it’s quiet in the noisy market
as purple kholrabi scream
hot malaysian cashews
chatter with the old
tiny women over
locally grown 
sour cherries
volunteers groan
and shave ice blocks
out the highway moaning
with the muffled shade made
in the noise of the quiet market

#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.

#423. gorks

November 5, 2010

look back
fall forward
present is sweet
life overwhelms pain
the world is not you or me
but joyous us and the golden hound

the day is
and the night also

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

sweet and sweeter
dreamin’ in bed in brookland
by the side of my lover
day dawning bright morning
naaaathin’ to do
but hang with you
the whole borough
beckoning
gently
as the rain
which may come
later

#198. desperate eyes

March 11, 2010

desperate eyes

one blackened

embracing a desperate disguise

determined to hide

in the twist of dark black hair

her glory

with a river of untimely silver

his guilty affection

an intolerable burden

on the subway ride home

Th woman
as paint
the pure lines of body
breast hip navel.
sharp
the pure lines of face
cheek nose eye.

all colors change sparkles
all colors real
color.

***

i sing angel with iggy pop
yr loveslaps
joy
collapsedance.

i dance naked.

later we fuck beautiful.
sweat is the endless sea.

***

Th woman
as man
i’m not pushing
or pulling yr rib.

i kiss yr hand.

***

The closed world of us in a car
at night.
Dreams.
dense and sweet against
the bitter chocolate world.
Touch the cold windshield
turned to ice.

Wake to morning thunder.
Pounds
lazy.

***
Th woman
over now.

#188. Love Letters

March 1, 2010

love letters
are found
in the fragrant petals
of the intimate rose
are found
in the golden beams
of the rampant sun
are found in the heated seductions
of vivid dreams
are found
in the clear ideas
of sculptured poems

#187. Th Woman (more)

February 28, 2010

Th woman
as sleep
opened twice
lips lips & dreams.

full silk slip
caress.

as sleep
awake enough love
and now slick time.

now.

***

knows falling
stars
shoot high anyway
gets me thru
the other side of the world.
earth
green
blue.

***

Th woman
as song no song
has music or rhythm enough
for yr blaze of spirit
red and yellow
as yr little hairs.

***

there
is a space on her bed
i can sometimes use
if i tongue her
right.

touch her shoulder
she asleaping
me trying to.

# 168 Th Woman (more)

February 9, 2010

Th woman
as body
electric thread
hair to bury head thoughts
knees dimpled and flexible
on round legs
desired
breasts soft
enough to sleep
pillowed one larger than the other
eyes are gold tho blue
sometimes green
Behold!
a fine bottom
foundation to blend back
to back and neckline       (child soft
gone to groin to earth
sex lips twist
of lemon
O honey!
caressed to be known neverknown
as body.

***

secret
she fades.
no secret
any more.

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