but bear with me for a few more moments
and I’ll hand out the gift vouchers as
Mr. uh Shakespeare I think said but
the blue green green blue colony on
the bright carapace of this orange
a thin layer of dust visible
from roughly 2 to 4:30 and we
arrive a little later than
fashionably and at this hour
I have some small hope that, but yes,
we must soon part and wend our own as we
may with no need to decorate this night
with Venus Mars and the moon as
though the curtain had just parted and
Tag: night
-
-
try to write a face the eyes aren’t
right teeth crooked the wrong way the
night cold the flame hidden I make
another cut so long but too
late across the blue ink sounds of[inaudible] but leave it there
even if it barks all night will
never invade the earnestness
of tiny drinks while the bright blackso tight we thought the stones in our pockets
might help us too with a few tweaks
it could be the scene of your first triumphbut let’s not crack the old door anymore
those dreams are grand but I wake a headache
-
To go to bed and churn through the night folded
and rent by the sharp lines of half-boiling
dreams as we try our best to imagine
we can forget what we might have had to
make yesterday once the anger of themorning has faded and our clothes are once
again dry though who would have bet against
the successful failure of the unabridged
chronicles of that self-made hermit whosehedge maze was never real but the feeling
of being in it turning right or left
faster then much slower has never leftno matter which season finds us deciding
once and evermore to learn how to knit
-
Sonnet
having made peace with the rocks that
I call shoes, grown accustomed to
the furry creatures living in
my sinuses and the shows they
watch into the deep oven nightI watch one fork of lightning free
the tree that dropped only small sour
fruit, and return to arranging
oyster shells to resemble a
wave and ask is this the dream it’sso quiet here it’s hard to hear
the song of my empty stomach
or the rattle of the bones of
the dead like pills stuck in my throat
-
the way the night gloveless treats this body full of holes
(First published in Under the Basho.)
-
what hope in this pen and an ink
nearly invisible
earlier the morning sun on
the trees made me think of
large mammals and their humid scent
in the sun in the grass
the countable galaxies of
bright dew and now the chair
makes sarcastic music of my
musing but the night is
still and so wide without a moon
-
those little hopes for the
weekend with green softness
over the lawn insectsfloat or dart the breeze
was so important thatit might keep me up tonight
I know it’s not your problemthe pickles came out so well
you know the darkness
catches up before
summer really gets
going I should stop
saying you know you
know anywhoo thelast time we spoke
you were spitting
in the eye of
a hurricaneit’s always the way when the days get less
generous with their light and walking the
dog you see furry legs in the trees and
a noise near or far you choose to ignore
-
music from an escaping dream or an undigested night in which we finish the great & clever expense reports designed to ensnare the accountant of the faerie king
-
motorcycle noise at night cool after the storm with crickets and my neighbor’s creaking floor through my ceiling chamomile tea
-
If/Then
if fire cracks the mirror
then clouds may part to reveal her faceif night passes like a kidney stone
then the box is returned unopenedif the damp gets irrevocably in
then an unequivocal answer will be foundif the suburbs are raided
then your recipe will be forever changedif we ignore first principles
then insects will tire of carrying us
-
as I write with one foot
stuck in dark mud the otherunresponsive for reasons
I can’t discover lightsflicker throughout the day I’m
more full of fewer thoughts withair enough for me to ascend
the brilliant sharp mountainI have kept my pockets empty for
I have kept my back straight against throughyears of small work and I
see the check on its waybefore I’ve ordered it’s my fault
I should have gotten here as soon asthe neighbors finished dancing
on our ceiling and the skychanged to business casual blue so with
my knuckles sore I crack another nutbut what if one thought survives
somehow the pressure of spaceas the small stones crawl from the sea
wall after the grey is goneand we work into the overhyped
night sponsored by what you would ratherremember a castle visited
through a dream that always asks too much
-
who birthed
a stone
shining
through cries
broken
picked it
up kiss
kiss put
it down
this white
page still
hates me
no that’s
silly
after
all the
great sea
flashes
stop that
the night
humid
for what
was his
name John
didn’t
he have
a big
something
car and
maybe
I’m wrong
headed
eyebrows
foreheads
who walk
by my
window
why do
they breathe
so close
to me
so pick
up the
white page
try to
forget
the names
swarming
the heat
-
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
-
What solar-powered syntax will break through the city’s thick walls later wielding a heavy pen he stumbles never to blink again
But the pen won’t start so the precious possibility with a suitcase secretly packed disappears beyond the hill
Where the music comes from on those nights though despite his best attempts we left feeling as though we hadn’t eaten at all
-
through the night creaking subtitles add to the store of kitschy collectibles much like nothing in the cellar you can remember
other animals 