April 30, 2014
For You (Poem 30 of 30, April 2014)

I know things
That how you are fire
An engulfing force of real
I feel things
The fullness of your beliefs
How your sleeping form casts a spell
On the dust world
All the makers of dust tip their caps at how the glow perfectly captures how it is to be a dream
I see
The drape of your hair and the shimmer of your eyes and how your laughter is everything I need
The way nothing will ever be equal to holding your hand at the carnival, in the flashing lights on the ferris wheel
Winning Waylon Jennings feather clips
And just always laughing with each other
I hope
You will always dance with abandon with me, interpreting the world perfectly

April 30, 2014
Poem 29 of 30

The dune buggy
Glittery purple roll bar dune buggy
Chrome tail pipe mammoth wheels dune buggy
Like a carnival ride
Full of writers

The sand is kicked up and spread all over the sandwiches of the beach mavens
Somebody is driving this thing
I’m just trying not to think of how I lost all my friends and am the loser in this vacation
In a vacation there are winners and losers, and then there’s the dune buggy

I’d like to blow on the spirit of 76 pipe to exude kaleidoscope funky people parades
As somebody drives this thing
I’m just trying not to think of how there is really no way around it
Getting buried in the sand, just let the sea plovers figure out what to do with the body

The dune buggy
Danger freedom

The other writers are carousing with whiskey and cigarettes and yelling
But I can’t yell like they do, the adrenalin makes it impossible to sleep and I always think
There’s something to be done tomorrow
Something to be done about tomorrow
Because for certain today is a lost cause

On the dunes we are pawns of gravity
In the dune buggy we cling to the idea that our transport is assured
It is a mechanism to access distraction

Punches are being thrown, marriages are crumbling, bodices ripped, pages burned in effigy

The dune buggy is no escape, no relief, the constricting ropes of everything are no less a lasso than they are a noose
And I find myself praying for it all to
Disintegrate

April 30, 2014
Poem 28 of 30

This is how it works
The effervescent impresario explains to the papers that coverage will be limited to photos

And the horrific writing seals with the loss of their book deals go clapping off into a sunset faded

An idea for a lifetime
Stuck in survival mode the harmless club mouse skirts the issue around the questions that have arisen

Placed in a grand retreat the seals admit defeat and all return to their cabins to reconsider

The demonstration goes as planned
A hybrid Corsican show goose both wins the slalom and science prizes

Retooled and refreshed the seals are deeply enmeshed with the latest version of their grand display

What started as jealousy
Has become indifferent mirth, and the actions of the guilty are forgiven

April 29, 2014
Poem 27 of 30

The emotional vernacular
My spine is a tapped out resource
old library stacks of aged paper
 
a way for us to ignore the obvious
and continue to place felt rainbows on the bulletin board
being in the hallway together
it’s time to leave and this time you want me to stay
and the next time you want me to go
and the time after that there’s not anything to be said at all
 
there’s an overworked game programmer and a degenerate pixie girl
and plenty of party insight for everyone
this is the way the people find out about the disintegration of the last vestiges of assumptions they’ve held for their entire lives

April 28, 2014

I electrocute the singing body
The muscular dismission
Tightly wound circumspection
Leather clad english regulars at the battle of Trafalgar

April 26, 2014
Poem 25 of 30, April 2014

If my calculations are correct
And the build up of medals in the cerebellum is not significant
An extinction level toddler will clap her hands around our universe and it will disappear
The last echoes of existence the waves of Baby Beluga spreading into the darkness

April 24, 2014
Poem 24 of 30, April 2014

The blue is bleeding into the stream
Gauging the sincere release into the world

It used to be that people went to jail for years for a joint or two
It used to be that there was outrage over domestic spying

The curvature of this leaf blends into the horizon
Eroding away, silently falling into the stream

The sensation that something has to be done
Within what we consider the present

It’s not the case any longer that pot is so stigmatic
But the mechanism of imprisonment is exponentially more atrocious

Here is the dew of the dawn
Fervently embraced through the gaze of morning

Any collusion of purpose that degrades the singular curiosity of humanity
Demeans the fearless interest in furthering knowledge and the spirit
Any collusion, organization, agenda
Is counter to our irrevocable rights
Is a betrayal to our very foundation

I am by no means Edward fucking Albee
I am complicit as anyone
I am worse for knowing the truth
But I will not stop inserting pedantic stanzas of rageful nonsense into poems

Each opalesque communion
In perpetual quiet

April 23, 2014
The Old Stones (Poem 23 of 30, April 2014)

Everything is organized by a wise old crone in the hinterlands
A castle bound creature in Switzerland
Marred by betrayals from all her friends
The way it comes together is really simple
Her information flows to and from the centerpiece
A simple center piece
Cracked lacquer purses and quail’s egg dresses
Summer breeze window philosophy bait traps
Clasping them all into bottles of wine round the fire
Bottles of wine until the walls are painted red with honesty
Your wings have fallen off
But you learned to walk on the clouds
The saving graces
On the letterpress invitation
Please join us on the rocky steppes of VerGetzdenboom
We will loose the arrows and have shots with the teachers on sabbatical
And the sabbatical teachers
The children are encroaching slowly on the impenetrable fortress
With undiscovered disco discoveries, this is not a party this is not a classroom
“We have the gene altering medicines!” shout the children
There’s no use trying to reason with them, they are rightfully pissed
And it cannot be explained to young people about how everything
Is organized by just one person, born into their job, millenniums of adaptation
Like an unscalable keep carved from the old stones

April 23, 2014
First date with the Dalai Lama (Poem 22 of 30, April 2014)

At first the overwhelming sense of inner peace is enough, as general “vibe” of a date goes, this one’s an A+, but you did not bargain for all the Lama’s monk buddies tagging along. And it’s a little embarrassing when you and his holiness crack into your lobster and champagne, as the monks shovel pate into their grateful little mouths.

April 22, 2014
Poem 22 of 30 (April 2014)

Raining julep majesty
The burning riverboat careens down the rapids as you scream for more coal more fire!
In this rendition I stand in fine silks and peddle elixirs from a velvet bag
*you! Come here and pour some of whatever the hell that stuff is into this furnace!

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