early the scarlet morning
the sky floods
blood ruddy
we must remember
the heart is simple
the limousine full
it is ancient
it is awful
image: turning baskets over
Check out other work in the 17/18 Poems series here.
willow said to be weeping
joy said to be mocking
hope said to be thin
and the cargo was not slaves
this is the verbal energy
that surrounds the contemplation
of difficult (I mean ravenous) things
a bit daring I do say,
unlovely hand,
you are the subject given over
just like the dead
and in such quantities,
such well-meaning forevers
Check out other work in the 17/18 Poems series here.
by this kind
he means cancer
the prospect he attaches to firmly
narrative abusing time…again
he is the tom of love now
all windows
in the mood to be forgotten
while others discuss
bribes and blandishments
instead of the love
they are too afraid to want
let the heaven we inherit approach
out of the deep business of some dream,
that heaven so stubbornly former
no, Mrs. Khokhlakov, no
what can one say
of how to live a life
other than
to just survive it
burnt shame
darkening memory
can God even caution you now?
I hope, but hope only
waiting to be told
that Icarus melts the stars
from where the animating myth
such a thing including
the farmer/cow rehearsal
always like we call them
we first and death as dead
I was young once
mind big like a city
human above the body
two ass-clenching years of it
like a bird too chirpy
practicing my no-one in a bar routine
you don’t know how shitty perfect feels
and if not why not
talk to me
I’ve given
a wonderful way
a wordful song
a foolhardy love
sometimes you need
off and unlike
various and blinding
I’m not saying stupid, stupid
there falling wasted
when I think closed down
with such a thing including
if by yes
of course I’m telling
what?/but cool
a sign of grace
these woods, these old people
the spring of morning
the bones I still remember
a break like a bend
more or less alive
many rains,
desires, and ideas
dude raw too afraid
the whole jealousy
a suitcase of a man
or a tarball ruining
someone’s beach
the freckled little milk
the mall of dead commerce
the sad clock of particular energy
it’s mixed character
tick, tock, tick
before and astonished, poems.
beneath the honest
and worse the sincere
by hook or by crook?
-crook.
down, as in, to the bottom
then a lateral move
at slow velocity.
And said twice
it seemed
the truth was being told.
minimal, slow, and well put
his mode, total attention
a clever view of necessity
and well worth the fight
here is limbo
you didn’t expect that
yet the world opens
the very kind of north
we are talking about.
a place of faith
deadly serious, solemn
the silence
like a prism for words
and their separation
shakes and groans. shivers
the sky was two
was too watery
what a week
how feels a fellow?
the patient, the fellow
lives to fail
must operate soon
No spare of the headier side
my soul but a devil
the sheath of personal nature
sweating in the shed
prone to need
a list of battles
the body, the great landlord
it’s complaints, coercion,
never-ending
of that much.
both be foolish.
spaders.
smile bones I.
get lost.
are now.
into the work.
a true report
as in the rock
the mind on words
the rush to gather
many great songs
the real suchness
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.
beautiful drunk eyes
through which they fall
memory’s sunburn
all over my face
a dangerous inlet
a poem perched on arrival
the elegy blowing through
her sad
it seemed
to the dying
I’m saying.
money,
can we say,
is the most
that matters.
so I have heard
and do in part believe
a wall is a door
you can’t open
am I the one? honestly?
is it Japan where you are?
the distance loving subdivision
compellingly unlikable
(influence felt here)
if you break a name
the cause it gives
the action I mean
is/I have no idea
but think of it this way
because coming north is impossible
what could be ________
and why such hot blood
other than they hate you
and hate you in every color
of that much.
both be foolish.
spaders.
smile bones I.
get lost.
are now.
into the work.
a true report
as in the rock
the mind on words
the rush to gather
many great songs
the real suchness
the dislocations of summer
head behind the stars
thinking right now
something ought to
fall out of the sky.
if we feel a who
where a what should be
or a when that reveals itself
to be a why, then
let time fall back on itself
think it’s own tomorrow
swim like an ocean
an Athens of thought
some trick of harlotry
both signal and noise
sonnets bonnets
and backwards again
young once young always
and life a sort of monster
using weapon love
to hollow your bones
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
