Tuesday, July 29, 2008

Personal Declaration of Love

I'm sure they don't know this,
but I love them all
the ones who
possess their limbs,
worry about their passing lives,
and gather what they own
in piles around them
for protection against night spirits.

From here,
from the standpoint of very far away,
when the people look so small,
they are all so beloved.

Tuesday, July 22, 2008

The Fringe Festival

I just leave
the nursing home
where I defy time,
enter the square
where the music plays
and I am
over-youthed,
thrown against the wall,
wanting back
my regular fictions,
vacant.
When you love
in unvoiced words,
your lover becomes
a monument.


Saturday, July 19, 2008

Modern Dialogue

I am now a true friend. I feel like I graduated.
Yes you have. But now I have to mow the lawn.
True friend in a quasi-static
universe where we don't have bodies.
It's true.
And only the lawn is real.
Lol.

Thursday, July 17, 2008

Rainbow's Poem

In the third act
just before the curtain
brings down the sky
the actor who
no longer looks
like a child

stands in front of the stage
and recites into the dark,
"Rainbow, I will never know
another pretty girl. And you have made
a simulacrum in my brain.
You are the promise

after the storm, the part
that ends with, "for ever and ever,"
a dream that makes real marks,
promise to hold my likeness
in your mind."
The house is still after that.

Tuesday, July 15, 2008

The Great Last Wish: Liana's Poem

I'm free to get ugly.
That's one of the benefits
of slipping out of the world
and it's inefficencies.

When I met you
I wished I hadn't
given away
my wanderings so fast.

But then I realized,
it just took time
collecting enough misery
to count as a man.

Porgy and Bess

When Crown comes back
he will judge you
from the inside.
He will judge you
for himself.
He will not be
whipped and sensitive.
He may not care
what you say
you want in a man.
He will
burn
and freeze you.


(thanks Gail)

Saturday, July 12, 2008

Breaking Out of Taboo


On free days
the hours spin by
scarce and beautiful
like Rumplestilskin's gold.

While I preserve time
under watchful eyes
of guards with stop watches
and sheets of graph paper,

laughing summer crowds
move so eagerly toward pleasures
of the day that
blushes in passing

Tuesday, July 08, 2008

The Quiet Refuge of the Vain

I read
my own book.

The poems only take
a few minutes to write.

Then I spread them like
sugar pie crust.

Oh I like that part.
I read the book

in half an hour.
It feels like

a drink of warm milk
after I have added butter

and sat to drink it
in the half dark.

My Railroad Dream

I finally approached the tracks
through the brush, my legs
covered with scratches and insects.

I see the steel jumbos
streamed in cable and the
colors of chaos, mixed
from incantations sprayed
along their thighs.

I approach a man
who operates a switch.
"What are they doing?"
He looks at me as the invader,
as if I had appeared
out of a dream.

"They are riding the bullies," he says.
"Bulllies?"
"Yah, " He says, not wanting
to utter the "s" (true of many men).
"Engines that shouldn't have
been made."

Secret Message

You are usually wrong.
Alone, being wrong,
now you are silent.

I know the paralysis
of the incorrect. Nobody nowadays
listens to myth and metaphore
no matter how lovely and
how diffcult these new things
are to define.

But you were right that
it didn't rain.

Thursday, July 03, 2008

A Film About Japan

The steps adopted their airs
from the stillness they passed through.
They weren't ponderous at all,
but they were so slow, they adopted the airs.

Every movement appeared so important and so considered.
There seemed to be a symbol in every gesture.
The people who walked
rose out of the mundane

and seemed to be creatures of grace.
They weren't creatures of grace.
They adopted their grace
from the speed of their steps.

Wednesday, July 02, 2008

Washroom Miracle: A True Story

That the college girl would
take pictures of the washroom wall
with her little pink digicam,
holding it far from her face
to stiffen her arm as they do,

and e-mail the images of
these wall poems to far-off
places to be read by strangers
and maybe published
anonymously in a small book,

the wall writers
would never have guessed.