#460. List Of Friends
February 16, 2011
List Of Friends
“I think a lot about things, and
I think a lot of, well, a few anyway
think like I think and see things
the sane way I see them. Right now
I’d just as soon groove.
c razy.”
— John Daley
Transition.
What?
a touch?
No!
I don’t wanna touch
it just
upsets me.
No touching.
No risks.
Just self
pity
aloneing
in my room
all the dirty clothes
cracked walls
smelly sheets
they no longer smell of anyone but me.
Being nothing.
Really.
Just dying of bitter summer
first time alone in my life.
just dying.
But
What letter is this my soul receives?
What letter is this
my soul receives?
Is it a pardon?
Is it painful?
Is it you?
What letter is this my soul receives?
Riding the chaos blues
the difference between us
is a list of friends
typed up and laying on my coffee table
my bitter and pained list of friends
I want to tell you something
but I didn’t
wanna say it.
need some ups
can’t clear my head
fuckme
fuck me.
The beginning
again but no
you are not here
satisfaction
I on the phone
reverse the charges are collect where is my proof
you are still there?
porcelain shattered dial tones.
all my ingrown fear and laziness
is rising like the yellow smoke of your last cigarette
to choke me
but the mistakes have been mine.
can’t clear my head
fuck me
fuckme.
Separate
the Earth
the life of all.
the garden is prepared for growing
but the gardener is choking on a mind
twisted toes spread in the mud.
and the children sing
‘dig that phonedaddy’ yo
cloud!
come back here, I can’t catch you!
the fist closes
tendons curved and jammed into the granite crack
two walls faced stone corner
and kills
or cripples
can’t pull myself up can’t clear my head
open
happy letter
“hello i love you”
Fall is may-blessed this year
“won’t you tell me your name?”
Here I am, hunkered down on the niagara, drawing my face up
into my eyes. The Earth is polluted here, making the sunset
beautiful and sad.
can’t clear my head
fuck me
Fuck me.
It has always been the lie
separating me from my laziness.
perfection?
try bleeding for a while
what does it matter whether the cigarettes
take away from the t’ai chi?
dance perfectly!
smoke perfectly!
and leave me the fuck alone
since you do it anyway
do it all the way.
can’t clear my head
fuck me
fuck me.
I have a shy and virgin heart
so I send poems to play.
Tell me, what is relativity to you?
flashed
mashed
potatoes and peas
event
fills a potion of mind
and two friends
now tomorrow
we will drive to the sun
by a lake drive
with friendly
women i
get
tired
of
sunsets
tho
can’t clear my head
fuck me
fuck me.
My list of friends I am afraid
its the shadow
pass it on
it belays me to the light
pass it down
depth of experience
telephone’s disconnected the gap
can be no bigger
than buffalo to st. louis
But
What letter is this my soul receives?
Is it a garden?
Is it a vision?
Is it a basket of flowers and leaves?
What letter is this
my soul receives?
decade dance
“I could have been one of these things first.”
–Nick Drake
My hair
is longer than it looks
new scene
life bed and board
the decade dance
has me in hand
it’s like an aroma
strange words
to hang on iron.
Arched back
bowstring
in tension pulled
to pierce a gaze
catching and killing a spring time
object so simple
a choice
either or
a buttercup
your lover’s strong back.
Before fire, there was lovelaughter and dark to contain
them.
The light showed up fear.
Before fire we met.
Transaction
the speech patterns the game
patterns the eye
and mouths
and hairshining
flying low beneath the ceiling
above the pool table
in the bar we met
and brought about the moving
the months.
Who are the friends?
Biopolitics
deal the cards
dance the decade dance
dance with me.
Move.
Separate the seasons.
rain sun snow wind
MOVE.
there is weather out there
taste the gorge and scree
Move!
a morning summer wind is strong
as the leaves it
MOVES!
(kinda like this
terra d’ ombra earth of shade
decennio d’ ombra decade of shade
decennio d’ terra decade of earth
ombra d’ terra shade of earth
ombra d’ ombra shade of shade
But
What letter is this my soul receives?
It is spoken!
It is written!
It is me
my soul doth receive
List of friends
how distinct it is see
the faces you know
backdropped
by faces you don’t know
standing on line
and then you know it’s love.
my list of friends,
“it’s the eye of God, there’s no bottom—“
–Jack Kerouac
amen.
#283. lost
June 4, 2010
without a word
the little girl
draws me in
small and bouncing flirt
who pushes me
to my memories
of my own children
lost so long ago
that only their vague shapes
remain to me
#260. legacy
May 12, 2010
i try to
ensphere time
within these lines
because the colors
run out of my dreams
as soon as i close my eyes
i leave my colors in front of me
that my children may find the now
behind them
#257. bricklayer (mother’s day 2010
May 9, 2010
mother
love
redfingers
daughters
clay
sons
damp
salt
straw
wine
charcoal
bread
kiln
pain
firing
work
bellows
weather
mortar
joy
house
shelter
home
wisdom
grandchildren
earth
#252. poem for my unknown children
May 4, 2010
my children
working on playing
out their lives out there
in the world night and day
lighting my life regard
less of me than of experience
of all those others who
are they that hold
my children
i hope they are
safe happy
and self
aware
#194. opening day
March 7, 2010
opening day
the game always started
on the trolley
with my head leaning
against the glass thrilling
at the closeness of the trees
and buildings rushing by
the ground disappearing
as we whizzed over bridges
the pittsburgh gorges opening up
ground returning more slowly
half an hour later
one little paw in my dad’s
the other in my mitt
smoky vaulted forbes field
with infinite flat green grass
opening up the day
#157. Between
January 29, 2010
between
the grey rivers
alive with ghosts
the fishing boats
have pulled away
from the port
the market the battery
long ago gone
with the kids
on the concrete beaches
of the island
to grow up and live
to thrive and die and haunt us
between the grey rivers
that lead to the sea
that liberated our spirits
when they were our ancestors