Oh, Miller High Life,
The Champagne of Beers, breakfast
for the birthday boy.
June 10, 2009
June 2, 2009
kommós
failing the rain, the wind
will cancel the parade.
a church service of eyes,
a collection plate that
changes hand after hand
and still holds no money.
put away the toy cars,
your father will step on them
in the dark. a suitcase of folded
clothes. a strapless dress
on a pretty girl who sings
like an angel. untie his
shoes, the school teacher
is knots. tie
this tie around my neck,
dear, hang me upside-down
in the cellar.
a stuffed rabbit named
'security.' at the party,
alcohol, music, a child's
doll with fireworks in its
chest. the gate is open,
do not come in, for god's
sake, come in. her window
is sobbing, really crying now
with all that sunlight. sleep
in the loft, away from me,
in the heat, wake up sweating,
go downstairs and wrap
your shirt around your head.
i will make coffee, you will
drink coffee, you will not
leave until i shove you.
a brick borrowed from the
library. spend a few hours
every day watching how
the sky is born, how stars
learn to hide. a conversation
with her is like walking through
a minefield in snowshoes. disarm
my hands, let them fly wherever
they please. a secret mission
to save language from
computers, garbled inboxes,
static. tell
him everything there is to know
about your family and where you
have been. he's been in dire
straight jacket situations.
a television or blind man's
radio. it is possible to be
older than your father.
a bracelet embraces
more than skin. look now,
the sun is rising, today
is gone, replaced by
today. a room painted
in circus-stripes, red,
white, yellow and blue.
there was a small boy that
thought he could put anything
to words, he swore he could,
until a girl looked at him just-so,
just so. a blank fired from a gun
will never miss. always apologize
for being close to someone after
the fact, when you are far away.
a deer darts across the highway,
hold its eyes in your eyes,
slowing down will not save it.
take a hammer to her
finer points, take a hammer
to bed. a leather wallet, empty to
the brim, shames the cow
for which it was killed. write
something for her so she
may write something back,
give pause when she never
does. a game of chess with
only pawns, all black. where
there is thunder there is fire.
i mean, if it sounds like a duck. never kiss
him on the lips, he needs
those to talk, needs them
to be in pristine smiling condition
before the marathon, the real-life
application of decals. plastic,
she says she can sing, says
she can dance, says she
can sew, says she can write.
here, hold this knife, it is dull,
now keep rubbing it against
my neck, yes, like that, that
is the spot. a word for distances
measured in numbers of poems
not-written. the grass, it is so
blue there, green here. pick
up branches to build her a
fire, you fool. those are your
hands, suddenly. offer him
something so he can accept it,
take away something so he
can miss it. a parked car
looks exactly like a car
in motion, but moving
makes things prettier.
if you die, i want to know,
i want to be the first to know.
i am afraid of keeping you
too long in one place where
you never really were.
have some pie, i made it myself.
swordfish tastes like chicken.
buy your baby sister a mailbox
so your father can write her
letters, dadaist, so she can learn
the excitement of receiving words
on paper. can you taste that?
that's beautiful. that's music.
please officer, let me break
this law, forgive me in advance.
a slow ringing sound. a vibration.
a wave. tell him what he can and
can not do, tell him that you do
not feel the same way, tell him
that he never stood a chance,
he may not be listening. too busy
writing, wanting, unhearing. she is
drinking a bloody mary, complaining
about canker sores. a painting
with too much red, not enough
yellow. in some parts of the country
there are wolves, in others,
republicans. fall asleep near him,
do not fall asleep with him. he
has nothing to offer her. he has
tried very hard to make
himself into something she
would find beautiful. she
is not looking for anything,
beautiful or otherwise.
a blue flower that tried to be
yellow. a bee gets one chance
to sting before it dies. sunset,
like a god throwing small, white
seeds all over the purple soil.
invisible colors are still colors.
he can't get rid of her, destroys
parts of himself to keep her
from spreading. a parrot that
never gets the chance to hear
you speak loses a lot of its charm,
squawks like any other bird.
a cloud that looks like everything
except a cloud is never anything
except a cloud. don't change
the seasons, i was watching that.
it's not you, it's me, it's her, it's him,
it's a pronoun, i swear. feel inadequate
at your own risk. challenge accepted.
