wheeze, stab at me like Brutus!
Caesar, at least, died.
Monday, June 6, 2011
Sunday, June 5, 2011
Dallas, TX
Here, I saw a jump-cut ballet of green skyscraper
dance across a Cadillac, scatter into a haze
and escape through a false night sky.
So I gave up faith in Orion's Belt, kissed Ursa Major
goodnight for summer, and found my home on Loop 12.
Moving tore me open, but now the architecture heals.
On the museum lawn, jazz wrapped the red, sprawling
sculpture and brought 75 to their feet to slide across the bricks.
Then, a black woman smacked my hip and said, "Smile, boy!"
So I smiled at the horse race in its colors of royalty
and beasts of speed. I smiled at my place of rest,
my home for the Summer.
dance across a Cadillac, scatter into a haze
and escape through a false night sky.
So I gave up faith in Orion's Belt, kissed Ursa Major
goodnight for summer, and found my home on Loop 12.
Moving tore me open, but now the architecture heals.
On the museum lawn, jazz wrapped the red, sprawling
sculpture and brought 75 to their feet to slide across the bricks.
Then, a black woman smacked my hip and said, "Smile, boy!"
So I smiled at the horse race in its colors of royalty
and beasts of speed. I smiled at my place of rest,
my home for the Summer.
Wednesday, June 1, 2011
New York, NY
Here I pushed through the dirty thicket of all Manhattan
in breathless insomnia, a Van Gogh of lost lucidity
with the colors of madness, and the half-genius of delirium.
But in sewer's steam, in the humidity of industry, Williamsburg
brought me rest and distance. I stepped on soft grass
and sat near the water.
The Navy in white cotton rode for Staten Island,
and spent the ferry searching for company.
The air was cold mist and the city swelled into our wake.
Above Central Park, I heard the chords of a dense, hidden hymn
emanate from the MET, matching history with chaos,
where a green quilt is the lifeblood of this neighborhood.
On each block, I found the constant chemical reaction
of hot life. In each park, I found the holiness of empty space.
And in the street, I found a home.
in breathless insomnia, a Van Gogh of lost lucidity
with the colors of madness, and the half-genius of delirium.
But in sewer's steam, in the humidity of industry, Williamsburg
brought me rest and distance. I stepped on soft grass
and sat near the water.
The Navy in white cotton rode for Staten Island,
and spent the ferry searching for company.
The air was cold mist and the city swelled into our wake.
Above Central Park, I heard the chords of a dense, hidden hymn
emanate from the MET, matching history with chaos,
where a green quilt is the lifeblood of this neighborhood.
On each block, I found the constant chemical reaction
of hot life. In each park, I found the holiness of empty space.
And in the street, I found a home.
Monday, May 2, 2011
in memory, my mom's father
in memory, my mom's father
faces his recliner towards the corner
of a brown, paneled living room.
this is how my subconscious built the memory–faceless.
and it's my only one of him. but his Jaeger-LeCoultre
wristwatch for five years of service with Tulsair
teaches me history.
and the family lore of persistence.
the crystal is chipped from the inside,
four layers of unreachable dust coat the face,
and a forest of rust has grown over the hands
into the white inlay.
in the decay is new-found freedom
of forgoing formality, of wearing your sunday best
to change the oil, and of a wholehearted
lack of delicacy.
today, a gold watch from Reasor's for my five years.
and I'll scratch the glass, neglect the band
and break it in
in family tradition.
faces his recliner towards the corner
of a brown, paneled living room.
this is how my subconscious built the memory–faceless.
and it's my only one of him. but his Jaeger-LeCoultre
wristwatch for five years of service with Tulsair
teaches me history.
and the family lore of persistence.
the crystal is chipped from the inside,
four layers of unreachable dust coat the face,
and a forest of rust has grown over the hands
into the white inlay.
in the decay is new-found freedom
of forgoing formality, of wearing your sunday best
to change the oil, and of a wholehearted
lack of delicacy.
today, a gold watch from Reasor's for my five years.
and I'll scratch the glass, neglect the band
and break it in
in family tradition.
Saturday, April 23, 2011
Tuesday, April 19, 2011
Mystic
Under daylight, a mystic learns science,
with music, history learns manners,
and for a second, the choir takes a breath.
with music, history learns manners,
and for a second, the choir takes a breath.
