fractions

we’re not getting any more accordion players to fold their hands like such lovers.
we want jackknife-like precision of ants, scribbling their numeric bodies on the driveway
we want women lovers to crinkle a sound in night and the city, a ball of aluminum foil
we deny rumors that a car leaving Boston at eighty will develop emotions when the brakes fail

we ascertain that the man in the mirror is closer to life than he appears

we experience physical difficulty, a cramping of the larynx, with the period after mourning
we discuss fragility and how it looks on our hands
we circumnavigate parking lots, for nautical
we theorize that a coronary can protect a princess from imposters, stalkers and heartache

we know that the ground underneath is heavy once the positions are reversed

stop motion photography

i'm leaving
the bats ball around too much
argue with the sky about who's blind
enough, for it weeps about a sun

placate the cotton around the fire
until all ablaze, a ruin, a pitchfork or a sundial
rumored cars are squeaks and make mice of the night
a diligent opportunity to run, forges legs

the optical illusions of rims, fans
that this will be the game that lasts

a song that better states the hymn of the republic than goals

in the smoke aloof from the grass, dance ancestors
who know the secrets when the other
sidelines of the mirror bar them

laugh arm over shoulder
taxied home with friends

the world up in smoke,
drags at our


heels

jetties

stop lights
stop motion photography measures
curvature of knives as the hours change moods

ligature of tape sounds ISBN of an echo pulled from the shelf

the equals signs between catcalls
unfold in fans
paragraphs of reprieve found camped concentrated in the rubber look you pull off me
book worth of dialogue thrown to sea
red right green all wrong with envy

a storm brews apostles watches television screens

she cries
stop lights
all of the curtains in a swell

her eyes
dice
battle the pigs over a million miles of drink

some ones watching too

some ones watching too
named oath out of chocolate Andromeda
deep below our feet one hamster plus wheel

her eyes recycle to the light switch, stuck in the midday position
hydrants, the shirked gerunds
participles hang like signs that read CLOSED

a riptide pulled cats from whiskers

seraphim of paraffin support a fake star
under which all men are wise
all fools gold

she folded her fingers into a pretzel which came to resemble latitude and later wrinkles

I am wasted children enough to
span the sewers of three continents

to photograph the sun a pinko fuck named god

hands shadow scissors on the wall a dig to china

nostalgia is not discerning between dust

by the rearview
i wonder
if this is the last
time isle see you

or if you blood roses
grown stones throws
away from the wheel
given lives different than
a hand out to the road
to feel the rumble cycles through movement

will soon come in cotton candy
puffs when the camera lens makes foggy
cause is poignance
bitterness moves upstairs

i can't fit the fact
in the trunk
that i want them to return

run back to shotgun
and tell me
floor it
into the sun

a near miss

when I was

younger I almost

died

the show was great
big circus dull a lot of us

i didn't remember

tragedies
lull, you

if you forget to, squeeze

sit in a hospital bed
get the wrong diagnosis
from a nurse in training

and have them
drain the
life from you

handiwork of
tubes and cockpit lights
mimicry of organs
used to paint the skin pale

people too,
change color
when dying

and houses
when dead

conversation between magnets

Oedipii in your face.

Your not making sense has answered the door
again. And no, it refuses to give to charity.

What a lousy bugger.

A barrel full of dimwits couldn’t
change the lightbulb by which we see.

Ay si. Sure. Cierto. Falso, recomendado.

Surely you mislead.

The world is full of misleaders.

Ceaseless concertos follow a piano
around, and ask it to give them names.

I pursue borrowed trousers around, looking
to find a home for tired legs.

A robotic mess you’ve gotten us
into, what with computers and
technology; a large sword hangs over
our beds to watches, the night for us.
In each hand a different hour.

We are made lazy by folk.

By the by, by focus
I mean by focal. Et. Al.

Ibid. I concur. All objects et cetera’d
Xeroxed queens carry
a semi-automatic scepter and abdicate.
a semi-automatic scepter and abdicate.
a semi-automatic scepter and abdicate.
a semi-automatic scepter and abdicate.

Paper out.

god soccer and music on the instep

the gunshot pitter
Pater of little feet little wing
old Cream records
once pants where longer than life
Err larger than life with a cockney accent
Litt’el Wing…

my music used to sound like a crackle
atomic record players awaken to sonic tribulation
and work through
Clapton jams
who is like god isn’t Michael

but Pele haloes over flips a bicycle
but impassible the tough flavor of favelas
a goal Icarian for a 16 year old kid away from home

I know behind Pele’s smile
Maradona across a mirrored table
awaits the hand of God
boca full of sugarloaf, Iguazu, guarani, Machu minus Atahualpa sunsets

history rebuffs
admit it: some
grandfathers
were rapists with little wings

god’s everyone: director, producer, screenwriter, garbage collector. Exterminator.