a postcard from a far-off place
can be printed anywhere. he falls
asleep in a tree, dreams about her,
wakes with the strange fear
that she has never once thought
about him. the leaves of the tree
coo him back to sleep, brush
away the light rain. hello, my name is
stay back. a surgeon can become
a puppeteer if he has a thorough
knowledge of which nerve connects
to which muscle, what synapses
control the tear ducts, the small
barrels inside your lungs where
laughter is stored. a magician
that can turn a rabbit into a dove
needs a lesson in symbolism
and love.
you may have some idea
how much this hurts. an
organ with no other use
than to rupture is proof
that god has a sense of
humor. he would have
done incredibly stupid things in
her name, to be with her, to be
in the den of a lion. she said
something about confidence,
about her many faces, about
being afraid. she was speaking
a foreign language. he wanted
to learn to speak. he sounded
like an inspirational calendar,
dated and full of stock
photography. he wanted
to make her happy, above
all else. a song without a bridge
must be forded. a paperclip
dreams of being straightened,
fears its length. he wants
to write with her, is afraid
of what writing will become
without her urgency, is afraid
of what eyes to look for in a
crowd of un-her eyes. a
watch has hands but the
metaphor ends there. time
spent at an amusement park
is half spent riding the rides
and half spent waiting in lines.
love is an ugly word, a terrible gun
that should be kept in a shoe box
in the top shelf of a closet, out of
the reach of children. a boxing glove
softens the blow. he has said all
of this before. she has heard all
of this before. a monk immolates
himself to be closer to the stars.
he was looking right at her
and not at anything else.
in the zoo, a polar bear looks
at his large paws, then up at the sun,
and knows something is wrong.
she is, somehow, the rain
and the rainbow, just add
light. he will not let her see
him in this state, will not let
her know how friendly the iceberg
became with the hull of the ship.
a girl plays tennis with the wall,
wins. a curtain closes on the last act
and the orchestra is out of tune,
all the sheet music suddenly shuffled,
flying away as if blown by a storm.
he wanted something not his.
she could not help him.
dead loves are buried above ground
so that the water,
when it floods,
does not pull them from the grave.
will cancel the parade.
a church service of eyes,
a collection plate that
changes hand after hand
and still holds no money.
put away the toy cars,
your father will step on them
in the dark. a suitcase of folded
clothes. a strapless dress
on a pretty girl who sings
like an angel. untie his
shoes, the school teacher
is knots. tie
this tie around my neck,
dear, hang me upside-down
in the cellar.
a stuffed rabbit named
'security.' at the party,
alcohol, music, a child's
doll with fireworks in its
chest. the gate is open,
do not come in, for god's
sake, come in. her window
is sobbing, really crying now
with all that sunlight. sleep
in the loft, away from me,
in the heat, wake up sweating,
go downstairs and wrap
your shirt around your head.
i will make coffee, you will
drink coffee, you will not
leave until i shove you.
a brick borrowed from the
library. spend a few hours
every day watching how
the sky is born, how stars
learn to hide. a conversation
with her is like walking through
a minefield in snowshoes. disarm
my hands, let them fly wherever
they please. a secret mission
to save language from
computers, garbled inboxes,
static. tell
him everything there is to know
about your family and where you
have been. he's been in dire
straight jacket situations.
a television or blind man's
radio. it is possible to be
older than your father.
a bracelet embraces
more than skin. look now,
the sun is rising, today
is gone, replaced by
today. a room painted
in circus-stripes, red,
white, yellow and blue.
there was a small boy that
thought he could put anything
to words, he swore he could,
until a girl looked at him just-so,
just so. a blank fired from a gun
will never miss. always apologize
for being close to someone after
the fact, when you are far away.
a deer darts across the highway,
hold its eyes in your eyes,
slowing down will not save it.
take a hammer to her
finer points, take a hammer
to bed. a leather wallet, empty to
the brim, shames the cow
for which it was killed. write
something for her so she
may write something back,
give pause when she never
does. a game of chess with
only pawns, all black. where
there is thunder there is fire.
i mean, if it sounds like a duck. never kiss
him on the lips, he needs
those to talk, needs them
to be in pristine smiling condition
before the marathon, the real-life
application of decals. plastic,
she says she can sing, says
she can dance, says she
can sew, says she can write.