Monday, April 18, 2011
the weather comes to us!
a thunderstorm grew above the interstate,
so we followed the funnel clouds east of Ardmore
in the now hail-littered countryside
and we drove over the fresh green leaves
laid at our feet like palm leaves leading to Jerusalem.
a family stood out on their porch
to capture the purple and gray growing mountains
and the radio reminded us every two minutes
take cover, find a bathtub!
we had box seats for the devastation, where
our adrenaline grew the lifting storm. where
the people who lived so long
in window boxes stretching out for sunlight
now had the weather come to them.
so we followed the funnel clouds east of Ardmore
in the now hail-littered countryside
and we drove over the fresh green leaves
laid at our feet like palm leaves leading to Jerusalem.
a family stood out on their porch
to capture the purple and gray growing mountains
and the radio reminded us every two minutes
take cover, find a bathtub!
we had box seats for the devastation, where
our adrenaline grew the lifting storm. where
the people who lived so long
in window boxes stretching out for sunlight
now had the weather come to them.
Friday, March 25, 2011
to the children of automobiles
to the children of automobiles,
to the servants of technology:
live reality as it erupts in front of you.
come to tears with me in the morning
when the frost forms and we hold out our arms
to soak solar radiation.
I have tried so long to find closeness
in the hot swarm of cheap communication,
in a blue glow, but I want to start anew.
this will be my confession.
oh, women, I haven't seen you look as rich
as the Americas, you didn't swim after me
when the hills opened up to swallow me alive,
when I went to take apart the university brick by brick.
but I tore it down nevertheless!
at the Yellow Brick Road, it was two beers,
two games of pool, "I hear it's a lesbian bar!"
and "what can I getcha darling?"
my soul longed for this
dark world of comfort and darts.
my soul and I have earned this richness.
I paid it forward with cheap PBRs,
black coffee, and water-water-water.
my parents paid it forward in a old suburb
built by a dirty river,
where the interstates come, cross, and carry
air-conditioned families on through to the west.
when Tulsa was the oil capital of the world,
it built a Gold Driller, but sure enough,
Moses came down the mountain and dried it up.
so in desperation we moved further south,
we made the streets wider and the driveways taller.
forgive us, downtown.
let me admit, I spent my savings
on french fries and tacos,
I gave away my good fortune
to fly airplanes, and I turned in my
Badge for Good Ole Boys
Who Can Still Make Their Mommas Proud.
careful who you deputize, mom.
an early morning airport
keeps my conscience at bay,
faltering for a passport in his saggy pockets.
every night that I shot full of lead,
every girl that I dipped in copper,
and every piece of silver moonlight
that I tarnished green
won't make it though the metal detector.
I'm almost to the gate.
to the servants of technology:
live reality as it erupts in front of you.
come to tears with me in the morning
when the frost forms and we hold out our arms
to soak solar radiation.
I have tried so long to find closeness
in the hot swarm of cheap communication,
in a blue glow, but I want to start anew.
this will be my confession.
oh, women, I haven't seen you look as rich
as the Americas, you didn't swim after me
when the hills opened up to swallow me alive,
when I went to take apart the university brick by brick.
but I tore it down nevertheless!
at the Yellow Brick Road, it was two beers,
two games of pool, "I hear it's a lesbian bar!"
and "what can I getcha darling?"
my soul longed for this
dark world of comfort and darts.
my soul and I have earned this richness.
I paid it forward with cheap PBRs,
black coffee, and water-water-water.
my parents paid it forward in a old suburb
built by a dirty river,
where the interstates come, cross, and carry
air-conditioned families on through to the west.
when Tulsa was the oil capital of the world,
it built a Gold Driller, but sure enough,
Moses came down the mountain and dried it up.
so in desperation we moved further south,
we made the streets wider and the driveways taller.
forgive us, downtown.
let me admit, I spent my savings
on french fries and tacos,
I gave away my good fortune
to fly airplanes, and I turned in my
Badge for Good Ole Boys
Who Can Still Make Their Mommas Proud.
careful who you deputize, mom.
an early morning airport
keeps my conscience at bay,
faltering for a passport in his saggy pockets.
every night that I shot full of lead,
every girl that I dipped in copper,
and every piece of silver moonlight
that I tarnished green
won't make it though the metal detector.
