Jesus, please crucify the economists

Though the change machines
whir and clang and scream
and the money counters
flip and flap around us,
the market makes me think
that what I need's a drink.
A strong one with no mixer,
the very cheapest liquor.

notes to pass the time

These walls tighten surrounding this hutch
encapsulated brain on matters defunct
still spinning, not traveling, but whats the fuss?
riding the ride all day long and still not strong
just a cat, without bones, whiskers all ran off
nowhere to land,no way to gauge
'The doctor is in. He's ready to see us'
shuffling my feet over carpet patterned to hide stains of the past
I await a trite spew- delusions
concerning the falsity of pain of genius

will the future face other brick walls?
or poutine and wine and chinacat dolls?

most certainly both.

Knowing nature Vs. Being nature

In an impressionist painting
the tiny dots of individual color
remain unblended
so that the human eye can learn
to form the shapes on its own accord
so that each person sees the shape
slightly different
but the painter's message is not lost,
just open for further interpretation.

In a novel
the editors strive to show each character
clearly
so that there is no confusion regarding
the nature of the man or woman
so that good and bad meet to form
a developing plot and clear moral,
a succinct message,
the only things really open for interpretation
are the individual
words.

A Lake in...

A glass of water motionless with ice
sits on a desk
amidst two months worth of dust

It wants little
on a coaster
It waits to be picked up

The sun rises
and glows hot on the unsuspecting ice
It distorts the image
of everything
beyond
the steadfast glass
Frozen
Now it wells up
with sweat

Somewhere outside
a cloud survives
the sun
A light goes on
above the quick
shrinking ice

Unlike plants and mammals
water doesn’t need
natural light
to grow
beneath the surface
of the earth
a myriad waterways
toss
and turn
uncharted land make paths
few gods will ever know

The cloud moves beyond
the now setting sun
A light goes out
allowing the moon
to illuminate a thing
motionless in itself

The glass is no longer cold
It's grown hot
lukewarm
and diluted
with small pieces of skin
that sat amongst
two month and one day old
dust.
The water waits

It wants not
what humans crave
It wants

Only to be left
quietly
as victim of the sun

A Response

After a lark
with a stranger
it grows earthy in the room
and our bodies stretch out
Rich tones, dew shine, a draft
dries the sweat

Outside,
a day laborer hammers the
brownstone across the street
It wakes us up
unexpectedly
and I can’t help but think
there is somewhere
and someone
I was supposed to be

In a sleepy confusion, she mocks my misstep
"You fool,” she laughs
“Those men don’t have enough money to be someone else”

It is quiet in the room
It has become so cold that I try to feign sleep
so I don’t have to
deal with
waking up in the afternoon