Tag: new poetry

the third year they had known

tried to listen over

warplanes wild cats & windmills

if only one or the other had a third eye

Why do I with coffee carve out hunger and the edge
in the morning nearly dire as a man on a ledge?
Because in the dark the peeling eucalyptus trees.
Because you are subtle as a ballot box
perfumed with the oil of cottonseeds
magical with possibilities, odd as a fox
or a girl organizing seven keys.

In Spain some say: the streets are not yet paved.
If I were not walking here and standing
and standing and looking so early this morning,
I could occupy a chair of metaphysics

We gods play tricks,
call it learning lessons.
We keep the house clean.
Scrub dishes before sauces crust.
Wipe counters
and catch crumbs off the edge

I was in a dumpster.

I was next to the dwindling river;
I was with you. Who knows when we stopped
and if we stopped together.

I know you’re out there, lost in your pillows
of ash and grief, to rise only to mourn

yesterday, today, and all tomorrows,
wrapped alone in strange strangling sheets, worn

as little shrouds after the little death
of another sunset celebration.

Each night a worship of pink delights, breath
held captive in our private elation

am neatly obsessed with warm concrete
am neatly obsessed with my favorite water brand
am neatly obsessed with tercets & triplet hearts
am neatly obsessed with names that a hold a home
am neatly obsessed with streets that overflow in obscurity
am neatly obsessed with trails that go on for miles
am neatly obsessed with packages that read like blankets

it’s the spaceship of your parents’
generation — dark glass in the dark
glass that is / the galaxy. plus
didgeridoo. I want to be heard