older poems
first of all and first foremost
you can’t look.
eye offcenter captivate no one
anonymous invisible
parasitic ate up
first you cannot keep your eyes on anything.next form a gun
with your elbow to hip form a nice big triggershot
point it square to your adrenaline
and pullback till you hear a click
all the way back till you feel like the tendon to
your thumb might split
never make copies of keys
you’ll just lose them
never record your voice it will lashback as
evidence
distractions are always inanimate
and if something exists to prove you are breathing
then you are beaten before you begun
keep a swagger no matter
how attached you are
get a wink sewn to your lash
heels added twice to the shoes
forget elegant for cheap because cheap
is mellowdramatic to the radar
love your tongue so sharpen it.
*
I’m overhearing conversations out of context.
Promising optimists and committed liars
some guy scrawls desperation on a napkin
slides it cautious ‘cross the bar through
condensation rings asking can he borrow forever
and despite all this interacting the illusion
is still held together with just spit and string–
god is preoccupied at the payphone
slipping the receiver into sweater in hopes of
helping the girl to catch his heart’s rhythm
but she like he is neither here nor there
and i preoccupy air-time-space contemplating
the stare of the wallflowers
all of them poised like they’re lamenated beneath themselves,
a hand lightly gracing the naked collarbone,
a curl absentminded twirled around triple ringed finger..
Tomorrow morning this reality
will be fractionfrozen split into image and farce-vision,
swept up with the dust and empty cigarette boxes
by broomhandles and light breezes and almost told stories.
Tomorrow morning leaks forth the strength of the weak, stealing pennies to french kiss the vices that
grip their throats
the day is just time killing toward the evening
when selves can be reinvented
where I will perch silent in opium smoke-filled rooms–
the world be high and I am grounded
a paisley pillow and half-finished memoir
sits politely on the table
a perspective almost 2 dimensional
snare rim snap then cymbal crash
the music waves to the crowd and the crowd waves back