1.10.2010

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Once I am gone,
I want
the bones

of my body
to be
crushed finely

into a paste,
whereas it could be
used as white ink.

The evening forgets
you and I;
the fish ponders it

in a graver thought.
To discover
nothing;

the angels weep
upon the lawn
of

the
American black cloud.
Someone

has chased me
away
from falling, from

staying
in one place.
Balance

on the moon,
try not to walk
tippy-toe;

eye-shakes
like a drunken
security guard;

the spot-light
flips and
flops like

Paul Pierce's head,
pierced by morning,
a bunch of computer

-generated cortexes.
I ripped off
the frozen

door-handle
from
the passenger's side

of the car
in the coldest
concentrated cold

in a decade.
Everyone is
always wrong.

I am
dimming into
brightness;

drumming secrecy
is rising
into the numbing sun

like some versatile gypsy.
I chew up
the air

in my soul-vent.
I paw my way through
the geraniums in spring.

I am
out to lunch.
Bother me
but beware

of the air
that will toggle
with your noodle-toes.

Language
should always be
lazy and obvious,

naming myself
as if from an "idea";
shenanigans

amidst a kind of
post-hysteria.
I am out to dinner.

I will
fill another
nearing-window

with
the same words.
I have heard

from
the curious traveller;
to satisfy himself

upon all accounts
to discover
the eye of

singular
disappointment;
to survey the world afterwards

so that the outworks
occupy a large
acknowledged situation

from which
there is
an easy entrance,

like
the small visibility
in "Étant donnés."

Even though my father
was never "on the scene"
after my birth

I still feel as though
I am living
within

a posthumous existence.
There is
a difference

between a 'wave'
of sadness
and 'waves' of sadness.

Today, I felt
the latter after
driving by

a scene
of cats
surrounding

a dead kitten
in the middle
of the road,

seemingly
mourning
like elephants

yet what they appeared
to be doing was
eating its innards.

Angels with pinlights
punched through the night sky;
these are the stars.

Standing
on Lurch legs.
I look down

at them
the way an inmate
would

look down
after dropping
the soap.

It is cold in here.
Look at me
and warm me.