CAR DOOR (Violent Playground I)
Thumbs are slammed within car doors
Mine was dented with no words
Its neighbors in the dark whose choices
Lead to problems with loud voices
I closed the door with nervous ease
With hopes that silence could appease
Eyes of the people’s histories
Amygdalas a mystery
So as I shut it carefully
I worried ‘bout the thoughts of me
And took my sight off where I touched
And there, we are, the pain as such
The thumb seems naturally intruded
Most maladies it has eluded
But (and though I should say and)
It won’t grow back the same, I learned
It won’t grow back the same
The end will grow, the bed will wait
Pushed along, volcanic plates
In time the two will be discrete
The way our words will always meet
For English words take blame for acts
It’s I or me or us, in fact
That does the doing, takes a blame
In language, we become the shame
So here’s my thumb, my eyes, my heart
Which also are a work of art
Like thumb so swollen on my hand
They cannot be the same, again
It won’t grow back the same, I know
It won’t grow back the same
Okay I’m not done
Okay I’m not done
Chairs aren’t meant for listening
If you sit down the ears don’t open
Like a programmatic machine line
It’s a dance with the chair
Not a dance with me
If there was a time constraint for us
That would make all constraints useless
Plus, plus, plus, plus, plus
We could do this
It’s a dance with your amygdala
I cannot dance with you
And now you’re particles
Your lovely particles
Probably mostly still in Idaho
But some of them I’ve breathed in?
It’s a dance with you, Dad
I will always dance with you
“Do you live here?”
What do I need to get out of this shirt
The things she suggested feel empty
Vinegar will only set me off
The color will blend if I leave it
The color is almost the same
I’m not afraid of the superstition that I’m wrong
That up that hill I look methed out
Sometimes I’m tired in my sweater
It’s baggy but
I’m cold
Me smelling like vinegar, absolutely not
The stains can stay and I will be
More honest
Less trustworthy
Endearingly yours to call the cops on
We spill sometimes, on pavement, on seams
On dreams, sure
I’ll lay in fresh asphalt
In private awareness that
I’m not the problem here
Albatross
Wisdom without moxie ain’t a lemon with no zest
The pot was boiling over but then made the choice to rest
She ate and ate and ate it up so that she could digest
Wisdom without moxie ain’t a lemon with no zest
Freedom without young hands ain’t a boring salty broth
You should see the pictures from the days when she was goth
She’d wait as boyish mouths with urges drank up all their froth
Freedom without young hands ain’t a boring salty broth
Movement without aging ain’t a saute without oil
She took what no one swallowed and then put it in the soil
She knew the egg was tasty but then showed them spoilt
Movement without aging ain’t a saute without oil
Somenights she can smell the heat and all the good that’s gone
She’ll add up little tragedies and seconds til the dawn
But crumbs pile up and oceans die, the lists go on and on
Somedays she can smell the heat and know that she’ll be gone
So when the boys ask what is on
The stove and then run out
She leaves the burden on the truth
For love there is no doubt
Curses
With soup and sour hope
A slosh comes out clean
Fridging to the pot
Mix the words in scene
Arrows like the wind in their hair
Bullets like the stop
Words like the vibrating air
Knives are the chop
Allez
Allez
Make the meal soon
Open Space
If trails aren’t cleaned by wandering feet
A lack of roofs won’t make them neat
I’ll sweep them with a shuffling glare
In hope that I won’t find me there
My, how I live for miles of pain
In dreams I strive to eat the rain
And slosh around in paths and clay
But do not feel the same today
I like my roof, my house, my sink
And I like lots of wine to drink
At night I save the wild to judge
As places where the wise should trudge