And So It Goes

1:29 a.m. August 27, 2006. $16.84 in my pocket.
Why Shankill? How much for six bananas?
Are you an angel?

The streets were empty in Kendall Square.
The end of summer: disguised Rorschach
How much Further for Neal Cassady?

Document review they tell me.
Fuck, yeah.
What’s the weather like in New Zealand?

Do you have a friend that craves pity –
Bowling by himself with a pitcher of beer
in Kentucky?

October’s the most beautiful atrophy.
Will Vonnegut sue Philip Morris because
he’s still living?

My brother’s dog wakes me whenever
I visit. She’s a licker. Can you set yourself
apart from physical contingencies?

I feel untranslatable like a spotted hawk
Sharing a squirrel high in a tree. And what
about those midnight espressos?

Have you ever seen promise dissolve?
Or feel the palatial feast of the sky ripen?
I’m inclined to think you’re inevitable.

A Distant Shore

Our minds are borne in decaying reeds
Flotsam of pernicious loves lost
All to live through tiger-crescent eyes
Lusting through thickets of salacious glades

I swam in the tides for sixty days
The sea churning butter into drowning stars
We were modern plays. Drawn into the world
Of pale eyed alabasters with delicate, pink feet

A hole in my jacket as I traveled:
Mesmerized by pioneers of bygone eras
And the foam! The mischievous foam rising
To kiss your face. Where fish would sing!

My rawhide boots on the weary dunes –
Where you see the miracle brown waves
Drown mariners of time swelling backwards
Into insufferable dawns and pallid moons.

The hull of the ship filled with precious eels
And red vomit burned into Ringwood days
I kneeled and wept with planetary winds
Drinking the malady of time into bottomless nights

The plant of our hearts was growing beyond its dark roots
And was nourished where the sun met quaint ocean joys
We watched one thousand ships sail in from the distance
And Helen was flowing rich in our blood.

Wildlife

There are pigeons on our deck
We hired a pigeon assassin,
But it did no good
I hear them at every window
They leave so much white poo

Streaming

Like laying in a slow moving river,
And letting the mosquitoes feast
On your flesh because you’re exactly
where you want to be under the moon.

One name is galaxies superior to
One thousand ointments and touches
My eyes aren’t satisfied with seeing
But thoughts don’t flow that smoothly

If wanting two mutually exclusive
Things at the same time is neurotic,
I’m neurotic as fuck. (These thoughts
are making too much sense to me right now.

I might keep on typing because you just
May learn something about yourself)
Accepting sequential something is usually
a heaven mist of angelic self-portraits

Opposing poles keep an illimitable
Balance. For what lies between, but
Only one world magnified through Balzac
Tendencies and dignity in this informality

I thought of cream thick eyes doused
In absinth drenched thoughts of late—
Night balconies. Perfect for deep sea
Jeans as they collide in plasma soaked bursts

This may be a smoke closed calamity
Of unnerved introspective nothingness
But then again if I were to diagnose a
Malignity it would be a lesser comprehension

Of love. It’s all too draining in an unnatural
Blaze. I don’t think it possible to multiply
All that one knows in a night flower haze
Of explosions through pistols of your smile.

November 21

You and I could rave on, darling
Speaking in a dichotomy of perspectives
As geese flee elemental time

We’ll discuss cosmic this and thats
Cherry or blueberry?
You wear the snow so well.

The waitress brings another tea
Just for us to drown in sophist seas
And avoid calculating polemic absolutes

Houselights dim late on this rare night
Like zeppelins dropping in a candy jar
Of flickering spectral laughs: melody

Let’s call the various penumbras of
Understanding a joy platoon. Not to minx
Ephemeral arrows shooting between looks

There are bagpipes in heaven, not quite
The down of feathers holding silent
Unanswerable questions on the sidewalk

Oh, a black skirt! It sashes so lovely
Under elephant silhouettes in the sky
With fire in the blood, walking slowly

There’s a portion of foxes in sly moods
Reserved like a vintage cabernet spilling
Through ecstatic eyes and spring comes once again