31 August 2011

three parts of the past

in fours

i played your guitar today
                               to spite you

bitter cold and blowing snow
     winter   gets things done

the coldest i got 
         refilling the wiper fluid different
   from the sixty two of yesterday
when i didn't even wear a jacket and everything smelled like spring
          all were distracted   thinking of what they want to tell me  
                          myself   included  

today it was cold snowy focus
and my shirt smells like evergreen

my winter coat has a hood and i put it to good use
 even when    i'm wearing a hat

the four songs
1. bryan's song
2. everyone knows
3. the great lake erie
4. if i was wrong

           knight berman jr. says ‘reaction is the completion of creation’

that feels good to say

 what words do you like in your mouth?

i have a friend who loves the word ‘utter’
  she likes the way it feels
                                                   what it means

i lean toward ‘certain’ or ‘telecaster’
and have spent some time defending ‘supple’ against its harsher critics

  my grandmother's 106th birthday
                         my maternal grandmother    callie mae   a slight woman 
  with more strength than a thousand men
          raised four kids and a drunk husband

they smoked      like good people did

                                                         and that's what killed all four      
                                                                                                       of the kids

the eye

the problem with my eye is a bit of a long story

            are you familiar with spencer tunick?

the day   sunday     it was hot outside
                 the sun was bright and big in the sky

we wore the required loose clothing
             milled about in the holding area with fifteen hundred others
waiting to be called  
                          waiting  to be nude
                                 to be art

i looked around for someone that i knew   wondering  if i was hoping to find anyone or not     it is a strange feeling    incomplete  unknowing

the word came     when it was said    i was looking up
      at the building     at the sun peeking     over top of the brilliant facade

i noticed what is usually called   a sunspot   in my right eye  
                                                       you know the type
where you can't really see for a minute or two 
                          and then your eyes readjust  break free or break through

                                 my right eye
                                     the better of the two 

  never did

i still have the same spot i did that day      i see it most when i try to sleep

three different grown men told me that if i followed an aspirin therapy regimen
              it would go away

  i did     it didn't

the last one  thought it might be a floater   i told him it doesn't move     
     not completely opaque but still   i can't see through

‘you're a young man’ he said ‘you'll heal just fine

             no need to worry   everything is all right'

during all this    i kept bumping in to your father     back in the back

the part of the office where serious things sigh    
                                          he was telling me jokes  with that gleam in his eye
         we kept saying goodbye and 
                                     i'll see you next tuesday   
                                                                 each and every time

but then
          we'd run into each other six minutes later and do it all again
                                      we shook hands   we were men  

 about a dozen times that day  
                         each awkward seeing the other   out of context

            even though the other good doctor   an eloquent speaker 
                                        and the last of the three grown men  
                   said i'd be fine    
                                      i am not

i have trouble in low light  with numbers on a page  
                       i have to look around a sentence to make sure i see
   the whole thing

       i read one yesterday
it was professional and dry
                and somewhere in the middle   bold letters ‘BRAIN MRI’
i just can’t figure what i’m hoping they’ll find

         you are the first person to ask for the story

the guys at work will talk about it if i bring it up   and my ex her was going through a lot of her own stuff     at the time    or     all the time

                    so nothing got done

who waited with me for the women to come out
                 feeling awkward 
      standing completely clothed waiting for my ex her     

  she looks like this

to walk naked from the building
it's the kind of situation
that doesn't really happen
     more than a few times
in your life  


the extra room

that's what she looked like on my birthday   last year   late at night 
                in the initial query about my extra room
     you see
 once you open the mind it doesn't close all the way back

 so even if she's returned to doing whatever it is she does
         to please some of the others
she's got the idea that there's another way
  that's the first step

                                             like at first read
the bit about drinking up words    made me think about songs

                             for some reason knowing    takes away from it all

you have a good sense for description     use it  as a weapon

         give enough detail           leave  the rest   like a trail
            looking for a treatment that no one can offer

                           stop me cold      color me pale

            this is faster than i remember it being

       behind on the technology

truly sincerely
                 the you in me                    
                                                        ps  i'm already running out of closings

30 August 2011

thoughts made entirely
           of anxiety and propriety

           your pale shoulder calls

through soft blonde hair

           and being over prepared       to go


your ‘bombed’ is all that i really need
to keep my journey going
         to keep the wheels from slowing
so the terrorist doesn’t win

 it must be in the soft blonde hair
the thoughts made                  entirely
     of        anxiety
and            propriety

thoughts of
   what did he mean
thoughts more often grey than green
thoughts of inertia
                thoughts of the east
           thoughts of what kind of  help     you can be

