book
you fish
walking to school
that cold tree in winter
born to learn outside
on a windy night
revealing
the sand colored pyramid
to be is a self portrait
built of reptilian modesty
it is Christmas
without Christ
again
the wild December substitute
breathless puppet reading a black dog
sitting on his shadow
the fence jumps for joy
as the tender moment's apprentice
snows over the brickwork
her heart is featured
in the future rose
that sentinel
at the edge
of perception
the perfect mask easily covers my hands
those withered digits on the floor of numbered days
that pick me up as I head
for the door
once they were the size of silver dollars
made for making change
they were gloved with veils
like those over my eyes
and a hairstyle that spoke softly
of an unborn elegance
bones were blooming in a mirrored stare
here and there
I saw a lake beneath the mirror’s surface
and a window
hung up in a net of blue veins
I opened that sigh that bridge by the water
for the words
daybreak
nightfall
and the refund in scarlet fairytales
in dreams I could fly
by day I forced the sugar past my lips
with a happy sign held high
above my head
the night’s little arc made huge
by dawn even with the one way sign
on the one street
where the messenger
number 2
or ten thousand said
there was no one who wasn’t nobody
as if somebody could be
I argued with pain in the empty park
sleeping under yesterday’s news
but nothing gorgeous was hunting me it was winter
it was always winter one way or another
dazzle me said the oldest eyes imaginable
I dare you
unleaven another empty century of its solitude
what won’t you do?
what haven’t you done
with the doll and the gun?
under the face shell in the afterglow?
I am only here to witness
this business
of staying alive
that isn't really much of a life
days run together
weekly into months
just waiting until the tide floats me out
the door
nothing on the agenda
other than to turn back the clock
an hour
20 years would be better
I’ve been up all night
sat out on the porch
wondering
what it all looked like a thousand years
ago
our cosmic equilibrium
a cold flamingo shivering in our hearts
sleeps through the afternoon in mild
Pleasantville
the fantastic black bus
on a crash course
moves like a mime through shallow water
with a nosebleed
making a quiet departure in the toxic
sunrise gushing galaxies
with the elegance of a forest being buried
in volcanic ash
the matter is lost in the last light
a solar submarine circles the final island
the rapture in focus
myths plugged in
for our daily dose
of inspiration
we began with a tropical magician
and the earth’s moon caught
with its trousers down
while a homeless monster hunting
with a black cat laughs to himself
thinking: we play with the devil’s marbles
in the floating dunes…
Once I was almost
afraid to look into your eyes
your sageless pages
your habits and the age
that brought you here
so wrinkled gray
so utterly missing
the apple orchard's farewell
the grain of stone
now liquid calm
yawing in a fallen morning
more storms with cake
look small in the arbitrary
flowers
flattering darling days in monochrome
moonlight footprints the smallest world
in the world
on the way to town
the frightened window
favors the poet
a clock in a box
without boots
I am almost afraid to start talking
in twilight
slowly rising
I can't see movement or rain
or the night's roots long cold walk
into the light
where is my native land?
my hummingbird nest?
my black and white chessboard
the game's delight?
slave to the dance
to Sundays
and the abandoned lighthouse
by the sunken garden of the sea
once upon a time
once my once
and only
remember
you can feel free anytime
but you aren't…
turning this afternoon into a drawing
of liberty…
word painting to escape
the phone:
hot tulips
reflected helter skelter
upside down in the eye
a vilified jungle
in the spectacular mirror…
think hope…
invoke the soulless
unrequited river
of heavy metals…
add fog and sea kelp
to the fortunetellers fortune…
add the end of a beautiful day
to the pillar of salt
that never sleeps…
and the fissure in the erotic cottage
that is dressed to kill…
easy over the edge contagious loneliness
falls in widening rings:
immemorial swimmer…
you can feel free
but you aren't
old lament...
storytellers
with wide eyes
touching dawn that never sleeps...
parade day of happy pigs in washed out
noonday colors...
the bubbles and waves of the muses
with their pastel baskets
paint an abstract imperfect portrait of the
clearly born viaduct threading the hours' needle
that stitches together the dry land's gray pain
full of thirsty dogs...
with happy talk and burning desires
our nude grace turns red again...
stones overshadow monotony
and under facial hair
a son is on fire in the father...
black frost is already yeasty in the fetus
hanging on...
everybody is shining
in the sea...
white lies at town hall
mutter misty eyed promises...
sexy pumpkins in the rose garden
save face...
it is the gambler's lazy day
with the television's blindfold
calling silver arrows home to nest with the last straw...
handsome candles rise out of fire...
wise old wine is on its way...
