us
is to rule in what you do? I'm not finished
please! Which of us
is to have say in your doings? You?

Why should it be you and not me?
We are both equal beings, here. I think
you have lost some grip of logic
which is mine, and perhaps need to look inside
me, to restore your sense

of my reason. Otherwise, why
would you do what I do not? Or approve
what I disapprove? Or say what you think,
when you could easily say what I think?

Do not be coy.

You know what I think. I see you often
mouthing the words as I say them, only
you make a funny face, all gog eyes
and grimace pulls as you act me out. Clearly,

you know what I think

and yet you do this. Now, please

justify if you can

yourself. It is okay
speak your turn.

I allow it.

rhyme schemer

A rhyme scheme is
a confidence job
on the public's wits.
They think it tricks
them pleasantly
to steal the ending sounds of words
and swap them round a bit
- while making not a dent
in sense. It builds to something
they expect, what's coming next?
A sweet suspense to drift within.
So both must flow - the scheme
in time, the sense in line,
whatever metaphors you choose
- just so long as they've brought
rhyme, it is no sin.
For if you throw
a curve

that they don't catch, or if
you miss a step upon the stairs
we all fall down, and off
the rails, and over
the side,

there is a splash!
That boat

is never coming back.
A risky ride

without a match.

"finger guns"

Her finger guns go off all bold
in wild shots through bullseye holes
that weren't there a trigger-pull ago

She meant to attach asterisks
perhaps to emphasize the risks
or say "there may be more to this"

What that is, we shan't know.
Because one bullseye's right on-sleeve
Where heart is kept, and shot through
accidentally

She'd have us all believe.

An army of swallows

The army of swallows took the sky
wherever they wanted, and dined outnumbered
on flitting mosquitoes who died in fleets
The army that flies on its stomach
is neat.

wishful arguing

I am trying to describe
a certain anger. It flashes
into ire from jaw-jut dare
and flares and congeals
to tenacity, obstinate
and confrontational
where we disagree. Incredulous
and equally vehement against
the first hint
of doubt another has
that what they say
is true
is true,
and any credulity
the other lets slip
in whatever established truth

the angry one

has a problem with.
It's a problem with sheep
and authority, and confusing
their place in all of this.
They suspect they're the hero,
here, but
let's just agree
to disagree

we wish

The lovely Rachel

No one knows her name, and I don't
but she's not the one from work,
or the one from Friends
I'm just gonna call her Rachel
in case we meet, and it's the luckiest
guess. I could even pretend
that I didn't know! "Oh, 'Rachel'
you say? 'Rachel' is your name? That's
so funny. I once
didn't know this girl
at all, who I thought
would show up at some point,
and now you did. A coincidence?
Or am I a dunce?" She will look
with a smirk, or a wry implied grin
like da Vinci could have coded into
painted skin, or a frown, or a pout
or who knows what else. And she'll say
"How the hell do I know? Ask the elf."

Then I'd look around wildly for elves
and find none. I would look back to her,
and like a faerie realm ninja she'd be
checking her phone, as if unconcerned.
That's the littlest "as if" I have ever
not
quite
yet
earned.