Breaking Up, Part 2

Most of the merchants
With whom I spoke
Were unreasonable,
Made unreasonable demands. That
Was reasonable, something
I could well understand.
We casually discussed their daily bread.
I uttered phrases such as
"I"ve never seen an antiqued charm bracelet.",
"The subject matter is tragicomic,
And weirdly medieval." and
"It"s important to buy locally.".

One young woman suggested that
My coffee would be less depressing with
One of her homemade brownies. What
Was depressing was that
My coffee was cold.
Later, I thought
"But my coffee was cold.", then
"But it wasn"t that cold.".
What was cold was
To not have bought that brownie,
To have thought
"But I ought not have bought that browny.".

That was brawny.
That was ballsy.
That was saying
"If we don"t buy locally
This community may disintegrate." and
Later, privately, "Everybody
Is trying to make a buck.".

Dogwood Atlanta

A hole in the night sky,
Low dark clouds before a high light, a
Total city sky envelope surrounds about.
Appeased me, surprised supine empire of
Love undisguised, rerecovered.

Time before, behind me.
What is wreckage? And what wrack?
Mine! My breath, our being
Bleeding, breeding, a
Beacon in time.
The hurtling hellborn bright
Beetle-black majesty my soul --
I recognize everything, and
Spring surrounds aloud.

Don't Step

What care I for your
Goblin body or
Bulbous head? I've
A life, like a
Pirouette, a
Quarter spinning, or
A dime, and will expire.

What want I with
Misspent woes or
Grim restraint? I've
A knife. You
Are a marionette,
herky-jerky jumping.

What want I with
Honest dealings, poppet?
What want I with
Captioned deeds? I was
Out, and in again
The fold of time
Like a whale -- beached,
Bathed and re-
embraced. For years I trod the
Shells to sand
But swim again. I
Relish breath and brine.

Joycean

An errant salt in
Stead awareness
Plied the long privation,

Quit the night and
Trips in dew before a dawn of
Language, trips in
Dew, the drops are
Glist'ning in the
Grass, the drops are
Glist'ning on the

Glass. The glass! The
Years! The weird and warp of
Time, the tears are
Cold and hard. They
Roll most slowly down
Old windowpanes.

Out of Band

Wide bright caissons grind through
A capillary, and crawling waver.
Rommel's warriors are burdened, bent
And blackened, crashing headlong
In the heat, curling with
Nausea, collapsing, shatters.

And we inhale ashes in
The silence on a
Sea of Earth's moon. We
Are one plus one, and
One again, and so until...
And then?

Rave, until then
Rave. Stretch you heretic, you
Sinews, you bag of bones, you
Pop and snap, claws outstretched
Infusing the moonlight.

One Day at the Park

Noone in the park was pretty, but
There were smoking bags of bones and
Gay men, gleaming. There
Were tattooed skins and
City dwellers sharply shapen, making
Love in the machine they
Made and remade, making
Love beneath the mountain.

Indeed, enclothed in rainement
Of the mountain's manufacture.

Breaking Up, Part 1

She
Stood me up. That
Knocked me down.
So I burned off in an
Escape vehicle for
To keep my wits about me, for
To respond beautifully, bouyantly.

A stop at a shop, I got
A well-balanced latte.

I let open the sunroof
Because "opening the sunroof"
Needed to happen. No,
It was the sound of
Music that needed
To escape the vehicle,
A vehicle of escaping,
An escape vehicle.
That was
Me opening the sunroof,
An escape vehicle.

Later, I thought
"The sunroof is a wound." and
"The music, blood.". Once, I thought
"The inside edge of the crescent moon looks sharp.",
"If I jump to hang off of it." and
"It would cut my hand.", then dreamt
Of Moonlight and milk,
Blood and the night, and
The mixing of milk and blood.
Neil Young sang
"Milk blood
To keep from running out.".
If I jumped to hang off it,
Then I would be hung,
As is the moon,
In the night sky.

That was reasonable. That was
Something I could well understand,
An escape vehicle,
A mode of transportation. I
Can well understand why one
Would have hated to have had to
Have had a mode of transportation.
That was Van Morrison singing
"My my my my my my
Sweet thing, sweet thing,
Sugar baby.",
"I"ve got a home on high
In another time,
In another place,
With another face." and
"The love that loves
To love the love that loves
The love that loves.".

Polis

What did it have to do
That it had nothing to do
With anything? How
Can anything be outside
My unconsciousness? It was
Outside my unconsciousness, a
Head-turner, a
Head-on collision
With my unconsciousness. It was,
Like a leaf-blower in the shape
Of a nautilus, incongruous.