patterns

You only speak in the slow prose of indefinite light,

winding between chair legs and thievery to complete

thoughts. Whatever you whisper I can only believe the

knives clenched in my teeth. There is a memory of retreat

even after my surrender. An instinct for the small

maneuvers of narcotics.

The sky is a white house fostering the devil's identity of

continuous blankness; wide open the windows are draped

with absences of color. It is the longest walk across the

street to borrow anything. Night will come without stars,

a slate for chlorine dreams, whitewashed and wrung out.

The pattern recognition of thumbprints parading around

another glass. The resinous emptiness sliding down. I

often remember my innocence, or at least I always tell the

same lie. Curious how this happens. I slide my fingers

through, smudging swirls into streaks. The liquor counts

coup on my moral lassitude

.

solstice

The sky is beleaguered and blue

this first day of summer unable

to shake the heavy toll of spring.

Thunder heads gather over the mesa

and behind the mountains/. Lightening

may dance close enough to be seen,

something for the gods that

used to matter. I eat a peach,

not the the perfect peach, it is sweet

and juicy and it runs down my arm,

but not too sweet, another day on the tree

would have sealed the deal. It was a good peach

to eat alone above the kitchen sink 

.

going

There are dreams of maps and destinations, red stars

with iron hearts to guide. A soundtrack of whispers roaring

through rolled down windows.

I hauled hard on the lines of truth, every version of hands

held fast to preciousness. Let them be blinded and learn

to feel again the flesh they are. The comfort of their own

skin. Do you remember where you parked the car? I want

to find the rain.

The sun rise catches in remains of grasshoppers bright

glowing nebulas on the crackling sky of the windshield. A

glove box full of postmarks waiting.

Butted up against continental drift your wickedness

conspires to keep me willing. Surely I could lose myself in

you as easily as any forest or jagged sea. Burning

through the long night of winter until the need of spring

presses us flat.

I don't want anything to be true again, I'm tired of

squinting to see the contrast between grey and grey.

I watch the sunrise and remember too late; light

intensifies into pain. The dark sun floating behind closed

eyes. I am a giant as I piss. My shadow is infinite but it is

only missing light

.

aural

Closer to closer these desert

sands fall between the strings.

I wait for the unhinging, the release

that erosion brings in slow

catastrophe. The meadowlark is

still taut to it's song. I eavesdrop

on what is not for me; these

bright feathers soon lost

to the machine of the sun

and distance that only grows

.

incubate

They pulled the gems from

my teeth, the heat

of silence a hotbed for the crystalline.

Veins golden I rubbed my

tongue against the small pleasure of decay.

If there was need

or want would there be fingers

to reach into my gagging throat to force

an escape? What the flesh holds ridiculously

dear the wires will not

loop around. The grip of mortality

and its baseless regulation of rot

is lost in the red welt of days

.

touch

The triple click of the clock

and the dark will open to you.

The deformation of air and the silence

of the void, barriers breaking

with an urgent report. The final

acceleration into repulsion; the world

rotating around a blade of grass. A finger

brushing the golden mound of triggers

.