Sometimes...

I dream in cold
fogged whispers
exaggerated memories
and fears
where days are hours
or minutes
or second hands

sometimes
I dream in all black

after honest night,
after love,
dawn is a monument

A tender cup, glass
In astonished hands

Revelations of color,
Autumn breaks and offers

There is time to blaze

dispute

Jealousy.

To defer

like a decked dispute

at a passing lace

loved

We are rarely a day.

Yet for months, 

we have tasted midnights

and talked suns with our lips;

noticed our air go-

We have no dismay.

He revolts her.

He repulses her. 

He drives her.

In late autumn,
she knits him.

He enwraps her,
withers the cold-

her ornamental lover.

man named the moon
before he knew
it was bigger then himself

to be
red wood
timeless
in the midst
of all the
rushing
that occurs

to be without
the weight
of movement

i forget
the names of pretty girls
with limp handshakes
and moist lips
at parties
or as they decorate barrooms
two and a half
seconds
after they say them
with big eyes

but the names
of the dead
and dissolving
the drowning
or the dying
haunt my head
float about
and echo
as granite carved letters
or embers

sterile
she becomes
in moonlight
as sea foam ghosts
with fixed pupils

female lines and
broke in jeans
lay, landscape, silhouette
on a blanket

dawn is anticipation

friday

today i am a mechanism
tomorro i will be an attempt

diamond eyes
living dreams

he infected
the room
with a mythology
of his own seeds

hollow again
setting with the shoe shine moon
i'm a cup
gettin filled and drained rapidly
and sporadically
and jack and neal
always chantin
that fuckin mantra
go and go and go
and being jazz
and its so hard to be jazz
cuz the world aint
for hours at a time
and what do we do then
even my old moon goes down
and movement
is only relative

it use to be
when i stopped
i was fighting inertia
the trains pullin away on both sides
of the platform
but now friction is a despot
and i'm always pumpin
hard and consciously
to keep from halting

you ate Valium by the handful

Why is it
When I’m struck with melancholy
You’re always in the fold

You must have made
A mighty wrinkle
In my brain
Or perhaps on their way
Thoughts must pass
Too close to the neuron
You linger on in

I can’t help but think
Of when you told me you were Zen Christian
Same day and same diner
You called my Atheism brave
I’ll never know why

And there were those nights
Nights you ate Valium by the handful
And tried to turn my husband into a cuckold

Isn’t it droll?
To know what I know
But my brain only wants thoughts of you
Do not get to bold though

I said
I thought of you often
I did not say
I thought of you fondly

Unabashed black.
Holes in our bones and
Fuck the antidote.

How do we live
with our attraction to infatuation?

True Beauty

it's truly beautiful
to see a human mind
take form
all by itself

my son
only three
has discovered the art
of deception

no one taught him this
and when I asked him
to clean up
he quietly pushed it under a table

I found it
amazing
he thought it was
an original thought

but there is no difference
between father and son
or you
or anyone

and I find it truly beautiful
the most natural thing
for us all
is to lie

we're riding down
three a.m. highways
staring up at
black starry skies
through static
back windshield
and I wonder
through fog
and blurred roadside
if I'll look back
on these days
with a reverent smile
or with a fear
a consuming fire
or desire
to go back
and fix things
long broken

I hope that if
I look back
I laugh
at mistakes made
and realize
that mistakes are
the only way
to get things right