Tag Archives: grass

in astronomical units

under my eyelid all the long summer

grit from the forgotten pyramid


my grasswe(e)t toes too long to trod over any meringue


a golden bubble chases the pigs

while Nobody plots


late unrhymable light my splitting shoe the same


Her trilling toes through

morning-star-wet grass


over calm water an orange concierge ogles a pint of rhyme

Excerpts from My Autobiography

xxxxx

once the image has life an emptiness says
it will always be so I stare into the distance
blind to trees and flowers
begging to be born but the refrigerator hey
are we doing stream of consciousness
cool and the snow gets sharp in these
huge piles in the back of the lot
days later my handwriting
starts to rot never to recover

xxxx

suicide off the table you start working again
with a miniature saucepan and the clock trying
to rid the mind of all the rules you’ve
made &
feel your hand tight around the thick
rope now only good for that
silly exercise you love

xxxx

away from the neighbor’s dog
across stinging fields we grow
smaller so slowly we don’t
notice until grasshopper parts become
our yard sticks and blades
of grass jostle and topple us in this
dream-familiar landscape we
learn secrets of slow growth, the rootlike
lineages of wormkind and a love
of the sweetness that writhes up from
dark earth and we long to pass
it on to our children who have
grown monstrous in the orange light

Remember to

Forget what you know sit softly
lulled by the sound of hundreds of
pens simultaneously writing down
your mistakes think of clouds
over that chasm you love

Forget the ad that is following you
keep sharpening your teeth into points
we’ll see if we can find a knife and a few

layers of breathable fabric as you
start off stinging wind your boot brittle
grass bright crunch beneath

Forget it and start again don’t think of pathogens
the tickle in your throat give the pills a chance

outside flashes of red flowers one ant
carries his scrap of stone down into the dark

in time but not space
the world too bright and crawling
the long grass in my nose I long
for the fractured web of lightning a new
apartment in a cheap cheerful town
where stores aren’t closing on
our knuckles the stain of spilled ink where
the sky darkens most is your birth
mark the tiny gem they can’t take from
you the prize in a cereal box cool
breeze in summer yet the fall
from this balcony would surely stop
you can’t think like that at least
that’s what his t-shirt said