Earthbound

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A slack of stones

Metastasizes like boulders

Beneath your shoulder

 

Blades where angel’s

Wings sprout one silly

Cilia at a time.

 

Time. Can I borrow some?

I need a ride, too,

Don’t worry, just out to the

 

Quarry. How much junk

You got in your trunk?

It’s just that, lately,

 

I’ve been fearing

I’ll be gone till

Only the mountain remains.

 

Gravity’s a bitch

For aspiring seraphim

And cherubim alike

 

Though what passes for

Difference these days

Can’t be pried apart

 

By a feather

No matter how small

Or how silly.

 

So

You got that ride

Or what?

 

 

Winter Commute

 

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The engine turns over

But the belts whine

When its cold and wet.

Winter’s not over yet

 

Especially in the morning

But its only dew

On the windshield

Rather than frost.

 

The engine turns over

But the heat blows cold

And sometimes you don’t have patience

For this car, this job, this life.

 

The engine turns over.

But one day it won’t.

Tap tap tap. Click click click.

Or nothing at all.

 

Living on the Bus-Line

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I went down to the crossroads

To catch a cross-town bus.

There was swinging with great violence

In a benevolent cacophony.

 

But the empty pleading eyes

And the emptier pleading hands

Only seemed to say sadly

You have to sit through the whole presentation

 

In order to get a round-trip ticket.

But there’s coffee and doughnuts.

Except the coffee’s bad

And the doughnuts were gone by 9.

 

Wetting the tip of my pencil to gauge the wind

I remembered an ember can travel miles

Before being extinguished so I asked my neighbor,

Hey buddy, you got a cigarette?

Communicable Discourses

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Where do you even begin

With half this shit  –

The precipice or the bucket?

We speak in clichés

 

As they’re easier to understand

Like the TV hanging on the wall.

(I crawled out that window once

And never came back)

 

Do you remember

When we weren’t so obscure

Back then? Our mothers laid

Our clothes out for us each morning

 

And we only knew the names of

The things we knew the names of

Like bread, blood, bone.

Now everything is a text

 

And I need an interpreter,

A dictionary, a health plan

And a bigger bucket.

A much bigger bucket.

If A Poet Dies Does He Make A Sound?

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Oh, did you hear?

L the poet died.

No, feigned mourning,

I hadn’t.

 

Quick,

Fire up the laptop,

Gas up the time machine,

Dog-ear the Bible.

 

Sigh, They’re all dying

To the click-clack of the keyboard,

To the swipes of approval

Or disapproval.

 

In a Democracy everyone gets to Heaven.

Once there you can rate it:

0 being worst and 5 being best.

In an Oligarchy it’s pay-to-play.

 

We still get to write our review

But only from the vestibule,

And, of course, no one reads it.

Like L’s poetry.

Distance To Empty

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Shave the day’s ass and walk it backwards

For even a blind rat finds a sewer now and again.

Hear the tapping of their tiny canes,

The scuttling of their street sharp claws,

 

My friends, this is a movement

That has blossomed from an inchoate

Bead of sweat into fully-formed salty tears

Rising like the oceans,

 

A palpable fear beyond metaphor,

Scripted and hidden away for years

Beneath a lonely boy’s pillow,

Dampened with dreams and kisses

 

Right next to a mule’s champed bit,

Divinity’s teeth marks on the carcass.

The world’s not flat. Its an infinity pool

And we just sold out of extra-small sunglasses.