lost as I am, lost as I can be.
for the future of our youth:
the matra of broken things.

open your coat. roll down
or smash your windows,
and welcome that wind.

All accounted for illusions, dusty ancients, bullhorn ghosts pacing out by the mire of the wharf, I've seen you all in the steps of a woman I know.  She rattles her dressing gowns with a silent timbre reserved for those lone clouds you see over the dessert sometimes, who have forgotten where it was they were to rain, and instead of find release, ( Read more... )

There are vital eggshells
waiting in the garbage
disposal, open-jawed,
crepuscular in the jaunted light.
I am want
but not
more
than this.

Hail, all men in the morning,
turning away from sleep
before the dawn, gloaming
dripping from their knees, hail,
dogs of nuance, hail, deep-knit
tunics of the dancing undertakers,
hail, breath-knit women who undo
and undo ( Read more... )

Yuri had felt as buoyant as a water wing, his soul as brightly orange, plastic, unbearably full.  He had become, for a brief instant, kid Yuri: a technicolor balloon of sensation, running without making the effort to run, a rabid flight through a world of gobstoppers and pixelated golden coins.

Feeling gradually returned.  First something at once ( Read more... )

the wind here wants to touch ( Read more... )

hurry to me in my dream.

multiply your many hearts

like tomatoes in the garden's hair.

the water is ripe.  the storms

arch and creak with withheld love.

I don't know how to shoot a bow well,
and I don't own a gun.

But fall, fall, like newborn broken dancers, fall.

at your worst, there is a whale
all robed in numbers, and he waits
a menacing wait. 

I am less afraid of the hour of darkness
than I am the hour of beige.

Be it by way of the wild flowers,
all out and well, and well,
out with all the inside colors
that within each of us swell.

Let me make this clear: I am scared ( Read more... )