Mouths And Stomachs

These poems left me your brown hair
to sift through.
Which poems?
Who’s hair?
Who’s hair has fallen for the evening?
Who’s hair itches my face?
Leading on sorrows.
Always, always you’re leading on sorrow.
What a wrinkled textured tongue
could tell about feelings
and the cultures of lactose
on the inside.
Cultures on planets.
Fighting between them.
On the inside was too much.
I held you.
Felt you.
On the inside.
Not the kind of adults.
But the kind between two humans
reduced to their childhood reflexes
because the sun has continued to come
and nothing has changed.
Nothing has changed us.
We still need love
and still need to be loved
with our respective still and stoic eyes
and the flora in our quite different
mouths and stomachs
that
function with the same hunger.
The same want.
The same gastric acid.
The same exposure to the elements and world.

The things left to the desert.

The want.
The want.

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In Argonic Language

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When you are away
my words are like companions.
Things like farm, house, deep space exploration
and searching for the footprints of argon.

This is what you do in your absence,
join these concepts as equivalences in my mind.

Then beyond the words,
my emotions for you become landscapes,
features, mountain ranges, beaches,
oak tree meadows entwined with clustering stars,
somewhere above West Texas.

The chalk of that dirt reminds me of your
Mediterranean freckles.

So it is at night that I thirst,
dreaming of your brown hair silhouette
passing through white plaster porticoes,
sunlight trailing on your sweet ass.

I awaken to take water,
one of the companion words you’ve given me,
because it runs throughout my soul,
blended to my blood and body.

All of this as one. A self that’s not just one.

Nice Dresses

These blondes are pretty cute on TV.
They place them in nice dresses.
Nice dresses.
They follow their contours.
You know what it’s like
to be placed in nice dresses
and have your contours followed.
It’s a delicate world of vanity we build.
It helps us in our head.
It’s delicate and tender the touches
in our heart.
All of them are. All of them are.
We build. We build.

You, I and God know
this is what those nice dresses do.
Let’s place more of the blondes and
brunettes like you
in them.
Go down to church, new shopping malls,
svelte automobiles.
Our thinking will be good for teenagers,
millionaires and tycoons.
Our thinking will be good.

Molochs of masculinity.

Messages from New York City.

Silk blouses across breasts.
Steak dinners times ten.

Animal Cracker Vicissitudes

animal crackers

I messed with my animal crackers down by the subway.

Messed with my animal crackers.

In fleeting snow, on melting mornings.

On cold steel rails on the platform.

Days when it came down cold.

And the furnace heat rose from the rooftops.

Gray were my feet, woolen, and dampen too I believe.

Do I believe.

I messed with my animal crackers by the cathedral yards.

Where the ships come in from the ocean.

And rust is a color that dances with day.

Let me carry. Let me carry.

Let me carry this winter away from my blood.

Put the animal crackers into my teeth.

There was a tavern in Alphabet City

where I dreamed of the vicissitudes
that held all these people.

I watched and saw it fall from the sky.

A burning skybird, fallen down into desert.

In the new century, there were only children left

and the start of what the lark calls liberation.

That is why I messed with my animal crackers.

So many years ago.

Vagabonds Burning

vagabonds

two vagabonds
in the midst of a cosmic journey
found themselves
crouched down by a pickup truck
in the parking lot of a corporate chain hotel
on a hot summer night in Victoria, Texas
drinking beer and smoking cigarettes
surrounded by concrete and fluorescent light

they would become husband and wife

as that’s what vagabonds do
when they recognize each other
reassembled after billions of years
and born into the forms that are here

forms indiscriminant of data

they’re comfortable anywhere
once they’ve found each others gaze

at a wooden table in Peru or chalky road
on northern plains

amongst any kind of wave or radiation

breathed this and that terrestrial scent

terrestrial scents from ancient stars

made like scientists and gods
they are

 

Children From Snow

field of snow
I want to be in fields of white snow

with your rippling brown hair

I don’t care of the memory, kingdom or stories
before

I don’t care

I want to see the tonality of your skin

that reminds me of these feelings it is to be
human

I consider you a fruit or a wildflower

again, I do not care

what the physics of the world or rules of
the literati have to say

I want to tilt the Universe just a little bit to the
left or right

to walk this life with you

which makes all existence humane

every crevice clothed in texture and flesh

every breath like a deep fucking kiss

I think I see children everywhere

they are like atoms

Each Day Forth

Do I say I love you

I want to see you old

old old old

I think you’re gonna look fine

fine fine fine

when you get old

kind of like Joan Baez

I think you look a lot like Joan Baez

or a blend of Joan Baez and Margot Kidder

but really some beauty quite better, for me at least

that a stupid equation as such cannot compute

I have idea head

that’s kind of what you do to me, it sorta makes me dance

I’m not afraid to admit

I’d have sex with a 75 year old Joan Baez

there I said it

more or less

the manner of my conceptions towards you

something I’d like to give

a courageous human gift

a human gift

that would beat my heart into goo goo ga ga brilliance

from each day forth

in empty kitchens, on wooden porches, grassy pastures

places of general insignificance that become significant

Places Where I Kiss You

how many times have I kissed you

with your eyes across the way

the colors of day drawn across

the blooming red that bursts all around
your irises

the kingdom
the kingdom of stars folded into your flesh
then
delivered into my heart
and
the sequences of neurons
or
the path towards tomorrow

forbidden is your fruit to touch

forbidden it is to taste

but I can do as the Universe does

dream and rearrange

in the sunrises I believed in you

held your contemplation long and still

the clouds move across the fertile land

to honor the curve of your lips

I walk along the hills
with the painted places of greens and blues
walk along the southern hills

this
is the place where I kiss you