Bluebaby

Do not look at the ground
do not look at my eternity,
stare at infinity
stare at the sky
stare until it breaks
the pieces lodged in the eye.

cry
cry them out
cry them black and blue,
a method tried and true.

cry, lovely,
bitterly and savor the taste
never let a fine batch go to waste.

cry in the dark where the ghosts can hear you
in the flesh where the gods can smite you
in the night where the beasts embrace you.

cry not to yourself, blue
cry not to me
cry not where I am not,
cried a long night in the rain.

Dawn City

The city crept wide open
into darkness quaint and dry
light oozing from every pore
pulsing with the faintest cry.

Beasts of metal never could sleep
roaring across the beams
howls scaled the reflecting cliffs
invaded fetus dreams
and invisible holes in the sky.

Yellow giraffes
rest their head on giant skeletons
blue ants laugh
and pile up little automatons.

The jagged horizon
in each window, compact
dogs in the parking lot, dogs in the park
smell the roses and let urines attract.

Coffee in the rug
alley in the trash
hobo in a suit
subway in a flash.

Avant Grandeur

As he finished every poem
he saw whole centuries
crying for his genius.

As he filled out every form
he felt the entire ancestry
rolling in the dust.

Ascension

This is the top floor
lips hanging open,
through the twofold door came muted sirens.

This is the top floor
jumping light puddles,
distant liquid roar of anguish and bubbles.

This is the top floor
whom the dead appalls,
queens of forgotten dreams, slowed the breathing walls.

This is the top floor
home of the sinking Wake,
“step into the deep blue, embrace everything it may take.”

This is the top floor
not a town in sight,
yet another washed ashore
broken at the seams
her lithe form of the departing night
a thousand years ago or so it seems,
there is nothing more
not even in dreams.

This should be the top floor
her inkling, in still
crying heretofore.

Lovers from Seoul

The girl loved singing, her name could have meant “carol.”
The boy was a harmless lad who shared her love for rock-and-roll.
Pet names warred like no tomorrow as their love ballooned out of control.
He would call her “baby doll” and she would call him “Sméagol.”

On a quiet Wednesday night, they vowed to become whole.
He would marry her, and she would bring alcohol.
For a witness, they visited Freedom of the Capitol.
For getting the witness drunk, they were wanted by the Interpol.

Ever since their stunt, the world has been on patrol.
Every institution has their own security protocol.
One might think the days of running would finally take a toll.
But from what rumors had, the couple kept their share of lol.

Spindle

The voice called out to you
the past, not built to last
the self, not torn to shreds
the rest, not meant to pass
too much red
too much allure.

You must endure
the solar deity
could not blind or melt
but stood inert
on the inverted sky
baked the desert
into mirrors
birthing a second sun
a lifeless companion
to burn above and below.

Needle in the desert
you must endure
as light defiled
every angle
of your hellbent eye
you could not ever be truly dead
if you were never truly alive.

The long millennia
just for that one chance
of drawing strange blood…

Hereafter

I am here
on the top of the city
next to your cashmere
scarf, your cherry
blouse, your out-of-line
teeth, the smile
that refused to go away.

I am here in disarray
your eyes downcast
the train rushing past
pulling your breath away
your coat astray
I wish someone else was the passenger
holding this ticket: one-way
or another
today.

Maybe I could fold time
coming back with a dime
to the name
and a flair for introduction
at the very same
train station
where I never ask for your name.

Hair lashing at wind
and cheekbone
you stood alone.

I am here
on the other side
of the photo
across the stretch
of sandals and sand.

I am here
fading to nothing
in you.

The Two Theaters

This is the Woman, walking on bare snow.
This is the Man, painting roads bloody.
This is the Daughter, voice of a scarecrow.
This is the Son, wings of a dead tree.

Love, love, love all around.
Songs and dance, lights and stars, homeward bound.
Darling, this is the New World we found.

Come slowly, darling.
Our walk had just begun.
Many hit the ground running.
And then there were none.

Pretty Words

Kisses fall
through a glass, darkly
drowning us both
in the abyss of ecstasy.
All of you
sublime
wrapping me
bound to me
in eternal moonshine
with the sun nailed to the other side of the world
and the mass killing of dawn bloomers
and your hair running through the cracks of my fingers.

You are not here.
You never were.
I wrote pretty words mangled in lust
and tossed them away in disgust.

Easel

On a shaky easel
rests the infinite canvas
at which they throw themselves
in the vain hope of a horrific splatter
blood, bath and all that matter,
not a mere raindrop to the ancient will
drying out with a pathetic whimper
on the glass pane not the sill.
They keep hunting down tales of woe
devouring them alive, gloriously so.

The Weather Revolver

The sky went dark again
on and on it wailed
canned sunshine sold out
outdoor plans derailed.

Humans were unfazed
humans loved to blame
what they can’t control
what they can’t contain.

On the other hand
I could not complain
I could have foreseen
but failed to reset
my weather machine.

Despite this nuisance
I regret nothing
I would rather leave
the humans bitching
for those who had time
to fret about the sky
also had boredom
plenty to live by.