Jesus where do I start?
I’mworried someone might be reading my emails,
Everything is fine here!
Off to belize!
Don’t try to kidnap me
an altered insinuation
face rearranges the mirror’s interpretation
mimesis quota finite later imposing
dust as the renewing seesaw of modified becoming
within noon, a theory
of whistled bodies
freed though an afterward component of composed
hour of specialized devotion: corporeal continuities the
flames introspective meaning
, long-away into a prism’s centered
Starts and Stops
to strange goodbyes
glassed round with mirrored light
a patient sallow-eyed
My father’s heart
is music sinewed
with auburn hair--
birthplace of gibbous vows
Hymns from Purgatory: no. 3
Signals sleep in the mountain’s braided web,
a rift that logics and creeds cannot cross—.
Not even the elect—whose work
is shepherding law through the incense of history--
can rise through the silent plume of the absolute,
a point where song and scab
plateau into a veneer of grief and symmetry.
Equations scatter their names--
the shocked-quartz voices of children,
their sleeves of neon velvet and trickling glass,
hands opening a dove’s balmed anthem,
hanging a bow in the sky--
over a pearl-spun Atlantic
filthed by the debris of a dream.
her smile is as yellow as my hair.
meet me [drunk] at the next AA
meeting. there’s something about her
smile that makes me want to go to the
bar & drink myself into blackness. ah,
reconnection w/ the gods in my heart –
pissed religion. “hold my fucking hand,”
she whispered softly in my ear [tongue
grazing the paved-over canals]. just
enough to sober me up. i’ve never been
more ecstatic to see Christ’s face in my
hummus. but then she spread the Holy
on her pita & swallowed [one third of
God in her stomach]. “what a mansion,”
Christ scraped onto the mucous walls of
his new home. if i were in his shoes, i’d
choose Ascension into Heaven over
Descension into Hell ten times out of ten.
the girl of my dreams posts pictures of her
overnight jail cell to instagram. it’s been
that kind of year, hasn’t it? the sunrise steals
her breath thru the bars [something i can’t do].
exhaling my anxieties, poisoning the air but
scrubbing my lungs free of nicotine. she’s
a junkie & i smoke seventeen cigarettes a day
to keep up in the death race. i can’t imagine my
life w/ out her, i think. but she sticks the needle
in the sliver of my vein & i miss getting stoned
just because. “all this romance is such a drag,”
she yells as i nod out.
At the first
on a bleak
From a thousand miles out to sea,
I suck at salt from the ocean floor;
arms uncrossed, stretched, the
popping spores, likes seeds,
puffed, are all-powerful.
The spray, I have taken from the pier
at Brighton, with all of its puzzles; the
peaty cliff faces of Hastings; the highest points
of western Scotland and the swirling
along the giants causeway.
And then I have returned home; lungs aburst,
and full of salt.
I am immune to your bad advertisements,
Thou ageing hipsters with electronic cigarettes
Breeding discontent in board rooms;
These days, everything causes cancer,
And the joy is finding which silver bullet
Is The Ruination.
Sometimes I do dumb shit,
Like picking up a young bitch
Who can't control her appetite -
I always thought that love was just a pool of dreams,
More dangerous than cigarettes or heroin.
I dribble poems in Orwellian socialism,
French scent and gold swizzle sticks which
Burn small holes in the coarse fibres
That hold my molecules together,
This thin line between old age and boredom
As I write my poem on cigarette breaks
And fill heads with talk of the old, and the new,
And the dated.
The devil’s life,
living in a corner of Ohio
where the older ladies grab
your staunch satanic bum,
was once so sweet n fun.
All day he frisked,
tumbled with his shadow,
made of tasty sun fed plum.
Until he swung upon a rope
into a lost and hungry bear. O hi! O done.
Her sainthood was earned
In alleyways and one-night stands
she searched for grace
and miracles in flesh
in the darkest corners of her mind
the space between her want
and heresy, at the edge
she gathered candles
to light her journey home
to the flame inside
where she would glow, her naked
passion from passion born