The Thrown

To each their own 

leech the thrown

     droning through the tunnel 

     context clues from the light

the day – what is my ruin,

     What will grow the tallest

     I want to be the strongest.

Arrow root shows its anchor

     momentum hard to stop

     projections were unthought, unsought – asked no questions

Withering leaf has lost its shape

     Lost from the branch which it was picked

     A dry afterlife 

Wrinkled eye misses the burden

Aim for the heart and show your hand.

Three in one night

Wander One

Trumping the tramp

who's underwear is on the lamp

is t t -AMP-ering with the original plan of keeping things simple.

Winning some and loosing others, becoming friends, and losing one another.

Surprising moments of lust and wonder, feeling often of loss and plunder.

Who supports the wandering girl when she can't walk anymore?

When do the souls of her feet ware away; stones becoming –sand –becoming –dust

Wander girl, for that is only when I can watch the smile run across your profile, running in front of these eyes; streaking lips,

trust me, that does deliver. 

Juicing your ideas to be indistinguishable by look or texture, but by taste. 

Just let me taste that idea you just had. just just now. When you looked the other way,

across the room, at the low lighting maybe, they just lowered the lighting. 

Why can't it be easier to know what is going in and coming out?

Diet ceasing to fulfill when following that plan, the one we had, both had, as you said, and I remember, I think.

I remember when I thought you were beautiful. 

Seeing you again, flower, still in the vase I placed you in, was a memory. Nothing had to be replaced or imagined, or even pulled from an archive, to know, 

somewhere deep in a heart with veils shrouding arteries, I still think I remember how much I loved you. Growing there since I stopped trying to care. 

Wandering girl does not see the house. Missed the turn, lost the piece of paper, found another way, right back to where she needed to be anyway,

back to where she came from: New York City. New York City or bust. New York City. New York City.

Let New York City take your clothes off and rip them to pulp. Write your first novel on that pulp. Sign your lease with that pulp. Frame that pulp: shredded cloth from that which you wove: and make it your new art. 

God Damn It we lost another one, and I tried to fucking warn 'em. I really fucking tried. I  really really fucking tried.

I mean God DAMN IT NEW YORK CITY! Can we change the subject to how we both agree on cities? Urban versus rural? 

Easy Argument is the name of the band playing tonight, I didn't invite you, but I am sure we will talk about that later. 

Over the phone. 

Can we bring this back? 

Out of state out of mind, in front of you and not remembering. 

All The Truth

Keep those

it was the truth 

groaning on the carpet, dying with winter leaves.

Frightful stomach pains, heedless when hacking and keeling;

stealing strength, stamina, stability, sanity. So hard to stand.

Burning my hands wringing my washcloth. It seemed to happen often enough I started liking it.

With so many habits, they just happen. When I read books I watch it all happen. Projecting all of these characters towards the front, listening to them read to me. I prefer it read aloud to me, when I can hear you understanding the words just as I do, slow enough to understand the words. I have yet to be convinced of anything. 

My math always doesn't add up. Tragic behavior in my living room, waiting for family room, slowly becoming a den. 

Keeping up to this, bad behavior with scrapes and bruises. Don't let me practice kung-fu without stretching, and don't laugh at my sprained wrist. 

Everything is harder when it hurts. 

Lying is all about timing. It was all true before, and it still can be if you follow the shadow into tomorrow. 

Just keep this and you will know this was real, if ever you forget this.

My company has arrived, and before I know it, he's gone again. Not letting me impress anybody; heedless hack, graveling keel, winter leaves call. Keep those, it was all the truth, it was the only truth.

Bruises

My whole spine is one long bruise

every vertebrae is sinking 

My skeleton is hardly who I was

rough impact with a slipping disk

My finger flesh is turning blue

cut off the blood flow

My knees crack when I run

avoid running 

My brain moves faster than my muscles

avoid mistakes

My eyes fail to see what keeps getting in them

glasses usually get in the way 

My lungs could use a brake

why does health trump habit

My feet need a whole new wardrobe

chasing the bicycle thief

My hair just got a trim

but it really needs a whole do-over

My ears have heard the full spectrum

enlightening but damaging

My nose is stuffed with toxins 

waiting for another long night.

Concealing Scent

look over

water is clouded in the duck park

dusk is beginning

so is my break

all female ducks

drinking, stretching

one quacks

multiple stand on one leg

exposed colors under their wing.