I'm almost to the gate.
Wednesday, March 9, 2011
what the world is coming to today
"what is the world coming to? are we being too loud?"
I like the idea our planet is finding a destination out in space
and our voices won't be holed up in a mute apartment
or folded in the trunk of a lincoln towncar
while we try to kick the taillights out.
"everyone else is whispering here, should we keep talking?"
yes, and we'll be in an opera's balcony for our inheritance:
a planet speed-delivered to almostthisplaceagaininayear,
but hopeful, because the earth has one life too.
Don't convince yourself that you are an unclaimed suitcase
on the baggage carousel, you'll be found
when a businessman is done buying a pretzel.
"if I walk too far in the wind, will it carry me off?"
yes, and good morning you entrepreneur of emotion,
all of you is orbiting right next to me! something like
a merry-go-round and the flaking horses are worth the wait--
look there's my mom...blurrrrrrrrrr...and there she is again!
go bowling with your gold globe, because you know
these neighborhoods, these roads by heart.
I like the idea our planet is finding a destination out in space
and our voices won't be holed up in a mute apartment
or folded in the trunk of a lincoln towncar
while we try to kick the taillights out.
"everyone else is whispering here, should we keep talking?"
yes, and we'll be in an opera's balcony for our inheritance:
a planet speed-delivered to almostthisplaceagaininayear,
but hopeful, because the earth has one life too.
Don't convince yourself that you are an unclaimed suitcase
on the baggage carousel, you'll be found
when a businessman is done buying a pretzel.
"if I walk too far in the wind, will it carry me off?"
yes, and good morning you entrepreneur of emotion,
all of you is orbiting right next to me! something like
a merry-go-round and the flaking horses are worth the wait--
look there's my mom...blurrrrrrrrrr...and there she is again!
go bowling with your gold globe, because you know
these neighborhoods, these roads by heart.
Tuesday, February 22, 2011
same kingdom, new species
"they are the slim birds of the air, / the directions of joy."
From "El desnudo" by Pablo Neruda.
they are the destroyers of airplanes, the builders of forests,
aptitude of the atmosphere and flyweights of feathers
patted down and tucked under the shoulder.
nothing so contaminating, eventful, scavenging,
or random in joy or space. same kingdom, new species.
in the wettest part of the jungle, in the oldest ruins
of mankind, are the warm wing flashes for a berry.
nothing so fresh! like an oriole in the crumbling downtown,
fishing for red brick crumbs. a bath of french fries
on the patio and the world's a gum wrapper.
and the nine percent chance I'll make my mind into
a bird is enough to drive the flock away. in the dust
a cartoon puff of plumes before the beaks settle down.
joy is cohesion and the explosion of tiny, hollow bones
that are perfectly random.
Sunday, February 13, 2011
welcome, valentine, to the personal ads
in those human flea market columns tonight,
but I envy you still.
the men in the bar drink while they sing, I think that's fine.
and quiet girls sit home writing love letters
to boys they haven't met.
that's a table of empty coronas and a shelf of journals
if you're keeping score. here I do my best
to hedge my bets.
Saturday, February 5, 2011
Don't fold up faster than the tide
All silk scarf and the sofa's warm end. I have a plan for your life
just like the woman who walked past
and you laughed.
Is that your sister across the green door from us?
Well, why not? She hasn't taken her weather gear off yet, but
her coffee is open on the top. Oh, hey barista!
Yes I'd like another.
Old man zigzag with two white ice cream
cone beards says peace to us. And peace is my car battery
and the engine's grr purr. Warm pavement
means slush and sunshine.
I'm setting the stage for a one act novella opera haiku
and you're the star, woman. And you're the Star Woman!
Build me a magazine and I'll fly it for you, columns on bourbon
pics of colours.
Two cups of joe and I've got a harebrained avalanche of Yes!
Thank you, calendar girl, I'll bet you have a sister or two
in the ink past of January. Can I take a gray blob eraser
over last week too?
Understand this, mon amie, I don't speak French and the
red light is more than I can bear. Every person I know is
dangling from a mobile next to the chandelier. All my kingdom
for February 5th.
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