interview with pale, shovel

to ask whatever happened in the
sandbox? when whatever happened
to the sandbox is clear. it strings out like a
piano, added sledgehammer.
where is james joyce that dressed in ipso factos and clefts on this very corner?
where are the shadows the phone poles armored with the they says
a toolbox of statistics, anecdotes and storyline that I wish I could cop

there’s no place stranger

than a poem
to make it personal
j.edgar hoover played in nylons too after all

there are too many
too after all’s
e.g., your terror is tomorrow’s Tea Party too after all
but that’s conversation in the dark corner

wile the mean defile the average

a bouquet of guesses smells
rank
then file under gift:
(rationale behind)
dried flowers anxiety of having to speak
suavity of not having to speak
naivety of not forcing to speak

I fill the space with fire between
your hands in Guatemalan arms factories
extinguishing conflagrations only leads to a hollow in the sky where once flames

my sense is lead to a hollow in the sky where flames, once in the
hemi-, atmos-, oblate spheres of pasta

which empty like a look over the shoulder
a house pours down a stairwell
stoops then

grabs a basketball and V’s the air in passes
check.

convention of dew makers makes namesake
wings we flapped are sun faded
parking violations which shed
a let’s get outta here ahead
of staying at snowbird ground
zero

don’t open adore

ode 2 muses

a diesel engine pours tears into the pedal
I, control
I, cog
rest nonetheless

none the eels taste like chicken
it’s been forgotten that chicken tastes
my guesses are like nipples

my guesses bullets

Margarita guesses pomegranate
Margarita is not the name of my muse
Margarita is the name I gave to whom might be speaking with me
Margarita for lack of a better word

Margarita for a better world
rest in peace less, this meal unfinished is the site of a revolution

on a microbial level revolution ferments Lenin amoeba

an engine to idle by

driving rhy-them or a gas pedal is an envelope you push all the way

millennial uses
for sky and the names it holds

he who beats the drum first is first
signs of rain

a beer draws a taste of iron from blood on your lips

underneath the deaths of liquid crayons color rations

in the tea backwater
locks of nowhere building blocks
take up space overhead to begin upstaging the world, who has things built is king, and frank lloyd wright is present

tense too

on your telephone keypad, blood also spells alone

templates on a cell phone for a quick fix in various text message scenarios

Please call me by my name.

I’m at home. Please call before dropping by.
I’m just more work. Home late.
I’m in a meeting. Everyone has passed on.

Meeting is cancelled. Call for paycheck.

I am late. Don’t let this happen again. This will destroy us.

Sorry, I can’t help you on this. Find oxygen.
I will be arriving at my own free will.

See you in a place south of here.
See you in a box.

mother

mother
of all blank stares
a dice roll won these words
slap in the face worth palmful of admonitions
spoil on the ground like marbles
each reflects the limitations of glass, like a man falling
so much of what
we no longer want swims
in the atmosphere

proof that slavery is in the pudding

class divisions are nonexistent in a palm
we all stood that way, spraypainted golds and amethysts
but in amount of sailing experience needed
how willing are we to toss it all to the dogs?

I crossdress Marx again in an either/or
mixing a poem with puddle jumpers, egg beaters and galoshes grown talons
tapping the genocide on the highway for signs of life

how ice cream tastes in Sweden

Disbelieving to be this
far north still wanting
frozen foods

ice cream in Sweden is strange on the tongue
like being kissed with your eyes clothes

a perhaps is a name we cannot
pronounce with open mouths
teeth at eleven o’clock

our clocks set
back
pink from sun
set down
the world hurts without trying

the start of every idea

or heavy on the cellos, light wind

=the moment right before the music
=the second a fountain is turned off &
leaves a migration not likened to air

=the automatic timer switches on the sprinklers
=autopilot blips the brake pads of tray table

=I’m coming
=I’m leaving

=I’m positive,
she loves me in ways you cannot

=I’m going to ask you to sit down
the world is about to pop

=if only you’d have asked sooner
I’d tell you what I thought
which had an earring of truth in it
vacuum sealed inside a car in the rain

camouflage of parking lots:
blending into your environment like gum on a hot day

=I have this hair pin trigger here, for rent

+the air is running out

ocean: an earphone filled
with questions
posed to silence

who will empty my loneliness tank

I am not there yet
in the mirror
what you see
has past
like breath displays during
Decembers too close to my collar for nooses

gas up
eye seventy-five has rained for forty-eight

hydroplane to Miami
majestic, triumphant like elephant ears
the wind along my hair like a hydrofoil from Bs. As. to Montevideo

