seven poems

wire

whether or not there are positions to be taken
it all depends on your first rendition
and your relation to the foxhole

you totter like a hammer,
and you are wedged between two earths
i've known about your broken fingers,
and i've seen the end of the fierce rabbits

blood is thicker than wire,
when wires are plugged into the heart
it's from the inside that we see what's going on
what's truly taking shape in the space before us
it's only a matter of time before we face the fire
back to front we're in the truck,
a blind man follows his dumb luck.


chill

morning,
frost on petals,
the blue glow of the sun
behind houses


complicated

calling fire down from the heavens,
molten lava, my life
odd happenings are heavy, silent
the birth of the windows,
the shattering of glass,
knots tied in wood and hair.


weed

when we were walking through the meadow
and the weeds were thicker
than a tangle of fat nerves and green rope
my feet didn't want to move,
they wanted to grow roots and hold me to the earth
like a weed that has broken free,
a dandelion seed that has been taken by the wind
looking for the right soil to lie down in and crack open its heart
to spill through the earth and rise up from the ground.


spores

the moon blows down through ancient lips,
the frosty breath from the white ball in space
mushrooms know the moon is their mother
and try to reach her, but can't
they shower spores like tears.


industrial revolution

this has to work,
it's the details that get in the way of a good breakfast
fine songs let loose like feathers in boats, engulfed in flames
like a hard-strung planet
aeroplanes float in the sky like eyebrows rising in surprise
when the road is harder and hotter than your will
there is no reasonable way to throw your mind on the table

wires are hot, wires are strung, ropes and meat are hung in the sun
green fields turn gold, under grey skies they burn
if ever the bleeding rooms open up during the frame
i'm on board for realizing the long crates
the open spaces that are held in batteries

these are the hollowest balls in the station
but i can't seem to draw upon my thin hairs for support
there are open dreams, there are slicing fears,
there are ways to remove the glaciers,
ice, hard as steel, cracking like rocks
straight to the devil's feet,
nailed to the floor with five pound hammers
in a cycle of smoke, repositioned and refined.


some things that i found

blue dusters were sailing in the air that was thick with constant wailing
chimney stacks lined with paper and horse harnesses leaning precariously to one side
all at once the sea was quiet, you could hear the drop of a tooth
branches that are no longer branches hustled for leaves
a newborn baby had gathered them all like matches in a matchbook
paper airplanes folded by kingpins, and brought to the queen by snarling dogs

(the most obvious daggers are never the ones you should worry about
it's the tiny ones made of coal that slide under your skin that pose the gravest threat)

just when you think the elements have come together in a unique way
the breastplate of righteousness is split in two by a swinging ball
five time five is twenty-five, the number you need to stay alive
the cold metal under your feet and against the back of your knees
that's what it takes to succeed in the land of make-believe

these are some things that i found
down an alleyway and on the ground
it wasn't pretty, it was all blood and graffiti
I found loaves of bread, and Francis Bacon's head.

three poems

dirty sidewalk

before the fall, there was an ocean of plasticine
stretching as far as the bouncing ball would permit
and containers were spilling over with enthusiasm and faint hope,
not to be confused with the pandemic that permeates all conscious thought

never before in the history of mankind has there been
such an abundance of nickels and dimes
the truth lies somewhere between here and Kentucky
the rooster crows and the whistle blows
and the breath of a foghorn blows out over the bay

possible outcomes are determined by impossible inputs
her breast-taking beauty only diminished by a lawyer
in a plaid suit, with a briefcase full of sugar
and a dog on a long chain snarling at its own tail.


i'm having trouble

if there is a notion that i cannot bring myself to endorse
it's that there are firestorms that are too splendid to partake in
as if there are lightning bolts that are too dull to damage

five times the window was thrown open
as if the airplane knew how to climb on its own

in the morning,
in the paper candles,
in the hard night
i'm not finished until the last sliver is pulled free


you're having trouble

sparse cameras illuminate an otherwise dreary day
i'm not the kind of frantic phone call you need me to be
blasted straps to hold the whole mess together
and you force it, you'll see what happens when it pops open
like a furnace

i would furnish the house with all your spastic droolings
once, twice, three times an alien
it's obvious that you can't see a thing from where you're standing
if you could, you would have been screaming by now
but instead you're curled up inside that trench coat
whispering sweet nothings to no one in particular
ah, but that's the point, isn't it?
it is better to have loved and lapsed than
to never have hung the cables

what is it you've got there, strapped to your waist
packets of plastic explosives, practically bursting with flavour?
do me a favour and spit out that gum
you're having trouble chewing it and pulling the trigger
at the same time.

some new short poems

animal sense

some dogs know where the sun went
they can smell a sunbeam as it inches away
how the sun pulls us all up straight from the ground
like needles from a ball, like limbs from a body
if the post is cracked what will the gate hitch to?
it will swing over the cold, muddy ground
it will fly apart like a dandelion's old head
the oddest cat just entered my yard
it owns the world more than i ever will
it's not afraid of predators
it just watches silently
as they take away its kittens


insect sense

a dominion of earthworms convene under the moon
fireflies, dragonflies, rocketflies, far from blame
silk worms pull locomotives with thousands of strands of silk
in the same way that blood hardens when baked


save the prince!

for better times, we plan ahead
retreaded tires and buttered bread
an extra spool of premium thread
will guarantee the prince's head


there she goes again

she turns around and leaves, but not before
dragging her hand across the rough wall
the faintest sound coming from the back door
a boot, firmly placed, the right amount of pressure
five broken bottles all leaking on the countertop


the problem with things that are round

late at night the stars lower their hair like Rapunzel
early in the morning the earth's hair stands on end
atom bombs can be made now that are smaller than golf balls
if you hold them in your mouth they taste like butterscotch
if you run around the world in a true straight line
you'll fall off the world, not because it's flat,
but because your path is.


nothing ever stops

if i close my eyes, the world explodes
if i bump my head, a crowd holds its breath
under the brightest moon, the night bugs are busy
we think the world stops when we do
but nothing ever stops, it all just rolls on
we all learned to walk, not one step at a time
but all steps at once, all fears exposed