Thursday, February 28, 2013

All I Can Suspect


They rise like mushrooms in the rain –
or polyps pre: a colonoscopy –
involuntarily: these species of incursion

in the brain. Their net effects may vex
or numb or entertain. I’d like to say I know
more than I do about them – find a moral

in their perilous unheralded appearances –
but their adherences defeat me.
All I can suspect is, they complete me.


Wednesday, February 27, 2013

Most Ghosts


Most ghosts don’t much get along
with other ghosts:
tethered, when together,
to their fraught irresolutions,

all their solo solipsisms
cannot breathe to misconstrue.
Banshees like to wail alone
to seethe and rue.

But last night they came through
my dreams en masse
as redolent and rude
as passing gas.


Tuesday, February 26, 2013

More of You


Clay is stardust
mixed with water
which amounts
to stardust, too –
into and around
and out of which

constituents are
soon supplied
with what they
need to make up
more of you.
You look around

and blink at what
you think is utterly
other, but really
it’s your mother
and your brother.

Face it, darlings,
it is done: we’re
one, if intramural:


Monday, February 25, 2013

Oddly Calm


for Mike Rubio

Someone wants to know!
Suddenly there’s flow!
Stop can turn to go!

Allowed to take a ride,
the crowds inside decide
they do not have to hide.

They come out
oddly calm
and preternaturally


Sunday, February 24, 2013

Not All Poems Rhyme


Am I doing enough?
Do I have

Oh, wait a minute.
The Universe
is infinite.
Never mind.


Saturday, February 23, 2013

Body Contact

Bundled and encumbered
in a plundering
preponderantly bodily
conglomerate response –

shaped by space-time’s
pull and gravity –
like an embracing
brace of seals – without

much suavity – an awkward
and unwieldy pile –
though not without its wily
mild to wild charm:

today you wouldn’t mind
becoming involutedly
enwrapped in everybody
else’s leg and elbow,

butt and chest and lap
and crotch and fingers,
neck and head and foot
and lip and arm.


Friday, February 22, 2013

If There is Enlightenment


If there is

we think it
criminally blasts

from blue
to yellow

by barging

some sad,



Thursday, February 21, 2013

Reasons God Wants to Unfriend You


Your ineffable
Your passive-aggressive

Your utter abnegation
of the mind.
Forgive us if we aren’t
being kind.


Wednesday, February 20, 2013

La Condition Humaine


There is no time.
Past’s as much
the present
as the future is

and memory is neurological –
a seasoning of something
in the flesh.
Everything is biological.

But what about the lover part?
What about the space
a lover doesn’t take
inside your heart?

What’s inside your heart?
Muscle blood and artery
so metaphorically inert
they cannot hurt –

but something hurts –
at any rate abashes –
today, in fact, amasses
burning form. Today

the lover that you never had
came by to sit with you –
petition you to make him
warm with impropriety –

to counsel you to let
your yearning languish.
La condition humaine
is not anxiety, it’s anguish.


Tuesday, February 19, 2013

Why I Live in the City


It’s raining in the city –
a development in point of view.
Points of view
never seem to come from you.

Have you ever had one?
The city is a crowd
and getting wet.
As usual you’ll have to let

it be. Where in anything
is what you might call “me”?
You get
the royal we –

except for why it’s limited
to royalty.
The city is a crowd, and wet.
Perhaps that’s “me.”


Monday, February 18, 2013

The Ruby Realm of Things


You know the ruby realm of things
where rich suspicions bloom
into expectancies which soon collectively
assume an assonance that sings? –

the place in dreams providing for the sweet
embrace of singularity which brings
a nihilistic whiff of the complex,
which generally has to do with sex
but quickly forms a union with the vexing
depths of parsing the perplexities
of what, next, you should do? –

which then, enslaved to some unmediated
mission of the brain, attains divided form,
intentions split in twain, expostulating
to themselves absorbedly? –

that space in which one part explains it
to a counterpart who doesn’t have a clue?

Of course you do.


Sunday, February 17, 2013

Going Solo


You used to think that purity
meant going solo – extricating
everything that mattered

in you from the folderol
of others’ hazy expectations –
lovers’ lazy predications –

but it still sticks like crazy glue.
You think it isn’t part of you.
That might not be true.


Saturday, February 16, 2013

Sometimes, Soft, Aloft


Sometimes, soft, aloft,
art rises past surmise –
emerges at no cost –

burgeons and surprises
into something human
you can use – excuses

your confusion – exacts
a vision from delusion –
induces choice – allows

a voice to speak – seeks
a pact: produces a
decision to make contact.


Friday, February 15, 2013

If I Have A Soul


If I have a soul
I think it wears a baby as a hat.
If it has a goal
I think it’s got somewhat to do with that.


Thursday, February 14, 2013

On Remembering It’s Valentine’s Day


It registers as shy –
this inward state of yours –
a sort of loneliness – soft cry,
perhaps, from somewhere
in you you’ve not understood:

or understand too well.
Though here I swell
with psychoanalytic narrative
again – imagining I know.
That can’t be good. Today

I wish you were my pet.
I’d cuddle and caress you –
let you sleep right in my bed.
Unless you wanted
something else instead.


