Month: January 2012

you name it

if you watch enough
implosions
you come  to know

that some folks’ll chase ’em ’till they get ’em.

If you
watch enough
implosions
you take to screaming

“I’m tired of all the goddamned reckonings!”

but the sun up
and proves you
a liar.

I type at keys
type type
at timebombs
type type
at cancers hidden
type type
import
implode
export
explode

I type in
numbers
threats
dogmas
death-curses
things that
play with time as if it were an unruly little dog.

After all the years
of steel
and pulleys
and keys of boards
people
have only managed to perfect
this art
of
shattering themselves.

shards

 

it’s raining glass
on your memories
the boardwalk
the cemetery
your voice like a champion.

it’s raining glass
broken
on shut doors
and built walls
and friends

so expert
so expert

at ferreting out all the right caves with all the right doors and all the right walls and all the right lanterns

to all that’s ahead
to all that’s not you.

And oh,
no one told you
about promises
rescued from the foundry?

or how you were forged from iron
but by pallid, pallsied hands,
cooling into durable ugliness?

It’s raining glass on your stories
the boardwalk
the cemetery

and with new EYES of GLASS
you’ve divined

the mercenaries
the mercenaries
the mercenaries

hidden
in
each
drop
of
rain.

in the cards

I keep telling him
if you keep
 lying that way
 your mouth
will break out
 into lightning
sing a capella
 to prisoners
wash up on
 the beach
 alongside
 syringes and science-fiction themed dixie cups.
I wish you'd
 stop using that guitar string
 to garrote
 yourself
 and your
 family
 and
 what's left of your head, which is now shaved
 and cranks its own biopics in film noir monochrome.
I keep telling him
 the lying
 is making a mulch of his eyes.
Look around.
Those dreams you dream
 are way outside
 the room
 you grew up in.

Kew Gardens Torture Chamber!!!

Great God! I discovered this secreted deep within the bowels of the Union Tpke. train station. There is no volume of words that could convey my  sheer mortal terror as I shakingly took these few snapshots. I shudder to think what decrepit acts these walls have contained…

This ladder could only lead to fear and abomination.
 
Just what is the nature of that device?
 
What ghastly sorcery took place here?

words

and there
are clowns
leading us into the chamber.

Climbing down from the
tank turret perch
he asks
“Have you come to fight?”

And they say
“We are the press. We have long lenses. Everyone will know how you died.”

Throw yourself
down any well
and they’ll show
with lotsa glass
and no rope.

The news reports
that
THE PATIENT IS RESTING COMFORTABLY.

The smartest man I know
says
that’s just how you are
when they bury you.

pony

he lived in his sleep

and to wake him
they’d shatter
heavy glass bowls
next to the bed.

He took
the morning
like a knife
screaming
“Screw you, I’m heading back in!”

And the mountains
disrobed for him
sang
did a jig

that thundered the ground
as if it were
a dimestore
chessboard

the human heart
learns these things
early on
and it only
knows
one
trick.