*
Through the masks the window
in the coincidences
closes its eyes…
blue mountains in ruins
and silenced beaches remembering
the burning trees
and the oceans' sand art
in surrender…
the armored flesh on the brink
taking a little break
with a quotidian smile
painted on a meadow…
after crying over
comes a chilling offering without
understanding the lessons
we never learned:
the movements in monuments
between 2 minds…
the winter seduction
the lamp in the cold wind…
behind the wall:
the sunny wisdom
that stone house
of avatars
and the spirit in the fields
under the wonder dust
with the dark red sleep escape
where the ugly untitled carcass
blushes green…
admiring insomniac…
someone the object
of industrial nectar
rotted under the texture
of weather…
the Absolute playing
solitaire
washes eyes and ears
in a sea foam castle
of the coming rain
running on peacock feet…
stars snow…
charcoal masquerades
as a shortcut…
the blown jazz
from far away
bounces off his shoulders
(those unwelcome mats
before the door of
night)
that sleep all day…
*
now I think I will bite the blue ice in the toy box
with an ocean of maturation
cat whiskers in chains
a bridge from the harvest to my face
that storm tossed ghost ship
the solo cobbled together
with tales of longing and few clouds in passing
wish wish wish softly sister
the mad world is a light dancer
colors fall into the red lake
urban homesteaders fly by in a fog
shaken lovers stir the city
with a loaf of bread in full bloom
baked with dynamite
what time is nighttime tonight?
tango with the black widow
or the ventriloquist in the mirror
it is sunset's day off
it is the beginning of everything
the gleam of chrome in the light
against the dark background of the industry
that produced it…
but let that go…
the sea is in the air…
everyday of my childhood pulls on my boots…
I can see in the dark now:
even into the shadows at the edges
of memory:
the mimosa that didn't fit into the neighborhood…
the huge moon that lured me to the ever receding
horizon…
the solar eclipse glimpsed through a pin hole
in a paper plate…
the most beautiful woman I ever imagined
came true…
I know
a musician in
to dance for their lives
and a woman I love paints her solitude
in a room without windows
ferns five million years old are still
trying to tell us about a star
that is written in stone…
I put on a hat and become invisible…
the net of my longing opens its mouth
and I am free…
with nothing to nowhere…
thingless in wonderment…
anywhere on the way
to anywhere…
the phone rings softly in my sleep
a mosquito is living off my blood
my hat hangs on a horse's skull on the wall
spiders jump out of sight into the shadows of corners
my dreams are smears in the aftermath of dreaming
remembering what is left as I eat an apple
is unresolved
the path round the tether pole
to be abandoned
the mistakes made that were written
in sand
the winning ticket
the loophole
ahead
how not to rejoice
in distant thunder and flashes
of lightning
or those towering clouds
in skies of purest blue?
awake again
you will perish for your illusions
I say to a bee trying to fly
through glass
old machine cold
nose in the shaggy garden
who never believed
in the human sky
moonlashed
insatiable planetarium
of debris
where memory accumulates
its fury
that blazed in time
with its maps smoking
its ashes
it is the hour
of shattered islands
inside a jar of geography
and the kiss sank
on the path
and the fruit
was full of thirst
because battles
imprisoned in the mouthes
obscured men and women
with the things they become
old machine
passed from one day to another
through the blue nights
twisted arms
luminous mane
from birth
that stone
sheparded from the depths
of dull labors
corn and blood
in the treacherous seedlings
gasping for air in the anxious clay
and the magnetized iron
knives chained together
for the whirling sunset
linked to each furrow
made by the uncountable breaths
old machine
its posture sleeping
like flint in a fire
plunging
its claws into its fur
