Monthly Archives: July 2012

good afternoon, all indecent

a slip into the ocean finds you singing at the sun as you draw yourself upright to be a newly minted one about the fields.  it’s only something singing in your ear.  it’s only what you know which is what you hear.  so dissolve into distinction of the fear of placing arms behind a child pointing caution on the lawn.  signs depicting you to have not the song to find the song, playing.  be caught swaying to the beat.  and know the notes beyond the street, swimming. and catch the mood.  and be understood soon.

good afternoon, all going

where are you going, dreamy sunset on the plains
where are you going, dearest clouds who bring the rain
i am a motion to be simpler than i could be again
i am a closet open wide for what it contains
so be a paralleled distinction of a farmer’s field
so be a patient of prediction or of pain
so be a call to indignation
or a wind-up doll; a nation
who can’t speak unless its spoken to as frozen terrain
so be a truth forgot in instants of a water main

where are you, restless or pretentious god of earth
where are you, calmer than contagious beggar
can you disguise yourself a martyr
or deny yourself your hunger
when there’s good across the country somewhere
can you be only what you are or what you were

a rooster crows
a maiden moans
a seer shows
forgotten ghosts
all tamed beneath a rose
wilting at dawn

so where are your fevers now, oh lasting truth
where are your smiles behind a ragged few
oh, where have you gone to

good morning, all poets

blurry sun, sleep tonight
go dancing into the orchards
drown out the dark to shield the noon
from out in the gloom

closet moon, take the day
like the famous hand of orators
find their words attacking even you
and come all unglued

there’s a hope denying pain
to a planet’s gaze of the earthen
soil realized to find again
it’s a part of the rain

and even when you find yourself
a bittered, angry toil
across from the asides to find you’re soon
lost in a tune

while spaces rearrange to find
the words are never mine
they’re just a lonely hand to guide
the ruins

good morning, all toughness

rely on bulleted statements.
depict a fallen snow
deny your shadow’s walking behind you
though it remains in tow
fall into the shelter
of a hundred thousand arms; true
that you’re embracing your debasement
of a shield to please or harm you
for, the shipwreck’s all but sinking
and there are men who head the call
of an SOS not wanting
to be heard at all
so be a casual reminder
that it’s over, out
and be ready in the morning
with a whisper or a shout
and fall in

good evening, all loneliness

when your posture’s all a-curving – when your smile’s all encased – take a moment with the angels. take a moment with a gaze at a cardinal, he’s flying past the house and out to branches never ones to brush or brawl. you are a maiden, you are making me a dancer in the night. you make me stand up right.

when you’re failing to be noticed – when you’re failing to be seen – watch out for broken seams you’re tearing. you have torn them out of me.

and you are right to speak so gently. you are right to speak so mean. you are right to laugh in my direction. you are right not to notice me.

so when you’re finding out it’s wasted – when you’re finding it is gone – take me out to be a falling. take me out to be felled and gone.

i am a warrior; you’re the war. i am the ghost behind the door. i am the darkness you have wanted. i am the broken floorboard. i am the lazy light that’s leaving. i am the sickness in your heart. i am the frozen tundra trying to be a desert in the dark. i am the shelter you have asked for. i am the tepid angel’s hark. i am dying to be something to a wish upon a star.

and there’s a spark behind the curtain. and it is taking us in flames. and there’s a martyr making headlines. but she hasn’t got a name.

i take it in like a child trying to be noticed. whose posture’s all but plain. i take it in like shadows washing over all you gave to me.

good morning, all infantry

shoulder your gun, dear boy, and race to the front of the line. there’s no one there who will step in time. there’s no one there who will spell your rhymes out. and so you pace wildly back and forth, back and forth, until your eyes are tired. five feet from the edge of the cliff, you dangle in space and time. now three. now two. there’s no one to stop you. and so you turn around, running. and so your hands are at your side.

shoulder your gun, dear boy, and count the lights in the sky. there’s millions upon millions reflected in your eyes. and so you look at the dotted lines, connecting them one at a time. pictures you’ve seen; photos you find.

shoulder your gun, dear boy and out with the passersby. no one to be walking but walkers in stride. no one to be listening than ears on the side of heads tilted; of dollars, dimed.

shoulder your gun dear boy.
and fire.
and miss.

good evening, all half-hearted

it is a plausible notion to be left inside. to be part of a potion which ebbs and slides beside a curtain burned. there are casual u-turns. there is pacing ‘round at heart. there’s a potent passing from beginnings, to start. and though you know there’s more to see. there’s less of you than there is of me. and so i am all weighted, mean. and so i am all mostly clean. and so i am a closet freak. and so i am all ghostly meek. so make me wanting. make me dream. so make me more than he.

good morning, all incendiary

suppose there was a man all suited. suppose there was a maiden, muted. suppose there was a teenage love. suppose there was a leather glove. suppose there was a human making more of nothing; then all hating. suppose there was a rose in bloom. suppose there was an afternoon. suppose there was a mare to face. suppose there was a leg encased in concrete, cement, or angel dust. suppose there was a world to trust. suppose there was a fire, burning. suppose too that it knew no turning on or off at a switch’s behest. suppose there was a beating chest. suppose that i have no words left.

good evening, all impetuous

gladly, you take aim for the night as the sun shines bright as it’s setting. there’s a hum in the belfry. there’s a moon in the sky. there’s a rap at the door. there’s a tear in your eye. there’s a scene on the screen where the movie is playing. there are words coming out but you can’t hear what you’re saying. there’s a talent you know you’ve acquired. there’s nothing worth burning you’ve thrown in the fire. there’s a pattern you can’t help but draw. there’s milk in the glass but you haven’t a straw. there’s love in the wind. there’s teeth in the grin. there’s a need to have nothing. you’ve nothing again. and so you pull forth your mind in the light. and so you are searching for trees in the night. and so you are writing your memoirs in rhyme. and so you are seated but you haven’t the time to be watching alone, the dark shadows you’ve seen. there’s hallucinatory or broken in dreams.

there’s a mind full of madness you know can’t be yours.
there’s a story to be told.
so sit tight.