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

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

Ghosts In Pieces Falling

the snow knows each other
it’s falling its talking
its conductivity is blue
but across space
it’s black
an electron that is coded for
a lot like you
and I
and it’s falling from the sky
with longing
to remember
from whence it hath came
what day was it that made
its name
and made her or him or they
turn to snow
and turn into light

Messenger Messenger Satellite

I trust when the autumn
goes away
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
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
turning high above

Some Things Left Over, My Oolong Baby

Do you still have my tea?

I looked for it in the cupboard.

Could not find it.

Then I searched for your auburn hair

and could not find it,

not even aging in my hands

or fallen, swept under couches.

That tea was brought from my friend

from Hong Kong.

I wanted it to warm my feet.

But the kittens you brought in

from the street, then left behind,

now serve this tribal purpose.

They are looking for you in their pupils.

They see excellently in the dark.

They meow your name.

It contains two syllables in the twilight.

There’s not a lot of light around here lately.

I’d like to find that fucking tea.

The gas burners could glow and burn for me.

But I believe you’ve taken it to New York

or sent it on a wondrous journey to the city dump.

I believe in wondrous journeys,

things like our lost love, torn from the stars.

We could be making a different kind of story.

Passing The Crumbs Of Forgiveness


You make me feel like
a scattered fast food meal
from Wendy’s thrown across
a parking lot

Left sparse, picked apart and
sad by an economy car
early on a veiled winter day
at a time
when who would eat that

I know you can forget
but will you forgive?

Who is the leaver of this thing here

the place
in my heart?

It is much more difficult to forgive
the people we leave

and have already let go of

Can you forgive a person you can no
longer hold?

we ever hold Jesus to begin with?

The Unremembered Entrance

Metropolitan Ave

I don’t even remember the front doorway

I don’t remember where the mailbox was

I remember the clangs of the heels on her boots
that first night

following her up the hard stairs to fuck

I remember the stairway would echo

and make her appear so womanly with that momentum


everyday she passed in this stairway it was
like this, kind of like an old hospital

I remember waiting for her like a dog waiting to be fed

I could smell her scent when she was two floors below

but I don’t remember any features of that stairway
or front doorway

I do remember the outside of the door was caked up layers of
black paint with graffiti and spray paint all over it

I remember lots of specs of silver and one loud zig zag mark
in pink

I halfway recall the door handle was brass and scratched up
very badly

I entered that door about twelve hundred times between
august and march

one time was after I picked up a winter care package
from my mother
at the post office around the corner

she sent us flannel snowman sheets

A Border Dance

I can’t live without the Dead.

All the suns that turned
turned to make Time for the living.

All the stars born
bore the home of the Dead proudly,

bore the lines of horizons,
the place of hemispheres,

the songs from Australia to Alpha Centauri,
the songs from Mexico to Alpha Centauri.

Teeth fleet this precious attainment that is crushed.

Blue nights burn endings
this become beginnings.

The blue nights flip December nights for June
and laugh.

In the beginnings
we bring children to dance on sunrise sunlight.

In bones we walk the path
back home across the pasture dew effervescence.

Ants chew on cow skulls.
Tall grasses grow.

While infinity is right.
Still the Entirety has a point of axis,

gravity spills sometimes,

“I can’t live without the Dead.
We live together.”


My Galactic Journey Cometh

I’m looking for the cashier at Target
to save me

I look because my heart hurts
and it’s way too late
in my life for this

I was supposed to be
on board a skiff
in the Mediterranean
at this point in the game

So I look for the child
who’s thrown a temper tantrum
left a pile of spilled popcorn
in the parking lot

I know he’s still with me
whistling along in make-believe

That’s why I can’t pass
the toy section
without looking

that’s why I cannot pass

Those gilded afternoons
without responsibility
the ones with Janis Joplin’s deep blues
they keep beckoning me
to leave this place
to leave this planet

my fleshen hands
by the soil the flowers the tears
the mourners

my galactic spaceship

my ticket
my journey

Le Crepulescent

This agéd Brooklyn.


It made the evening before this

tire with arthritis.

The bricks from the buildings


to feed for the rodents of winter.

I watched a rat

run across the platform at 7th Avenue.

I held your veiny hand tightly.

This place was reliquary.

You pressed your big breasts into me closely

and we kissed

with your sour alcohol breath dominating

the air of squalor.

It’s fermentation was so Earthling.

I knew you could do no wrong.

So I looked to your bloodshot blue eyes

as if fresh flowers in a field I would not

visit that summer or next.

The pretension of New England

I never understood.

So clothed

and aching to be naked.

Secure-Insecure Lateral Message Transporter

i saw you walk over the snow

and i didn’t think you really existed

i saw you play make-believe with the world

with what you wanted to be

and again, i didn’t think you really existed

your eyes
made to judge

your self
and others

the moment is too harsh

we know how you think in this illusionary world

in order to survive

it’s a very big planet

there’s an orange car

a blue car

a car made in france

going up a hill

a car you may want

you plan to get from having a job

in that new part of town with the new modern people

the ones being stylish in the new modern buildings