I once thought was a VHS player gargling tape on a Beta constellation
working the glitches out of the solar system

silence as a crowd
will not make
you alone

O emptiness it is you who has plotted

to fill my footprints

remolino

dale cuerda al tiempo
por si los relojes salvan mal la hora

a rienda suelta significa siendo resuelto
el Molino trae sequias
donde los ojos mismos caminar sin guias

vino de donde vino
la tierra seca mostrando sus calzones
una loca desnuda en la plaza
tetas peladas como no perro que ladra

orejas sin huecos somos mudos
la resulta de reflejar tanto el sol después de unos tragos

questions before the boat sinks

she nodded off et ceteras on acrylic with wrist 90 degrees to arm
pushes finger down & with each finger names

counting the burn marks the stars in part are
guiltless

What sky imitates oil in search of gray
What marred water another tomorrow turns
Where do the songs in the ground from pipes emerge
Who bar coded the face of the moon, the breeze, the odor of decomposition as mastodon conductors quarter songs
pull in the cardinal directions, as an urge would

meet me in dilemma,
who’s renting Port-O-Potties to innocent bystanders?

Does lack of guilt mean paying for it?

saxophones grease the axle of each revolution
scientists say 1000 miles an hour is slow for a rock in space
but it doesn’t leave much time for an autograph, nor an imprint
the earthquakes are not at fault though the dead finger them

if I get my hands on a clock
I’ll choke

find more than surrender in pockets

jumble-laya

a tragedy with
binoculars
hides in her pleats

she speaks there are wonders in a fountain,
hybrids and convoluted geometrics
a click cyclical brick individual makes more holes
water will tear up to heaven in upward irrigation

ad dress the approximate passerby a la refuse kingdom
the unwanted sights your eyes to see
they tied a finger to the trigger.
put a name to the nonsense on the side of a sneaker
which is carbon dated for
how long the metal around your wrists aches

Converse. Now between you and I
The liquor replaces vague underlying
Straighten the lines in palms forever alive
spread out milky blackjacks face forward sky
thumb twiddle either the vultures
assume, with barnacled daggers, the crash position

The birds vs. the wind, the former refrigerator magnets

Eyes floorward. objective: pieces of broken girls
add just difficulty
the you/me come between

scars wish a return to childhood knives
out, folly

a hardness waxes softball in a distant fence
the smell of cut grass rises in a mist
a dog’s bark betrays the location of its owner
under the moon leaves an imprint, hand some humanity

the strangest places for a revolution, yet the earth turns

graffiti in stubble
virgin
sandy roads in FLA.
that make me
crave rum
or violent
pictorals
of pornography
in weeds near the
amtrak station in
providence

forgotten
newspapers
of the poor
always remind me of

the flag painted on the hillside
somewhere on I-81 between Harrisburg
& Scranton up in a mess of pines
someone always redoes it
(like each year a person who no one knows
or no one wants to know so
that no one knows
visits Poe's grave on his birthday
where and which, everyone knows,
and places
flowers)

radical like a car crash is to glass
a dark figure throws shutters to open

paints over the old flag
renews the flag
denial of an even if
it might be
that it fades
out of
shame.

but bill O’reilly said I could do it…

eyes of emptier ideas
than the garbage tuesday morning

how about the sprinkler system?

i heard it drowned a man last year,
80 or so,
fell off his motorized walking stuck right solid.

great graveyard, how the years passed, and water didn't pour over him,
H2O my god showed remorse

but water goes as earth goes

spins out polyhedrons in that loose leaf cursive like a suburb "crawls":
anything else that happens in crowds is usually dubbed a riot

save migrations
guiltless those who still hold onto the divining rod,
that gold could be in the grass,
or forming a line at a souvenir shop to purchase a self-portrait
any which way
lazy like water pushes corpses homeward

Sans provocation

1 a moral
2 a sexual
3 a mused

will someone ajar the door? I caught a drift

in an Atlantic fishing net

the itch at the back of the throat
might denote a singer
more justice
in a smorgasbord

pissing on holy books
pisses off the populace

the formula was an easy zero
around which we formed a ring

poetry is not

its expression is
democratic
its forms are
platonic

sound is an anecdote of objects falsely gesturing themselves

flames set what’s real back some

sit images sit
x marks the ass is worn down

on the coat hangers
we hang, assembled in reality

makeshifted to the devilry of

breathing into the monster around the corner
the likes of under the bed

& into run, stews long enough
Your answers found at the bottom

the sirens lead
the trucks
to tragedy

trappings of a prison

florid doses of sadness are diodes in codas, throwing codos
used like a road cracked in the weeds

she sunned off to Ursa Major
flicked the neighborhood

on the overcast men
sit lowercase
in their pickups and weep

& rest

assures we won’t
eat slaves

where we sit lest coffee will be
admission charged 1 day

I like the way you look like a fucked up Nursery rhyme
the battered only assume the position

till sundown María, you’re immaculate again
pillpopping past the Federales
a dream or a demon
lives in the cough box of your belly

3 coins in the fountain,
or 2 over the eyes