Prolegomenon

I wrote two tiny poems for you
on the palm of my hand
the whole time wondering
if I would run out of time
before you shook my hand
and rubbed it all away

Lonely Visitor

On the edge of things
I’ll never know
how to swim on the surface
of your skin
or why the water ripples
in checkerboard across your chest
while you swim on my ocean
and twist in my bed
tying knots in my covers
wrapped up in a gown of white and red
and when you’re spirited from the window
of this room where you cannot stay
I’ll call after you, my lonely visitor
whose name I can never say

Watering Hole

The gallant beast
touches the water
with his mouth raised up
to find the surface
a simple breath beneath himself
and if there was anyone to question
the blood spilt on its surface
it would be him
or perhaps the boatman
who swam there everyday
while his boat waited in silent vigil
its oars slipping from their loops
into the black abyss

Bide

I’ll try to find a nice shiny note for you
in every song that I listen to
I know you almost hear it too
every once in awhile
standing on tip-toed
glass shoes
thank you for calling on me
when I call you over
I just waste your time
we’re both bored anyway

Play your green-grass guitar
Throw your gold medals in the water
Buy a bouquet of yellow roses
hung round your neck like a heavy halo
and you can skate on shoes made of glass
I can only stand with my roots
making cracks across the grass

I’ll listen to the birds on my shoulder
playing notes that never last
I’ll take my time growing up
but you’ll meet me on tip-toes
on the top of your house
peeking out your windows
I know I’ll find you there
if I whistle loud enough
but for now I’ll wait
and peak above the treetops
biding my time

The Bagatelle That Played On In His Head

So paint yourself a lovely picture
but don’t forget about the tits, sir
You’re still a twisted little prick, sir
at least that’s what they say
in the town square where the bagatelles proclaim

that hidden far beneath your whiskers
you’re still softly smiling with her
but don’t forget you’ll never miss her
although you stand so far away
your eyes upon her moonlit bodice play

Just try to taste her on your lips, sir
there’s nothing better than a kiss, sir
Now your eyes lie upon her sister
Well second best isn’t always second rate
if you haven’t got any shame
while she screams softly out your name

your mind is toying with a gift, sir
This new concoction takes the piss, sir
I’ll ask you once so softly mister
Oh please don’t take her away
I know you’ve got this silver silk brocade
and you’re planning to show her
of just what you are made

And what if she says no, sir?
Says another boy won’t let her go, sir?
Will you kill her where she lays?
just because she can’t stand to say
that her love is the one
who’s been following you ’round all day

What a surprise and still, what’s this, sir?
A knife that plays upon your lips, sir
And in your chest it comes to lay
It’s not my fault
that you took more than you may
Though she hides in the courtyard
she still must whisper my name
And I won’t lie
for that’s the least of my crimes
I can’t guarantee that she’ll one day love me
but she sure as hell won’t love you today

In the town square the bagatelles proclaim
that my wanton heart was enough to drive me insane
but when they find these damned lovers lying in their early grave
they’ll know I only got what I gave

The Flight of Diana, August 13th, Aricia

she takes off her clothes
to spill the blood of another
two-story god
with a building in his body
and vines cracking his facade

she spins around the room
to watch the moon until morning
and lays her sheets upon the ground
where they’ll soak up the stains
of what yesterday made

she combs out her silky hair
for the only secret she ever had
and tosses herself from the balcony
where upon the piny heather she lays
to rise again unscathed

the forest will hide her now
though she remains carved in marble
in some courtyard under a long lost mezzanine
and there a boy mourns her body
while she watches from between the trees

And So Sang Coyote

call me coyote
I’ve crawled the desert’s many hives
I’ve felt the sting of snowy sand
I’ve seen what it means to die

call me coyote
I’ve been burned a thousand times
so my hide remains as red
as the setting summer sun

call me coyote
yes, my breaths come in canticles
as it crawls up towards the sky
each exhalation shakes the dunes
like a thousand grains gone by

call me coyote
my thoughts stain like icicles
falling silently back to earth
and still I dream of a moon
close enough to lean on
far enough to pray to
and made of milky marigolds
which fall from my mirrored eyes

Slam

It’s not my fault
that I can’t find how far
the apple falls
from the tree
I can tell you that
it’s not like I tried too hard
at fighting back
I slipped on words
that I wrote down myself
but secretly I just found them
carved into another’s back with a belt

It’s not my fault
that I never felt the shock
of being told
that my best friend had just been found afloat
filled with his own fluids
because even I know
that you can’t make that stuff up

It’s no secret to me
that what you feel is more real than anything
that I can say truthfully
about being free
it’s just that I keep writing poetry
and if there’s nothing else to talk about
I fall back on talking about me

except that none of me is real anymore
and writing this down is like digging into myself
to find the truth that I’ve buried beneath
the everyday lies that I yell as loudly as I can
so that no one will hear me whispering
in free form verses

stream of consciousness
river of insanity
I stand on your shores and shout callously
that I don’t know you
but my toes sink slowly into the sand
because they eschew my dishonesty
just like my eyes when I try to hide
myself

Diverge

It’s not like I haven’t built a tower in the trees before
but I keep remembering dreams I’ve never had before
and it’s weird to me because it’s hard to believe
in things that don’t exist in anywhere but me
but I suppose that’s just one way to live
still, I wish my room would rearrange itself
and stop coughing up pictures of how it used to be
before I started to think about these things

Jukebox

That didn’t sound fake to you?
I thought you might’ve heard
the faintest twinkle of insincerity
in my voice

You must’ve heard it before
now and again
the words we’ve said to one another
stamped upon our foreheads
and then burned away like plastic in the flames
writhing shrinking lies that melt into the ash
the dark mark of last nights bonfire
that can’t be swept away with words

Just take it all with a grain of salt
is what I’m trying to say
you knew I wasn’t trustworthy
from the start
that’s one of the many things
we have in common

Soon we’ll draw back
the curtain on this fallacy
and that’s always been just fine with me
I’ve only been following through
on a dream I once had
where I was happy with you
too bad, I could’ve sworn
I could almost hear
the music flowing from our jukebox
whose lights I was just beginning to see
floating through the clouds