here, hold this knife, it is dull,
now keep rubbing it against
my neck, yes, like that, that
is the spot. a word for distances
measured in numbers of poems
not-written. the grass, it is so
blue there, green here. pick
up branches to build her a
fire, you fool. those are your
hands, suddenly. offer him
something so he can accept it,
take away something so he
can miss it. a parked car
looks exactly like a car
in motion, but moving
makes things prettier.
if you die, i want to know,
i want to be the first to know.
i am afraid of keeping you
too long in one place where
you never really were.
have some pie, i made it myself.
swordfish tastes like chicken.
buy your baby sister a mailbox
so your father can write her
letters, dadaist, so she can learn
the excitement of receiving words
on paper. can you taste that?
that's beautiful. that's music.
please officer, let me break
this law, forgive me in advance.
a slow ringing sound. a vibration.
a wave. tell him what he can and
can not do, tell him that you do
not feel the same way, tell him
that he never stood a chance,
he may not be listening. too busy
writing, wanting, unhearing. she is
drinking a bloody mary, complaining
about canker sores. a painting
with too much red, not enough
yellow. in some parts of the country
there are wolves, in others,
republicans. fall asleep near him,
do not fall asleep with him. he
has nothing to offer her. he has
tried very hard to make
himself into something she
would find beautiful. she
is not looking for anything,
beautiful or otherwise.
a blue flower that tried to be
yellow. a bee gets one chance
to sting before it dies. sunset,
like a god throwing small, white
seeds all over the purple soil.
invisible colors are still colors.
he can't get rid of her, destroys
parts of himself to keep her
from spreading. a parrot that
never gets the chance to hear
you speak loses a lot of its charm,
squawks like any other bird.
a cloud that looks like everything
except a cloud is never anything
except a cloud. don't change
the seasons, i was watching that.
it's not you, it's me, it's her, it's him,
it's a pronoun, i swear. feel inadequate
at your own risk. challenge accepted.
a postcard from a far-off place
can be printed anywhere. he falls
asleep in a tree, dreams about her,
wakes with the strange fear
that she has never once thought
about him. the leaves of the tree
coo him back to sleep, brush
away the light rain. hello, my name is
stay back. a surgeon can become
a puppeteer if he has a thorough
knowledge of which nerve connects
to which muscle, what synapses
control the tear ducts, the small
barrels inside your lungs where
laughter is stored. a magician
that can turn a rabbit into a dove
needs a lesson in symbolism
and love.
you may have some idea
how much this hurts. an
organ with no other use
than to rupture is proof
that god has a sense of
humor. he would have
done incredibly stupid things in
her name, to be with her, to be
in the den of a lion. she said
something about confidence,
about her many faces, about
being afraid. she was speaking
a foreign language. he wanted
to learn to speak. he sounded
like an inspirational calendar,
dated and full of stock
photography. he wanted
to make her happy, above
all else. a song without a bridge
must be forded. a paperclip
dreams of being straightened,
fears its length. he wants
to write with her, is afraid
of what writing will become
without her urgency, is afraid
of what eyes to look for in a
crowd of un-her eyes. a
watch has hands but the
metaphor ends there. time
spent at an amusement park
is half spent riding the rides
and half spent waiting in lines.
love is an ugly word, a terrible gun
that should be kept in a shoe box
in the top shelf of a closet, out of
the reach of children. a boxing glove
softens the blow. he has said all
of this before. she has heard all
of this before. a monk immolates
himself to be closer to the stars.
he was looking right at her
and not at anything else.
in the zoo, a polar bear looks
at his large paws, then up at the sun,
and knows something is wrong.
she is, somehow, the rain
and the rainbow, just add
light. he will not let her see
him in this state, will not let
her know how friendly the iceberg
became with the hull of the ship.
a girl plays tennis with the wall,
wins. a curtain closes on the last act
and the orchestra is out of tune,
all the sheet music suddenly shuffled,
flying away as if blown by a storm.
he wanted something not his.
she could not help him.
dead loves are buried above ground
so that the water,
when it floods,
does not pull them from the grave.
Seeing Madame Gherardi
Stripped of its leaves by the winter it was certainly anything but dazzling until the crystallization of the salt covered its black twigs with such a multitude of shining diamonds that only here and there can one still see the twigs as they really are.
-Stendhal
Hornbeam, water, salt,
and time. A pockmarked, brown hand.
Two eyes, flawed prisms.