Orient ation

When all the agendas come together
in a malgum of exploded roads
the settled dust of every flag and star
feet thick
covering the commerce of failed consumers,
there will be a single sound wave
creaming the expanse
and telling the present:

"Our future will be a positive
relationship between parents
and teachers."

Fun stuff growing up through connected
homes
driveways paved by the new labrynth.
Time and effort will be the wisdom
of feet thick flags and stars.

Poem

My thumb fell asleep
in a book of poems,
between two pillowy words,
married there for eternity,
or until the mountains melt.

It did not take me long
to wonder if it was dead.

But we all know how these
things of gentle fear go.

If I nudge it,
wake it from its sleep,
or death,
forgiveness is void.

To die in one's sleep,
thumb or beast,
or language,
is all we ask.

This is all we ask.
Do not ask the how,
or when
or by fire
water
razors
concrete
strawberry
hypothermia
or by massive passions.

Scored dreams fold at the seams.

On Warm Days (#trio Eine Kliene Nachtmusik)

like this
I wonder
who is doing the breathing for us

cups give and give
the road melts vision
the creatures regulate by degrees
and we breath a million times.

the sailors put their tops down
to feel the wind
warm over their caps
the air waiting on the corner in a blue dress.

habitat is the only escape
for the coast is clear
on a deliberate
damn day.

get in
and
pulse
pulse
pulse
oh
to the what am I going to be.

More Than Once

hey kings
find these photographs
in a stack
in a rush of forgotten changes
captured.

see where you were the same
or where you never
gunned it
never took off the kiss of royalty
and posed for your own
silver on a plate.

hand down
your canvas
to museums
where your family removed
will pay.

hey kings
(or queens for that matter)
don’t be so sincere now
that you think its all our fault.

Parts

when we ask for the entire thing
the kings and queens feel no
obligation
to give in to
television sets
radios
photographs
describing our future consumerism
the great mist of misplaced desire
and lack of knowledge
lack of motivation
to change the course
of all things under the sun
being present and accounted for.

shake their tables
the kings and queens
and gather crumbs for
filling photo albums
scrap books
glass cases
antiquity
of dog food
exactly what we wanted in the first place:
a Babylon
ready to have its language scattered.

after the winds come
the kings and queens will break apart
on the reef of realization
the people will inherit their purple robes
of meanness
and send all our bodies to the brick factory.

Radish

radish was all I could think of
when you moved steady
to the backyard.

there is no red there
in the green grass
in the yellow flowers
in the flying seeds
no red or white
or hot waters (they are burried still).

curve when you walk to the city
the bent city
no red there but the walls
and the profit margins
all signs
and moving
singing
chanting
invisible
billboards.

i have seen every advertisement there is
have read every ad in the Parade
seen the programming interrupt the commercials
but i have never seen you
i have never seen the radish
and it makes me frantic.

move steady to the backyard
curve out of the city
lean away from the towers of glass
the towers of see through mirrors
and look to the last thing that holds its soul still
hot and cool
peppermint red and white.

#678 (Well Here They Are)

these words that feel good now
will be lost to stormy weather
and the boredom of needing love
needing the stars above to hug
me
hug the sky first
swoop down STARS ABOVE hug
these meaningless Ezra Pound words
until you squeeze
an expression out of them
maybe someone will stand there and
turn their lip under
eyebrow Spocked up
thinking
i wanted something stolen and here it is
after all
here it is glowing with isolated feet
stormy weather stirring it all up
into one dust devil tongue lick
well here they are
and they are everywhere already

said in the most perfect way by someone else.