More than the usual pissed off
the inauguration of birds
waving poetry’s flag:
Mick Jagger’s sweatpants
The full-on
tit-craziest
ass-grabber
ever
where is our grumpy
keeper of the peace?
this has started filthy
Nothing corners the eye like orange
they walked the location
whereupon all force resides
and stopped
give this some air, he said
I myself am almost being played
hear the music rough as bark
he now looking cross
the silence distressing
as one block of memories
in question stood
enough of them
darkening his eyes
the subject of his body
he’s a person that knows better than love
but can’t stop himself all the same.
she was a church in the sky
dropping birdshit on people below.
in Britain, things were done differently:
more slowly and with less passion.
okay, something hit me somewhere.
is it that
I can see myself a portion of malice
or at least the meander of their doing?
our hero arrives in take charge mode,
but who can ultimately confirm or deny the world.
we are left with its giant question.
hero cowers. It’s okay big guy.
the order imposed by conflict
the metallic tasting air
boot heels furrowing the ground
we are flying their flag in risk for glory
from simple death there is no escape
from a complicated one
you can always run
I push at my insides
I feel a bit more cushion than stone
that is the conflict’s center
a structure of inspiration and concern
has escaped in the moonlight
and you got thinking life might
be alright for a minute
don’t pretend
it’s beneath your notice
it’s not
(just for the moment
I’m saying)
you rush to gather
loyal and murderous
and ask on Wednesday
is poetry young or old
the corners are sharp in the light
kishmet is hell, what I say
like a collision
talking bird and window here
you don’t mean that, thud
the shame is deeper, thud
I, thud
you, thud thud
Oh God, crack
like the heaven
we can’t figure
or the subject
we inherit
taken on clumsy authority
the liberty for new mistakes
shot or hell shot
instant nature
not to be one
or to be one
we can’t figure
the wall waits
a sign of grace for the head
mixed character and whole jealousy
remembered nonsense forgotten wisdom
and certain interests
whose personal nature makes them
unsuitable objects of
impersonal concern
the thought to leave her
far away behind
rolling contemplation
between your fingers
slowly
how do these things get decided
is this a break or a bend
when do I know
trying too hard
is between her
it’s my rid
Better than nothing. More fitting than otherwise.
A thought that starts that way never ends well.
With pleasure a footnote, and so without striving.
Please note the cares I’m full of
The acts of correction on my body
The thoughts I guard
Their often differing ambitions
The heavy use of question
with never not today
I can’t say no
for forcing bad moons
the stars yelling at your ear
give your name to flight
and little ambition
nonsense forgotten
says plump matron
while she like the water
bends light in her medium
and on the why
I crack my head
bodies are real?
stop leaving me.
becoming what?
the final claw
with you I grieve
the lesson, a bite
forever
