Sunday, January 30, 2011

Vertical city

“A city cannot be a work of art. When we deal with cities
we are dealing with life at its most complex and intense. Because this is so, there is a basic esthetic limitation on what can be done with the city.”

-Jane Jacobs

A mess of unconnected organs
severed with gunk built up
at arteries allotting congestion.
Febuary-bored women
cross-guard spring fashion
until a severed tumor doesn’t fall
but is unhinged by surgeons
coddling nostalgia:
A newborn slapped
then set down.

A wound pocket watch responds
to a determined faucet
questioning whether the pipes have frozen.
A leak swims on toward

moon mist fogs from below a bridge.
Central park and the river;
A fox runs along the bank
to understand if the river has courage
or is just runs on instinct --

It’s ten-o-clock
and you’re not stumbling over your words again.
I could kiss you but I won’t
you haven’t read enough of me lately.
Keep time sing song I tell you
replying “tick-tock, tick-tock.”
“No,” I say.
“A watch only goes with one sound.”

Can’t confirm this. I’m a glorified liar now.
I’m an agoraphobic in a radiant city pavilion
hemorrhaging parks that land in pools
of garden posies pontificating boldly
of L’Esprit Nouveau
I’m dreaming

I see Art Deco.

Sunday, January 23, 2011

There Is A Current Under River Ice

A mind beneath a child's stroller worth of ice.

elongate it

Spoon fed atmosphere drooling
a restaurant to-go cup where father hasn't paid
and the check is arriving late.
Mother bends, releasing a v-neck shirt.
A baby moans then dribbles a passive drink.

fast forward
I'm masturbating
I'm up in funding
I'm neck in neck in polls
I'm 'Critics Choice'
I'm employed
in moss ridden dew
on the birthday I decide
to not contact you.

We write still
enough to hand on thigh
toward the spring lace
tucked beneath your skirt.
I breathe the distance
in a language I can't speak
between an oak bench
and your leg
and i laugh.

This Was An Afterthought Yesterday

The abcess of a television
marks an entry dark;
A window that can’t be seen.

I said I wouldn’t sleep with you
and I won’t until you beg for it
and until I lose it
I’ll forget its an evening happening.

Breathe -
pump -
release -

How was your afternoon?

Now it was yesterday earlier
when we did our thing
laughing at your jokes
(I cringed)
like a prayer unfolding
I knelt to receive
the Denver omelets we made
in Paris
in Auburn
in Dreams.
You were blue that day
Coma therapy radiating the age
sag from your face

On the eve of a century.

Sunday, January 9, 2011

Before I could Spell “Coriander”

“We’re on a river,” the little boy said. “This is a river and we’re on it.”
-Shirley Jackson

If I had a moment
All along the highway I’ve thought about you
Miles would be laid out
And I’d be the exit
You wouldn’t take.
But stars domed inside the sedan
Diving north and
That’s a lake next to a bigger one
(none of which are “man-made”).

I have been downtown in winter:
Felt it cringe all fall before
The snow really freezes.
The clouds falter into prayer music
Acolyting candles wicks
Blown into architecture.

It was yesterday earlier
Bubble fizz fire worked
Into free transit
Spent one cent riding a city
Into an evening
Blue was up and red sort of
Glossed the future gold
Hydrangeas my ma
Used to plant