Alive In 85

look back in anger, look back in anger, look back in anger.

Lookout at Noon  

My hands are not shaking

 

               they leave, and

 

I can assure you they do,

 

               but only for a moment

 

this moment, when I am unsure

 

                  I am very unsure

 

of anything else

 

                    so violently beautiful

 

corsets of steel bearings

 

                   that hold together

 

that hold the highway over

                 that river.

 

We may even be carried home,

 

                      by these little bugs

 

that are swept into blue highway

 

                  and never have to do anything

 

ever,

 

                and we will be held

 

to that conviction.

 

                           Now, while right now

 

they do not come

                       they may.

 

This is why it makes perfect sense

 

                      that I have hid from you

 

but I cannot hide.

 

                       I note two beetles fighting over

 

a brush of dead grass

 

                         they hold each other

 

and they look as if they are playing

                                  but I am unsure.


About Last Nights Dream 

I feel crowded.
Something in the air raises
and she hears me across the city.
But ignore that sound.
I acted like a child
when she forgave my hands.
We walked in the street
men in the windows
and in the wake of her legs
I joked about eating
unshaven pomegranates,


Reenacting The Cover of ‘Freewheelin’ 

I can invent that morning so well
when I walked with her home
and I pushed her hair west to
learn how hands can beg.
I was Dylan. She was Suze.
But what is the six o’clock sun?
Now that there is no snow here
and every gladioli lives, reluctant
that I had not met you sooner.
I do not know why it was her

talking to you now in the night shade
of your porch,
and it really is a shame that
we wake up in different parts of the city,
offended by the glare in the window
every morning.
Ideal painted branches covering everything and
while Carver will never be the West Village
I can hold on to your arm
sometime soon and look down,
We can adapt, you
who I should have known would come
And every woman who lives in a southern town
with the eyes of my mother
that I have not had the pleasure of knowing.
We all could stutter our legs
down past the first second lovely bird.
But it is never you.
I have always stumbled,
afraid of my own two feet
wanting angels
to twist my head only toward moonlight.
My head does not know
the body that moves it.
I
grab hold of the shade
of her body that is desire.

 


My Dream Girl Forgives Me At 9:43/Revision 

Should I grow fearful of myself, wanting, if you will—
that light, through the window, that we both observe now?
In mourning, we watch golden girls walk slowly outside.
Their feet light, you laugh and lay on me—we listen to
Poncho & Lefty, and we know, neither of us hurt like
poor Poncho. But I look at you, and feel I deserve more
of the dust. I abuse you. I rub my hand down your leg.
I have insulted you a hundred times, and it persists.
You adjust yourself and I blame you for Poncho’s death,
taking your hair, and watching the shades in morning air
shaking from vents on the floor. We make use of our hands.
I hardly feel deserving of his inheritance. Not when I
treat you so terribly, without even knowing, grasping
the slight of  your ankle. You used to be repulsed by me.
I hear the base of your foot with my palm—and
you forgive me, when you shouldn’t have
by smiling, and saying that I tickle you.


solipsist 

don’t come home

let me keep wet

on my window

from the rain,

and let me

swallow the

light from my

fixture until

i choke on its

coruscations.

there are other

people in this

world, you know.

be considerate.

let me hold

the illusion

that i am alone


Host Woman In DC 

May 18th at 10PM / tagged: D.C.. poem. poetry. / 1 note

God bless the bird

he says—

there is weight.

I watch

this woman

I do not know.

There is weight in that too.

She puts on a yellow

scarf, and she is laughing

when a man, in a cheap suit

that will stay cheap—

says, Ladies! Ladies!

They inherit weight.


Dress Nice on E St. 

More often than not, I feel

underdressed. Sometimes

I am naked. They can see me

under heavy street light and

their clean—in this town shoes

shine themselves, and watch

passer bys for their sense

of humor—

“he must be

playing a joke”

They say.


Dream Girl Forgives Me At 9:43  

Should I grow fearful of myself, wanting, if you will—

that light, through the window, that we both observe now?

In mourning, we watch golden girls walk slowly outside.

Their feet light, you laugh and lay on me—we listen to

Poncho & Lefty, and we know, neither of us hurt like

this poor Poncho. But I look at you, and feel I deserve more.

You adjust yourself and I blame you for everything.

But I hardly feel deserving of this light. Not when I treat you

so terribly, without even knowing, grasping the slight of

your ankle. I hear the base of your foot with my palm—

& you unknowingly forgive me when you shouldn’t have,

by smiling and saying that I tickle you.


A Navy Woman Walks Away In Light 

She is dressed neatly

in dark uniform

as if she

is leaving

quite soon.

Her hair is like wheat—

order, order

1923,

a love-

ly light eats to the

ground and crawls

towards east bay,

luminately.

Damyata: but I am

not so sure

our hearts

respond well to

control of our body

and arms—

a thousand hands raise

in approval

of my confusion.

 


Want 

Is it awful

to want anything

to happen?

To invade a

nice home with

your dress—you

don’t wear a dress

but I mean, the way

the way you dress

is nice. Ok that’s

not really important,

but don’t think I didn’t

see you consider

me with yr eyes

off swinging yr hair

yr body, it often considers

me, I am presumptuous

and a drunk—so many things

but this does not invalidate me.
This makes me invincible.

Ok, I’m a man, I’m horrible

because I just gave another

man advice about women.
I haven’t really done that

before but now I just feel

like a complete asshole.

Ok, I think I’m rambling,

but all I told him

was to not be invasive

and I think that is

an ok rule for anybody.

It is ok to want someone really bad.

I don’t think there is anything wrong

with that.


Blue 

I sit in my room

and make up the news,

the light pretends

to flicker and I think

what it would be like

if they went out,

and wish that they did.

But they will stay on

and the faucet will

not leak into a drum

and this ceiling

wont fall apart and

open the sky.

This roof is taut over

me while I search

for a comfortable

spot on my floor.

 


A Capitalist Venture 

We were in a room

with wood floors

and yes—I looked

at your legs, eyes more

important than your legs

and yes, eyes invade

and do harm.

The maoist says

bourgeois a lot

and hegemony.

I know I can commit

crimes with my eyes

yet you survive.

There are some things

no matter how hard

the capitalist tries to

pervade, they will fail.

Such as, your legs.

They do not invade

your legs—at least

not tonight.

Tell me how to watch,

I want to be told.

I hope I can accomplish

a healthy watching,

as you twist your

legs wonderfully

over one another,

I don’t look at you

as you walk into

the kitchen.


    NEXT