i am sorry
little clean machine
brilliantly pristine
mind that patters
i have known

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

it's like some song

you were graciousness
i offended

my apology as leave
princesses belong in their kingdoms

chilvalry is not dead
just defeated

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

i must fail

and i must fail and i must fail and and i must fail and i must failand i must fail and i must fail and i must fail and i must fail and i must fail and i must fail and i must fail and i must fail and i must fail       and i must fail and i must fail and i must fail and i must fail and i must fail       and i mfail i must fail i must fail i must fail i must fail i must fail fail i must fail i must fail fail i must fail i musta fail i must fail i must fail i must fail failure most i must fail i must i must must to must to succeed there are things i will try to remember things i will try to forget


 

     

 


   

 

 

 

 

i think of you more as time goes on--
the sky was grey reflective noise, a mimeogram of chaos--
nothing of you at all.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

i'd like to talk about love
but my neck hurts
and so my head compounds without sublimity
and unprofound

but as i had liked to so i will
continue to until i truly ground

without imagery
a lens encapsulating detriment
but of love

there are insects enough to night the noise
of it lights enough to circumnavigate
a false measure

so as not to remake mistake
but of love

my medulla contorts the cerebellum
drifts and i die
into a dream

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

light decays
waves
desiccate darkness
spoils

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

in the mood to call the church
and insist they put me thru to the arch diocese
i have a confession i don't go to church


 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

fire
works

rain
quartz

quarks
impractical

precise
lightning grand now

firebugs
stars

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

what's the bare minimum you can wear
to a ball

where the kings are crooked
and the crooked crazy

whatever rules
what's the bare minimum you can wear
to a square

like an article of faith
upon a map
most fantastic of landscapes

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


 

 

 

 

 

 




 


 


 


 


 


 

 

 

the art approximating
properly a joke may
be the laughter true

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

where you from?
earth.

where's that?


 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

i grew up in an off-highway town
where America meant morning

large and green-gold and small
as sand in the riverbed

of indifferent fish. my mother
no longer plays the piano.

there will be more fireworks tomorrow.
the night is just the same.

the light aphors. death mists
and twists. where silence

may be sacrilege and god said.
frogs in the drainpipe in the ditch.


 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

if it can't be said in polite company
it isn't poetry

it has been said
that nothing's said

a sea of trees
nests for birds

analytic
critical

somatic
hands

are for holding
birth

foes.