eyes – other animals

my burning eyes how do I escape from
I and all this time in circles
not wanting to make punchlines or
origami and the balloon
losing air we could have put to some use

what thread dropped after
the cicada passed
or what mist started
to build in the part
of the story where
your eyes blur and your
feet grow clammy on
the earth of fresh graves

which podcast to indulge in the dog’s keen eyes as I eat a pretzel who wrote that poem that really hit me when I was trying to wake up after not sleeping

shopping with my eyes closed and the fist but there is still space for a three point turn the car alarms deep into a special night when the landing was postponed sure every other day is a fine place to start but I know you’ve already tried and for all the good it did I may as well have had decaf but there are the inconsequential moves we make that turn heavy when it wears off and of course I have to admit that these lullabies are lovely so many things to click before retiring with that same headache under the same lonely star

such energy though these eyes still blurry

but the day begins early & takes the blame

for every flattened patch of fur on the highway

for the last two weeks and what do I know I

wasn’t there but you feel the flies surround

you & maybe we got off on the wrong

foot and maybe that’s all there is now

in the still heart of the great machine a

few sparks with dances to come and yes we

can agree that I use the word too often

but it’s still the right one for the job and

out in the forest it sniffs a mushroom

and moves on since the field guide’s at home and

doesn’t want to take any chances

There’s this river underground

the birds sing of it as though

it were a gem as though a gem

were something they had interest in

though perhaps my translators

but no don’t let me blame them

this river at times packed

with grey slush moving fast

enough that the fish wish they

had eyes but here on the lost

real estate development the

philosophers have left

with the fabled food trucks

that won’t return

a nest feathered with fingers sticky from pulling out your eyes

(First published in Under the Basho.)

at the organic cafe unsure of your unwrinkled hands scraggly long hair scraping fine features the constellations of pimples your rough shirt dark stained apron standing tall and to the side you grant a glance and goddess you were all beauty pink cherry trees burst and burst my eyes wide as fried eggs

I lift the pen but why my eyes slide down this poison face

but the sound of a bird I can’t
the glow of the sun
sinking what
else can I say

I waited too long and they’re already cleaning up so I grab some trash and throw it away they tell me to keep moving

when I slept in the forest those long years between research grants

salad days between immunity and editing

people always said I gave up too easily and mostly through song for some reason but that’s really none of my business you see I’m only paid to write these instruction manuals

leafing at monster cello sorry
it’s these new plant-based teeth

and the weight of this uniform from lack of sasquatch in the spring

did you see it that time like a flash of silver at the corner of your eye but never mind it was nice to see you again and we really should get together and no that’s OK I have utensils at home

moving toward what with blurry eyes an empty hand lies to the whole body nightly nodding I thought I could escape the flies