Past Corporate Love

It’s been a while.
I saw you undress in my mind.
Saw your figure so perfect from
distance.
Saw it imperfect in glances
underneath me,
with folds and moles.
Saw the light of the closet
cracked into the darkness of
the bedroom.
Disheveled, unorganized, and
human,
decorporatized for a moment,
like grapes on untended vines,
a vineyard
beyond the reach of the census.
Decorporatized when we lay
with each other
in fire and blood,

smashed
in fire and blood
together
in darkness
where we needed a reaching,
so we reached for the light
enclosed in our cell.

Our ancestors last human
in the restaurants
of the middle class
dreaming the way that
kept them sleeping.

The lights, the lights,
they’re golden around there,
dreaming the way that
kept them sleeping.

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From A Spaceport

  
It is a spaceport
where we found love.
With its perimeters, sectors,
and airlocks.
A sky above.
Always some kind of sky above.
Kill me when there is no longer
some kind of sky above.
But we lived there still
with its perimeters, sectors,
and airlocks.
With its imported fruit,
monitored air,
and industrial hangers
bringing in the pollutants
from the men of Earth.
In all that is sick.
In the failure and necessity
of our species
we found love.
We found the one necessity
that still survives
in the words, attention, and
glances of the other.
We found the glances of the
other
and the hum, that one long
hum
of everywhere, every moment,
molecule, and memory.

What Made This Eternal

pinky-sun

It was a pedestal from the sun
that healed me.

Precipiced before the town of my youth.

This same pedestal supplanted the
cellular variables in my female
kitty cat
and while it gave me the energy of
my next birth
it also gave her cancer,
like a plant of metabolism,
a burning of time.

If the intuition of the scientists is me
then it is also the way that I have loved
and lost
the delicate and vulnerable souls
that
I have loved.

These afternoons between time
can never be repeated.
They are outside the script of
fragile acceptance

whose acknowledgement
has made me eternal.

Messenger Messenger Satellite

I trust when the autumn
goes away
with
your feelings
my feelings

past the Italian bakery
the pets in windows
the warmth in coats
and scarves on cold Sunday mornings
when your eyes like
crystals
under the million miles of sun

I see the blue
the new civilizations
the new ways of living
the clean clean consoles
and the white ambient light

I trust the past has melted

I sit in the den

The brush fields of the south
now the purgatory of
northern cities
and messenger messenger
satellites
turning high above

Summer Little Beauty

She had a monochromatic mole on
her face

Just above her brow

It played with a poetry of brown hair
and
blue eyes

like the breath of the beach and the
blue sky above it

Every single moment that I walked
away from a window
where she stood
was like a new eon being created in
the cosmos

A crystal star, a crest of drawing ocean

One unique feeling
amongst all the lives that have lived
under
the sun

Divorce Or “The Non-Perfected”

We are divorced.
Divorced.
Now.
The children don’t walk into
the kitchen to see us.
The children don’t exist in
the garden
or the backseat of
the SUV
moving through moonlight
into the
mountains.

Your hair falls for some other
kind of
silence on the bathroom
floor.

The grime on the light switch
stays.

Another family moves in.

The heroic
Industrial Revolution is
winning.

It defeats the unpresentable.

The solo. The non-perfected.

divorce

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

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

Shorn Of Thorns

My home is a heart
not unlike the Aztecs spilled
underneath these same exact stars
relatively speaking
between now and then

My temples are DNA, torment and failure

The vanished scent of Europeans in the
wind

My crystal is the sky receiving its journey
over and over
and racing through time, ignorant time
completely unchanged
uncharged by silicon molecules

unformed again
everything continues

The cacti come and bring a story

The gods stumble to make humans
or
to make the humans human

Their fingers are shorn of thorns upon
our sacred purple night
unlasted
by genetic material memory

We eat the fucking flesh fruit
We gnawl inside our lips
The rooftops are made from burned desert
clay

The days are wasted so very far away

Wedding Song Of The Ozarks

Wedding Song Of The Ozarks

Going back over the roads that wind to
Eureka Springs
where you loved me and
could no longer stand to love me
The oak trees are alive and they don’t believe you
hating
the nature of your own and others existence
Ronnie Milsap playing
playing fertile tones across these blue hills
well, green hills
My three best friends have since married
found partners to take their hands
The wedding song of your body
denies it
deny it
deny the moon in the west in the night
skirting the legends and ghosts of the Ozarks
The water skiing redneck who failed as a father
but turned the Earth’s holy water to sunlight

The questing of Space that is torn from our
body
We cannot lust now ’til there is perfection
The perfection tis gone
You chase it
You chase it