Butterfly Dance
Sometimes I just want
to sob
when everything's fancy
but me:
On the hill the root beer tan
in commercial T-ease spits seeds at the story,
popcorn concessions, the beautiful paper cut's
a ticket to the sun in silver. Lined up wonder,
glossy performers watch the grass grow
into a shady coffin from which, arms wide,
you'll spring -
new and greasy born
clumsy stumble of the daily special
bold, irregular, stupid,
secretly knowing earth from the inside out.
How To Retrieve A Dream From The Headboard Spaces
A pencil stays in the "Oh My" cupboard, sharpened,
desperate artillery with the safety switching slowly
off.
I suppose you'll keep calling, even off the hook,
you'll dial from dusk to detergent flaked dawn, right?
Grappling with fears, strife,
you are obliged to pull the trigger as you sneeze,
closing eyes, poisoned by lead. See above.
In 8 short hours my automatic life begins again
click click ding
click while I starve for moonlight and repeat
what the last definition was afraid to repeat
from the definition before it. Games that leave
marks,
naked football winking at the linebacker's glare
and to win (to win!)
requires more than lines and feet - it's lines
and postage and
getting to know the quirkycute mannerisms of
the chiropractor's secretary
because she once slept with my ride. Thumbs out.
No one stops.
No one stops.
Do I have to write that again?
:Not even you.
Thicker Affirmation
Tonight I'll find the words
we misplaced under the carseat
on our last roadtrip warbird attack
on the red alert
on fire.
There is no such thing
as silence. Dense is the webbing between
object and obstinacy,
this earth bears physique
which violently amazes (((she reaches
out with bluegreen limbs)))
strangling in some terribly wild
embrace.
I believe we found the words.
I believe we're out of gas.
I believe
in cornstarch.
Vision Electric
Monday happens with a jack-in-the-box tambour,
slides through the septic serenity, clowning the
spring around. Worse than that, it passes.
I'm trying to boast of this jovial dedication,
I'm machomagnet stabbing the white walls of
duty, watching them deflate. Rembrant
was a murderous whore, dragging the gigolo limbs
through a twice baked street of friendship and
fright. I have defined
the defiance of ritual perversion (help)
and can't pull my eyes away. Now the stranger
falls the cheer-hung squadrons,
peeling away skin with her clothing while my
teeth firmly pierce some queer exoskeletal suit -
this is the pith. The marrow stains marching
in two straight lines, dancing only under
the microscope. One-two-three-not-It.