Wednesday, February 13, 2013

Mid-February, or Human Life


Mid-February mirrors
human life the best
of any time of year.
It hands itself the same

queer, sometimes gelid,
sometimes melting,
ambiguities – the tepid
grays, the chilling whites –

which constitute
the basis of what
each of us perceives
is going on. What is

going on? Three
witches bumble through
with explanations;
one of them is terrified

they might be true.
Here we have the Human
Mind – and February –
tripping off in trinities

towards the Spring with ties
that bind them back
to Winter. Which rhymes
with splinter which is what

we’re doing every instant
we’re alive and skirting
hell. Mid-February does
this too, and well.


Tuesday, February 12, 2013

Eve and Adam Redux


The Serpent is benign.
Its rising, sinking surfaces
may wind and slink and twine --
but it pursues its purposes
purblind to yours and mine.

The Eden thing's a fake.
Don't kneel to it: rue it.
Give the snake a break.
We're the ones who do it.


Monday, February 11, 2013

Attempted Reassurance

Irresistible, the lure of Chinese takeout –
when you know how roast pork egg foo yung,
steamed broccoli, and wontons in a “special
sauce” can make four days of meals ahead
a real delight – the wontons, first, tonight;

one slice of egg foo yung with broccoli
tomorrow; and another similarly garnished
piece the next day; final slab, floret-adorned,
the last
– wherein you know you will have
grappled happily with one of your past vexing

exigencies of self-care – because you know
that you can have delivered just exactly
what you like: in minutes, zap! – it’s there.
So, you see, there’s something you can do.
There are ways to deal with other hungers, too.


Sunday, February 10, 2013

Too Much


Too much
came at me today.

I had to shoo it
all away.


Saturday, February 9, 2013

In Extremis


They say that when you freeze to death
you feel a warmth and calm before you die.
Appealing thought – redemption in extremis
but let’s not try. We might catch them in a lie.


Friday, February 8, 2013

That February Ambled By


That February ambled by
and caught your eye
and nodded “hey” made
all the difference today.

Such unexpected scrutiny! –
affection, almost! –
interest in what sort
of thing you were!

You’d been wondering
with whom or what
you could be intimate.
February might be it.


Thursday, February 7, 2013

Personified, Your Lovely Traits


Personified, your lovely traits
would make a subtle crew:
a quilted human mass –
soft ambiguity – a slew

and suite of assonance –
a murmuring phantasm –
all conducing to a tremor –
mild sussurating spasm –

of a whispering intention
which would manifest at last,
because it had to, as a thing
that moved and spoke: amassed

into the strange illusion
you’ve persisted in evincing
that you’re singularly you.
We might still need convincing.


Wednesday, February 6, 2013

Quantities of Things


He wonders what he brings
to getting old.
Quantities of things
now leave him cold.


Tuesday, February 5, 2013

Sitting In It


They’re sitting in it.
Tightly fitting in it.

They say: no room to spare.
But you’re already there.

Dreams make up your furniture.
Is this the cure? You’re unsure.


Monday, February 4, 2013

The Last Time You Were Sitting There


We thought we’d give a little less
attention to the news today and air
some less remarked-on views:

reporting on the un-decoded way,
for instance, everything construes
itself from nothing. You know –

the last time you were sitting there,
besieged with care, distracted by
the blaring self-attack to which

you privately subject yourself,
so that the middle distance you
could be accused of looking into

might as well have sheltered several
rings of Dante’s hell? – when suddenly
you felt an overwhelming urge

to nap? And you awoke to something
nestling in your lap? And it was
not your cat? Account for that.


Sunday, February 3, 2013

Smoking Existentially

existentially? –

on a summer
day – willing

to be dumped
into whatever
Fate had

had in store?
Have you found
a better way? –

progressed –
attained some
higher state –

won your vast
internal war?
Well, you

any more.


Saturday, February 2, 2013

My Friends and I, My Friends and Me

Here we are again,
my friends and I,

my friends and me,
the three of them

a constancy
within, without

my consciousness.
Sometimes they’re

more or less
the recognizable

and analyzable
examples of their

species that you see;
at other times,

they’re not. It doesn’t
seem to matter what

they’ve got
or haven’t got for me

or what I’ve got
and haven’t got

for them. We promise
this or that, or don’t.

I could go on,
but won’t.


Friday, February 1, 2013

At Last, Beneath My Blooded Pen

The problem isn’t what to write.
That’s always been completely clear.
Oracularly come to light –
these clues about what might be here!

These dreams in dreams – articulate,
at last, beneath my blooded pen:
their matter, now particulate –
amassed and patterned. Ah, but when

will you take any notice of
these vatic veins – the blooms they yield?
embrace their fragile lotus – love
the lilies in their flooded field?

My liquid syllables run thin
now they’ve discovered they’ve not led
remotely to your swimming in
the blood my blooded pen has bled.