Possessions lay on dry ground.

A shirtless man steps into the fountain,

a coin is tossed to the ledge

spouts are sat on, pinched,      looking to the light, squint.     

Back is covered, chest drips, his hands wipe his face

Evening sun from my right

he notices me on a bench

nothing happens, he is cleaner.

Dad said nothing I wanted to hear.

in our case. It brings closure to a difficult

time.

its not quite all signed off on yet. A few more weeks.

Ducks moved passed, content with asexual environments.

So is he - not with her.

You were so certain.

On the ledge with his shirt on, looking when I look back, he knows I watched. He knows,

I know he is cleaner - cooler, washed of the filth he felt

heat of the moment decision that will never be forgot. 

27

Crunch ring – ring ring
chatter chat room igniting
Crunch, he takes back his jacket
hand reach for the bottom of grey pockets
keys go outside and inside, door opens
flip rub, sandpaper, rub no lotion
flip, red fire heat, electric #27
Body heat – uh huh
grumble, almost missed it
ran, not to the front
ticket ticket ticket
I took it out his hand ticket
flew out I looked bus goddamn
too big. No vision. Now shadow vision
loos suspension, add U.S.A. under
construction. She is lotioning her hands
oh my savior probably the atom
screwing it all up in the
beginning.
Grumble is now man made

Early Eve

hands covered in red she 

said that no bullshit

my throat his hands 

my life three bloody chairs

we had to throw them out....

long list

his name, and mostly women

the other side of me

I don't throw anything away and neither do I

Ha Ha Haaaah, there aint no one can stop me 

she comes out aint no stopping

I've been good, locked in the closet

Own goddamn fault

His own

I know, You know?

I know he

got

remembering that day

it 

messing with 

Never seen again

36

and my brother too

36

15 of us

lost at 8

right around the corner

here but they told me southern

know

I.D. my I.D.

Says 

You need to see it?

Birthday day 

Hype early 

night couch boombox

everything on top 

got the headphones

wanna

dresser drawer still cold

ice cold beer

10 pack, no not

Joe selling his

flow in the hood 

53

on that  guy

17 not 7, it's been longer than that

I miss him, he's my baby

What goes through your mind when you hear a story like that

I have known her a long time

There is not a fence between us

I like your name, and you call me by the fullest

Chance to see inside and out

Hearing sparks of hell

You cool you cool,

my guests, my room.

Giving me work today

better not on last warning

cause night

not gettin there, early and not getting there

love you, 53

love you, 23

Poem One from When It's On series

When you are quiet

Windows prove their noise canceling

Ability to withstand windy snores

Buttercups are shining yellow

Digesting a late meal of memories in the future.

When quiet, the pops and painless upheaval of

Unconscious propulsion. Planting seeds in desire

Night gardener with little experience

Melting tracks to follow

Demise of the misfit

Mixing bowl catapult

Molasses escapee

There is a mouse trap being reused in the attic

With a cat in the house.

Burden of the empty bottle

Filling out worn skin dressed in ink

When you watch,

Crooked street lights fill the empty ally

Heaven drops the ball.

Drawing on the lecture

At a cluttered table sorting it all

OUT

For the reasons you told me to

There are no more groceries

Avoided that cell, a bigger story

You watch the swell, and hold your breath

Tom

TOM was glass grown. The insects and hormones and others passive aggressively nudged a jar branded Evolution. As a means of control, seemed animalistic. Tom was a human glass branded, time trialed, scientific experimentation gone unexpected, considering; specific limitations in body strength, confidence, and moralistic mumbo jumbo to be explained later.

Early man was thick hide smeared dusty logic curiosity with drive like a pickup. Pick me up, it’s early.

Tom chased an atom unknowingly with the twitch in his eye. Dead silence, dead being the drab, still humidity whispering warped waves

Crinkled paper was flat, easier to read. Air tight.

Invisible to the naked eyes of Tom’s willingness, accepting, no question, smile smile, coffee cake, make me a real statement not required in written form

All fresh like a peach yee tomato stored in a jar waiting plucked, red all emotional, waiting for the teeth of, some guy, to eat you up on the streets of your favorite city or town, slobbering your guts like, that hurts a little, ….so clear, singing birds and woman and saxophone where do you get off. Tom is expressing that smile smile, unknown flavor of the week, spittin you out next to the jar on a covered porch in America.

Consider absence the subject.