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.

The Thing No Longer Howls

In the winter
we eat sharp white cheddar
and drink the sweet cream sherry
we bought at a rural supermarket
in Oklahoma on a roadtrip.
It’s what we do to get us through
the spurning of the sun.
The thing no longer howls as close
to us out in space.
We sit by white walls
and fireplace fires,
old books
and feel the fibers of sweaters
against our swollen skin.
It’s what we do to forget lovers
who spurned us
and learn to know each other,
learn to grow old,
to somehow have courage as
we become cowards.
The memories of autumn,
the smell of fallen leaves,
the emptying of the streets,
these things seem sweet to us
now.

For
the thing no longer howls as close
to us out in space.

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.

Lust And Love Betwixt The Adriatic

Somedays the ship races of
Tyranneous are at sea.

Somedays Penelope sits at home
with her lume.

Somedays the wine indulges.

Other days the olive oil heals.

The hands with polished nails raise
over the rising smoke
and
half moonlit light.

The earthen kiss anchors.

A child tosses a straw doll to the road.
There is dust.
The road leads down to the port.

Chicago Chrissy

She’s called “Chicago Chrissy”

She looks at my face in daylight

Over her phone

Wondering who I am

who I could be or become for her

You never looked at the lines on
my face
in daylight
over eggs

I was never born that way for you

The silence of sunlight is listening
unluxury
and evolutionary

It vibrates these screens for us
just so you know
impressions are long and ancient

My Love Was A Mountain In China

I was on life support for two years

Then the unthinkable happened

One day I woke up

I no longer lingered on the landscapes
of Mars
waiting for you to appear

I awoke to another other land

Something like three hundred and
fifty-seven light years away

Flowers blooming
a million shades of green and tall grasses

Mountains rising all around

With even the dust doing its thing
in the air
the way it floats down in the sunlight
from oak trees
to marry the dirt of the woodland trails

It was in these sojourns that I finally
understood
your love

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 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.

The Earth Of Your Love Does Not Love Redemption

to have come close to your life
on a crag by the sea

dreaming by your hips
your scent of cream

believed in you at midday
on bad days
in imperfect ways

a corridor of wood
in an old building
that is the feeling gone now
of cold coming in
through the windows

to have come close to your soul
with the leaves underfoot
in a forest
a breeze
whispered

“she will not travel naught
into solar incineration.
she will not sing the song of spring.
she will not lift her heart.
you must carry it to your grave
and remember
all the seas of the mediterranean
when walking in the ozarks,
the blues and yellows,
the browns of her hair,
the earth of your love.

she does not love redemption.”