27 October 2010

crossed by prayers and luminous dust


these nights i imagine i am a medicine
circles hugging*
summer whales like moths, how myopic
no flowers
limousines evening'ing through my bloodstream
wolves regiment
into dust, & i collapse, again...
out the window, this weather** is proprietous
there isn't much fire
de kooning, inexplicably shotgun'd
thru suddenly--
my pome starts apologizing
because i am indulgent, & vases of flowers
allow heart*** murmurs...
it's 10 p.m. or so, & the moon is one long explanation
a sorry excuse for an exit
but...how i like to think of moonlight
as a steamroller
a poignant edition of extraordinary rendition--
candle wax ghosts,
bees jazz through burning decks of haiku****
i want to look over it again 
in that light
a different light, unadulterated 
by a monday
or a separation***** for all the gloominess 
that that may imply...
b/c these nights i am unconcerned w/ october
december or june--
eventually, the heart yells reconciliation
but yr not there
emotion is always a phone call away
yet contemplation******

******holy ghosts...

- - - - - -

roof deck on fire (the gravity of torsion...)

you know i love you 
when you are car-bombing botanical gardens
barbwire endures poignantly
brutal honesty is truth
pictures and still photographs w/ old narration

hospitals and insurance, steinway pianos, 
knight-ridder newspapers

while throughout the country 
w/ stylish
respect...a lonely ghost operas the wrong 
to destroy symbols; the ink-like 
of bereavement--

fierce beauty, one mint julep & a trombone solo

Lata Mangeshkar's “Thoda Resha Lagta Hai”

- - - - - - - - - 

these other desiderata (a necessary opera of neutrality)

vacuum cleaner discontinued military service medals
frigate bird noise curb
, perforated
incongruous & vulnerable
holy fuck shambolic precision paintbrush daffodils
she just stood there
shadowed by chandeliers, erotic
it was 1995, or
it was 2010
tall trees line-structure blood philosophy
the only trouble is, it doesn't make the protagonist 
vernissaged -- irascible
i am certain
i am not foolish in the depths of my feelings
this is interesting
heart failure parking meter beaker
it spills everything
evan sd something abt two hitlers & i thought
icky boyfriends
to answer the second question
i'm christmas' frustration w/ the paper industry
softly devastating
admirably red sparrow pcp photosynthesis
ezra & t.s. at st. elizabeth's
often, white lightning decoupage
she ordered me to kiss her
it's positively interesting, despite all of this
maybe b/c of it...
ostensibly, always a threat
like cheating on my girlfriend w/ a rearview mirror

- - - - - - - - -  

waiting for anna

if anna sais i'm wounded, then i'm wounded

- - - - - 


squawking trombone
tupperware for example, classical music
slow songs for the primal set
crumpled vignette
Deirdre & I are drinking Mo√ęt et Chandon from a Dixie cup
intimate, unique
our sex life is(n't) purely intellectual
if nothing else
the way she makes me feel when she holds me
needs a technical manual
a patch of flowers
arc-welded to the wet woods outside her window
the pulse of her hem
late-night AM radio violin police commissioner dissonance
windchimes, albeit
definitive effortlessness for the adoration
our old-timey romance
wonderfully off-kilter w/ mindful discrepancies
genuine hearts
will always insist happiness through
shifting moods
we spent the rest of our money on a champagne tincture
watching, softly
the moon slowly convulse upwards
intensely seductive
we put on our own lamp post clinic, realizing
there is nothing 
like falling asleep in each others arms 

this pome is for an older audience preoccupied 
by life’s twilight...

- - - - - - 

there is a snowy egret in the opera house of my heart; my heart is a rural alaskan village

27 october 2010, 4:12 a.m.

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