Fort Worth ’05

The summer was soft to us

That first one there

Fifty-something days of a hundred degree
weather

Though we laid close at night
in the cold air cooled by a window unit
and swaddled
in
cotton blankets my mother had given us

Trees lived in that place and we still held
hands
when we went for walks in the evenings

There was something there that made us
hold hands when we went for walks in the
evenings
and the scent of sprinklers spraying water
over parched grass and warm concrete
rose to meet us
and would stay in just that one way
deep in the tissues of our brain

when we were able to love

in such conditions so far away from the
callous city in which we met

When we were able to love, God
God, when we were able to love

Advertisements

Our Days Or Jesus Speak

With poverty
I have lived happily, jubilantly,
celebratory and
fulfilled

But you
and so many others were
posers
wanting, striving, to be
somewhere else

If these are our days
then what is our wealth

in the end
the nothingness we go
holding

rather insignificant vanishings
amongst the galaxies

So this my friend
is why I rejoice and love

Cookies Are Easy

Cookies are easy
they go upside down
all across the City
in New York City
we could be baking and making
cookies again
with something between us
something different and new and old
people would eat them
chocolate and walnut with sea salt
in our domestic space
your hands or her hands
my hands or his hands
mixing the batter in a bowl
a green or blue glass bowl
the pasty granules turning over and
over earthen or delicate hands
and yellow light from the 20th Century
cutting highlights in
the glass of the bowl
surrounding around us
around our heads the memory of
urban still-lifes
so we take the scents
the butter, the burning
the cars, the smog
the flowers from yesterday in the hall
and we kiss
with batter under our fingernails
the wallpaper stares
yeah, we chose to wallpaper the walls
to liven the place up a bit
I mean this is the freaking City
it needed a little coziness
I understand a couple more things
this time around

The Hill With The Seafood Restaurant

The hill where that rundown seafood
restaurant once was
is gone

Not just the restaurant, but the entire hill

They razed it so they could build an
express commuter bridge across the lake

We once started arguing in the car
while driving by that hill

Our argument continued for about 2 miles
into the east, encompassing our entire
trek over the bridge

After that
their was silence and I sat there
staring at the plastic panels in the car
and reflecting back at that abandoned
seafood restaurant
we had passed

The Question Of Neutrinos

If I decided to take up an instrument
it would be you.

In the stillness of darkness I would draw
your dark hair to my dreams.

Your blue eyes would go trailing over
the sea.

Yeah, they would go where the heather
flowers blossom.

Then, when the osprey takes to the sky
you would know how much your people
love you

and the manner in which their days are
born from the old and ancient sun.

It all curls over all of us
in a quintepitus frame of time.

The manner in which time is framed
does actually matter.

Love New York Love

Love New York Love

Oh, I’ll never love her again.

I mean I’ll certainly love her,

but I won’t LOVE her.

Not like I did with the cool air
blowing in through the window
onto the strained meow of her
old gray and black tabby cat
sprawled across the small kitchen table
in that sixth floor apartment in Brooklyn.

I’ll never know Spring like that again.

It won’t come for me again,
breaking the sunrise over the M train
traversing the Williamsburg Bridge.

These are the molecules of the city,
hormones of the corpus,
a man’s firm body atop the softness of
a woman,
where the land and ocean gather,
monuments constructed
and memories are left to their stillness.

Those Quasars Unitarian

With you, for you, I shaped a
thousand planets.
Trailed freckles and oceans.
Believed in your breath and doubted
your words in the shadows of
timber rafters in houses,
because you are imperfect,
mostly in the corridors of humans.
When driving in a car on a country
highway
between
Fort Worth and Granbury
the Universe was born.
There, on Spring, ten years ago
you noticed we’ve seen
these worlds a million times over.
So then we become afraid to love.
Turned into man and woman.
Red rock and grasses.
Surrounded by oak trees.
Our emotions are mathematic.
Something that is for and from before.
We’ll kiss in dreams at night.
We will be unformed.

Give My Love To Kmart

All my life
I’ve just been waiting for the woman to
go to Kmart with.
Fuck The French Room. Fuck Tavern On
The Green.
Fucking Kmart on a Sunday morning
with red slurpees in both our hands
and our other mortal earthen hands
clutched together
holding on to
each other,
like stones in the amphitheater at Ephesus
clutching onto wildflowers,
we’d be made from love formed
so many eons ago.

Between The Floors

Our apartment was rickety and impoverished,
almost like an old Michigan lake house
perched above a block in the City.

The glass in the windows had fallen downwards
over the years
to bend the view of the street below and the
twinkling lights of Manhattan in the distance.
The wood of the frames was rotten.

Below, they cooked greasy Thai noodles and
you could smell sweet curry and grilled eggs
in the afternoon when trying to nap between
orgasms on a Saturday.
Cars always stuttered and honked and
scented everything in charcoal.

Above, on a wooden plank floor painted with
lime latex paint was a cheap twin futon bed
where I had her every night to every morning
from the summer of 2004 to the spring of 2005.

The curves of her body filled my hands like
the moon in the night sky.
I breathed her fertile scent. It lived on my
lips and hands. I would go off to work a
mindless job, she still lived in my nose.
She helped me be mortal and still lives in
my dreams after all this is left for the dead,
the dead between the floors that scatter the
wasted hopes of a city in squalor, coughing on
the honesty of sunrises.

A Nocturnal Of Laser Beam

She became an idea.

An idea that wore dresses,
loved capitalism,
wanted children,
and had corporeal feelings
embedded in memories and
neurons.

This idea drove in a white
stationwagon
from Texas to New York City
and would never be seen
again.

She woke up from a ghost
on a planet
seven hundred and fifty
light years away
and had foggy remembrance
of a different way of life
and
a different count of days.

The landscape turned from
the white plaster walls of
temples to orange mountains
in the distance
and the navy blue night far
up above.

She breathed.
Her heart beat.
She remembered someone she
once loved.
She looked down at her wrists
and ankles.
Her eyes blinked.
She lived.

A transmitter brought transference.

A lifetime had been stored in
molecules, configured into
radiation and
prior held assumptions were
antiquated.