Sunday, July 23, 2006

Rather


I would rather lie
at my ease til noon
after drinking down the night,

wait,
sift all the weighty meaning long after
its downward drift
to the sea-floor,

press my face
into soft comfort
some afternoon,

push until all I would rather
is itself
a dream

Saturday, July 22, 2006

Just a brief note, here:

when one only enters poems, there's a fair record of a certain state of mind, but it is important to consider that it is of a particular genre. This is obviously unposihed, confessional and sometimes illustrative poetry. It is, for the most part, highly subjective and posted here mainly for tradition's sake.

As for the daily life of the poet,I would say that this is more of a reflection of his inner, poetical life... and that at a remove, confined to the genre.

That said, it's a sad bit of poetry for a war-torn world full of innocents. Perhaps it's a record of my own journey toward letting all of this go, learning forgiveness and perhaps a bit of all the things that are afire around me.

Or maybe it's whining. Whining, as eloquent as I can make it.
Later

It happens quite without
our knowing:
the moment,
sliding away,

its clues:
a painful morning, for

example, and something said
beyond recall

that changed everything.

Stories about strokes

of fortune train us
to feel

happy endings coming.

A complete surprise, then,

after

it works out, when
nobody is happy

and nobody
remembers

exactly

which of these
moments turned

the tide,
went too far


and cannot,
must never,

be forgiven.

Thursday, July 20, 2006

ballroom

I.
Now it's a barn,
a ballroom really

the posts wait,
lit by beams of dust



II.
She pushed me against
the wall, holding me
up entirely


III.
On the phone the faces hang,
mouths open, talking



IV.
the shadow of me
pushes back against my shoes
no matter how fast I walk.

the night windows
spill yellow light
I step around,

the lines of some sidewalks
make deep sense
and talk constantly,

the bridge,
wider than it seems
when I walk it,

looks the same
from the river

Wednesday, July 19, 2006

Who knows, for instance
that we float on bubbles of fortune,
that our only possession
is a tireless voice?

Or that when we sleep,
instead take part in an honor
guard, slipping the living
from the dead

lest they cling to all
they never wanted? Or that now
when all is suddenly

lost, what was

now had been
a great and future thing,
so being all
the more than it became?

Friday, June 30, 2006

Youth

we fight now

about things nobody
remembers exactly.

soon to be strapped
by tubes and tubes
to our rolling bed

to look past sunday and thanksgiving
and every other day,

walk, sit
it's just the same circle
smaller and smaller and smaller

Wednesday, June 28, 2006

faultless fault

the door holds the house up,
its shape hard and unchanging
though we all have walked there
back when it used to open

and slam shut, too.
such a horrible noise
to shake the glass
right out of rotten windowframe

or that was the wind, maybe
blowing right through
the door, the hall, the windows
and all of us

just the wind we said,
the wind we can't see
the wind nobody ever touches
the wind we all feel

Saturday, June 10, 2006

birthday


maybe I got
older when I saw
something. I got

older by something
I saw all of
a sudden and

maybe I might
be able to get
younger too

Saturday, May 20, 2006

don't ask

she'd been on the phone with this
old man whose wife had died
his wife
who had always taken
care of everything.


he was sitting at her old desk
with the unopened pile of medicare letters
and his cancer and his bottle.

he said he had paced
the house for a while
before calling the tiny number,
pushed keys until
he could talk to someone,
sipped the bottle time to time

and after a couple
questions, said, "excuse
me honey, but it seems
we got something in common:
neither of us knows
our ass from a hole in the ground here
or what the goddammned point is"

and introduced himself and stated his age.

he asked hers but before
she could talk he went on about
how sorry he was and that
if she remembered
anything

it should be this:
he never should have called

and he picked up his pistol
and shot himself in the head

and she did not say hello hello
or
are you alright

but intstead, started to cry

and when, after crying
in office after office where
she would not say
what was wrong or what had happened
or why she was crying, she was fired
because she would not say

until later when she told everyone

Sunday, May 14, 2006

lucky

Stark against
the silence
of summer,

a certain tree
in the parking lot,
spared by the contractors' saws

might shade maybe
one car, maybe mine
some lucky day

Wednesday, April 19, 2006

knowledge is power


some chance story
he once
read taught him
about two
together

chang and eng, maybe,
cleaved at the hip
who never did
like each other

or perry and
dick in their adjacent
deathrow cells,
not talking,

sent him limping
on his cast, broken
down, friendly,
vw bug with a trailer

so that they might
sit there now, all three
in the woods while
he figured out what to do

Wednesday, March 22, 2006

A guy I went to high school with recently told me a story over the phone:

He had gotten fired from his job at a gas station for drinking at work, stealing, and often erratic behavior. His boss had cut him many a break, feeling sorry for him and wanting to extend a helping hand. Finally, though, the axe fell despite all the boss's efforts.

The boss gave my friend a hundred dollars, telling him that he didn't want him to be on the street and begging him to get some help. My friend went to a liquor store and bought three half-gallons of cheap vodka and then spent the rest of the money on meth. Having spent the day getting high and guzzling the booze, my friend decided to go and hang himself from a pipe over the gas station door. It was about three in the morning.

He was too fucked up to tie the knot properly, though, and as he dangled it slipped and gave way, dropping him to the ground in a heap. He had hung long enough to severely abrade his throat and... more noticably... void his bowels and bladder into his pants.

He came to at seven the next morning shaking with DTs and covered in shit, his neck bleeding and his voicebox painfully crushed.
Nothing to do but get up and go.

If there's a deeper bottom, I don't care to hear of it.

Tuesday, January 10, 2006

Tonight's Friends

First, John
outside the Atlanta section
of Hard Rock and Hooter's
asking

what I wanted to eat

and graced with my right
front pocket spake
in tongues

then Paul from England
saying travel was the only thing
that broadend
the mind

and Jason who did taxes,
too young to know
even youth

and then, again John
another, delivering me
from a knife
or worse