29 August 2011

2:48 a.m. hiroshima bound

the drone doesn’t know

same as it ever was
          truth is    it never was

                  jumped jim crow just to have it known
     that you wouldn’t let it go

       it’s best for both of us

                         you know why
      don’t look at my eyes
                              you might have to decide  
that brown isn’t as blue as black is white
                         that couldshe wouldshe shouldshe might   

this room felt a lot of tears
       in those  pre dawn years
                where phone calls and whiskey
                                 would have you believe that 
                                                four green lights make a green sea

that who you were talking to 
                         was       listening

                              man   we don’t understand anything

                     no   let me think for a minute

                                                                that’s just p l a i n bullshit

 it’s not anything  
          that we want to understand
              it’s everything

evv err eee thing

are you listening

                            has the port 
                                     in the storm 
                                       only   the kissing
                                                              the missing      the wishing    
listing    insisting

    that surreptitious be swallowed    
                            not watched or  written

2:48 a.m.
hiroshima bound

28 August 2011

andersen robeson bezeljak and blood

i never said it isn’t but     why    are you whispering
i wish you wouldn’t do that      you’re not fooling me
                           ice in the water   cold on the shoulder 
                                    all the pretending is making us older

         just want her to stop talking just stop talking 

what’s your name    my name is bill
                           dead woman body pretty

                                             a bruise from the windy city
who was that       
tip tip tip tip

come back when you’re angry    

                                    when you’re hungry   

                    when the green and gold turn whittier cold

and you  said
‘it’s true’
you said it
you knew

the trial   in paperback

 like storm clouds
black plastic buttons  filling drain spouts
the motion devotion of eyes fixed on mouths     
a whirlwind rhythm of
time running out

that explosion   when you were six

the long and the short         it made me sick
                            those are the facts

and they are satisfactory

all that was asked of me   fresh   from the factory

when open was nothing
                                  we drove through the night
     terribly slow
                             turned  confided

                                                  what color isn’t natural color 


                                     sudro is back

 waited with her

feigned  attack at

cigarettes     beers
                           bruises on knees

  the muses in ears
                                    made sure you said ‘please’ 

and ‘thank you’

                                                         to stutterers
 afraid of the phone

deeply in love with being alone

27 August 2011

give back the name

it’s not just a word
it’s something you earn
something vital and tried
that still lives                             at times

indicates          authenticity

which is why             you decide
                                           to pin it to your
often trite
                                                           ironic glasses and
hipsta might

you think it’s yours        ‘cause it was given you
but night after night
                                             i won’t forgive you

if you push it out there long enough 
                                     if you pretend to be that kind of tough

the one night’ll come
                          and it may not be me
but some other fool mad
                          from the improbability
             of what had been un-corruptible
now corrupted
time was     
     only slightly marred      by slurs  by slippers
            eggars  idea of strings                
                                    sounds like                         strippers

‘beautiful’        but empty sweet

                                    mean and drugged                underneath

thrown off at last on a houston night
where your old man
                               he just might

 he gave it to you    found the will to live
 but cowboybootsoncoffeetables don’t make it his to give
you you you ride the wave like you had    anything
to do with the moon that brings it in
                                               that shit was permanent                                      
                                                      until you burned it

             like what you have came from that man
                          throwing off words    catch-as-catch-can
        but you you you you       y’scrape and  y’stand

at every turn like this was yours to take
with your little rock hammer and your heart so fake
and piece by piece you chip away
                                    at the thought              at the name

at the love/at the lie
at the electro-shock fallin outta the sky
 at west memphis darlins                 Odetta’s truth
                  rex’s bell   and   rex’s blues

you can’t cut yourself a columbine
you can’t black haired dutch boy
you can’t fool anyone   but                             

and you can’t fool me


you can’t fool me

26 August 2011

robert hampson's sermon on the mount

it starts with a ‘ping’                  the                              high harmonic e that’s when the circle starts to turn ‘round
 the jet plane rumble   robert hampson’s sermon  on the mount
it circles around
                                                                           and around
                                                                  and around
a strong sensation             you get lost
          in the sound
stay with the groove       don’t worry what they’ll say
eyes on the prize  stay on the page
keep working and willing                      it’ll turn                and engage
push it right past where you think it might stay
deep                      in the night
                          or early the day             
                                              the low end comes in        starting the roll
       inviting       enticing you into the fold
you may even think that you’re in control
pushing and pulling                               making you whole
 the sight and the sound
                                  start to implore
then comes a point where the only thing you want   is more
and you can’t just keep looking at your hands or the floor
                             you wander right past
                                                                                             to adore