Eros with Pistol
The sight the squeeze the crack the
wrack the smack kickback the lick
of it the spit of it split of it the track
contact to impact to shatter to scatter
to scraps to bits that skitter that litter to
splinter rend bend strip rip apart part
the heart the heart
beats back beats back
The cycle spins,
like a windmill,
when the dew must,
the trumpet squeals as if exhaling my nom de plume;
we mend the holes in the O.
The magic pose--electrifying ways of a woman
tied to verse; tied to verse; tied to verse.
Circles bend their diameters for a taste of candy.
Unleashing yourself in the rain.
Unseen Bird of the Inner Eye
Poppies I gave called lilac
your thigh's bruise called persistent you said
wait until the shower nothing washed
your eyes still called blue lips
called red here your lips called base rosette
called triangle under
your brunette nails called plum called mint
chintz on the tips of fingers we licked
meat called blackened silver
wine called Dolcetta over flameprince peaches
seed called pit inside salt and alkaline
called sweet soil
we bolted back to front again called saddle
called thus spread called gloss
called your skin shown through
cups called my hands held
to the waved loss and gain called angle
called bronze time
stung called ash pushed to the dusk's sheet's
dark across poppies that were never lilac.
Minimal Epic with Redwing Blackbird
if all you saw was the red patch
would it be
eye of Cyclops
button on a favorite sweater
sculpting cold tar
bone and beak
The Eyes Have It
My eyes burn holes through old locks. Super
human, I reach up and grab planes
with my hands. Catch bullets in my teeth.
Snatch you from your hiding place, set you down
in the Hall of Justice. Now meet what they mete.
American Pop Culture
Scratch this: Scratch the itch that won’t catch: Scratch ‘n’ sniff.
on indelible decal framed
human treadmill scheme.
In dreams we meat our fakir.
American Tourister waves to the maitre d’ while you go
where you want to
shoulders, sprinkling cheese.
the oil of commerce goes on here
in office hallways
a brief hello, a nod,
small talk about common things
something sings like a humming motor
its gears lubricated before engagement
tab a is inserted into slot b
in a darkened movie theatre Harold Lloyd
hangs from the hands of a clock
Charlie Chaplin threads his body
through the machine gears of Metropolis
Buster Keaton punches a timeclock
that punches back
in a different dream I sit with you
in our garden
I ask you the names of flowers
we tell each other stories
that come true