Poems

o to what windy shores wild gushing waving windy bending, torn and tired or fierce and alert to save itself or only angry laughing rasping grabbing raging coming for the evening and the nighttime soldiers floating in on planks solitary surfboards boating hundreds of rushing gushing raging windy seascapes, reaching asking dashing wanting to slam into the beach and move the sand gushing popping wind blown fart in a blizzard everywhere sand up into the sky and the wind raging at the shoreline and the land and angry spirits lifting hissing yelling roaring rushing gushing everywhere raging and engaging on the shoreline, a line of seedy surfboard soldiers and a battle ragey engagy windy, to those, to which, what map and latitude will rushing gushing suddenly receive your kiss-off, hushing?

inside the lead thunk of an ice cube falling not into a glass, into metal melting, coating the insides. watching ice melt and remembering that lead thunk, a silenced splash, the crash of frozen water.

call it something, dozens a number, mis-connecting phrases (ask for a baker's dozen of roses, hoses, noses) but call it something because you have to it's not like connecting the dots, it's not realistic, to follow dotted lines. it's not treacherous or lecherous to fall off into negative space (the dots are white on black, reaching to forever and back) and in a follow-the-dots of the quantum variety, must you only use each option once? the picture: an endless field of starbursts, the definition of blackness entire.

speaking of things that are spontaneous, like combustion and thought and life (nothing jumping out of sterile haystacks, just the meta jump the haystack in the barn of goddamnit) and rambles, the most spontaneous thought sink of them all perhaps but if only the subconscious would just speak up, if only -- then we might be able to correct the view, the black plane made of asters, sparks, starbursts of unknown but infinite volume, audially, the great following dots that makes up travel, in time in presumably what you thought may have had to do with hayBUT WAIT there you found it, that volume control at last turned down. back to the show (it's an epic battle on a shoreline)

how often does the punchline turn out to be a brick? the only example i have is a multiple-day long joke, based on not being funny, where the brick is only a stand in to something subtle, sad, silly.

3 oz's or less includes many stick deodorants, small lotions, razors but not technically, the small things, a bottle of liquid or a chapstick covered in unintentional kisses, except for the last one which i put there explicitly for you. bon voyage.

don't pause if you've never paused before, because you don't want to break the record and it seems perhaps unorthodox, and there's no telling if you'll ever be able to start again?

at the swiss embassy: a large poster about being eco-friendly, bullet point advice, each ending in exclamation! fly in airplanes less! bring your own bags to the grocery store! buy local! printing visas with solar power, but what about that whole busload of children who were walking in as i was walking out? surely be sure, the superior is reminding the tour guide, that surely you don't play up the motherland too much. we don't want them taking airplanes, ruining our pristine water with their little, graphite dusted hands, eager eyes, innocence and senses, if they've come to them. one never can tell with americans.

i cannot picture a herring, specifically, or a yellow throated warbler or the other creatures that seem to be standard somehow or that i should know in accordance with being aware of surroundings or something like that, but i doubt they know my name and it's no matter in our relationship, because i say so and by consent in glances the birds agree with me. so back off field guides and urban naturalists and language and libraries.

from waking up standing going to pee and filling up a glass of water maybe thinking for a moment, before the pants are on and it's still morning, about the morning a little bit and the sunlight behind still closed blinds knowing things have started before you long and many millenia before in fact, but maybe only 13.6 billion years at that, if you have an understanding of finiteness, it might make a difference, think to yourself, from there going, dream to dream.