the sweat drips from my forehead and drips down to my eyelids
and there they hang
as if waiting for the perfect moment to strike

untitled

Taken frame
and three dropped questions
and what is time if there is no second chance
laugh with me and paint this hall and sing a "how do you do" song
as men past their prime guzzle down canned domestic beer

How do you do
Are you happy to be here
Do you want to show us how happy you are

All of these met with silence (especially the last one)

Taken frame, still, shot
we all wear suspenders
and it's too easy to get caught on hooks
rock with me because my back is giving way to the floor
Sway,
when asked what to do say pinch, prick, tickle, punch, poke, anything, anything
just don't say shake, because that's mine
I call shotgun on the action

I'll do it
I'll wear the beaver tail hat if you do these things with me
and we'll camp and turn the stars into piano keys and we'll ignore them
because why drown out the song of 27 drunken men and the call of the nightbirds
with the twinkling of the sky ivories

Still in frame
Border me into action
Front the black still white
white still black

The stars are in one straight line tonight. Funny, isn't it?

that time before that time when you don't wake up right before you hit the ground

I've taken to the skies
And all I got are plastic bags as parachutes
I guess I didn't see that the light was still red
A small voice in my head says start flapping you idiot
And I comply
I always comply to any small voice be it in my head or on the ground far far below 

untitled

the trees have soaked the streets
you can start by telling the truth
how the tiles of the phases of the moon have gone missing
you want the streets to suffocate, smothered by gravity and a fury so natural, so ancient, we're not meant to understand it
so no we'll stay still until the dark sky passes
and the truth will become more evident
I keep time on my hands
I won't steal our thunder
the thunder that shakes the branches or the lightning that rattles our limbs
keep your eyes to the sky
as the trees are our beds and our final destination

ash and funeral and wine

all you are right now is a pile of ash

gray and in a mound

I'd make a castle out of you but something about that strikes me as in poor taste

I only have one three piece suit

and it's at the dry cleaner's

so i am wearing a suit that's too broad in the shoulders

and pants whose legs rest above my ankles

my good dress shoes are at the bottom of the East River because of a bet made on a bar trivia night gone way too long and way too wrong

so I'm wearing Kmart penny loafers

the same ones I wore in every play I had ever been in high school

they squeak 

I squeak and forget why I am holding your remains in my arms

-- well in the crook of my left arm-- my other arm is too busy pouring myself another jup-jup of Franzia in a clear plastic cup-- 

we're masters of our own ships I am told

but I'm currently drowning myself in cheap white wine

thank god you always knew how to float, even now I use your remains as my life preserve in this room drenched with sorrow and fermented grapes

I'm also told that we are to do shots of whiskey in your name

I don't mean to make this about me, but I'd much prefer to shoot rifles in your name

though I've never shot a gun in anyone's name, I think now's the time we start

hell, it can be that chinese air rifle you would always use to fire and miss at the ground hog that would eat all your basil

but I guess we'll just wait

I hold you in my arms because I can

and I'll willingly drown as some distant relative offers condolences for someone they never knew

take this arrow, shoot straight

aim just above the navel

you always knew that was my soft spot

well, it's pretty much everybody's soft spot

but at least with arrows you always shot straight

at least with me you always took care to aim

I guess I should thank you

I have some confetti in my pocket

these days I never leave the house without a couple of fistfuls of confetti

so that I can always have the ability to make it rain-- if need be

buckle your seatbelt in the front seat

I'm not your chauffeur but we're going to go for a ride 

you and I and this lifted box of Franzia

we always had a good time together 

thank you

why should it be any different now

I'll go easy on the gas pedal

these highways aren't as straight as they used to be

and let's focus on what we need to do

it's the same as it was when we first met

though like you, a little grayer and a little smaller

let's sit

you and I and this mostly empty lifted box of Franzia

and look at the quarry where we first believed in something bigger than ourselves

because this quarry is still pretty fucking big, though like I said memory made it bigger

initials still in the tree, cataloguing all those who've visited

we'll watch the night pass 

not because it's romantic, I am just too drunk to stand up, let alone drive

my pockets are empty

your lid is really tight

let's loosen it

it's about time you and I made it rain

bye

you look much better as rain

I'll see you when I wake up

b37

all I can draw is sky
windswept blue
antwerp blue
rain will make this heat bearable
and lead aging ink to new paper
one might say blue skies have been done before, quite possibly overdone
but I prefer antwerp blue and blank page

because that's what sky is,

blank page and

                           blue


overdone, but all that's over our heads is overdone
so over our heads till we hit the ground backwards and find new shades of green to draw with
we're overdone and cooked in heat
so that amaranthine red won't wait for the rain
to make this all a bit more bearable
to make this all a bit more fun

blood pact

Yesterday, I made a pact with myself
I signed my name, but I wanted to do something more. I wanted my blood on the page. Just a drop to smear in acknowledgment of my promise. But Huck Finn and Tom Sawyer were much better at making blood oaths than I am. I found my pocket knife and I tried to prick my finger, but my knife wasn't sharp enough. Did I learn nothing from my grandfather? It doesn't matter the quality of the knife, always keep it sharp. Always keep you knives sharper, sharper than your wits. I couldn't do it. I couldn't make myself bleed. I didn't have that fortitude. I wanted my promise bound in blood, but my knife wasn't sharp enough, or maybe my intent wasn't sharp enough. I had to make do with my letters and words.

k series
year of the dragon:
17th Drunken Sky
June 18th, morning after night

tree and blue field

don't touch it
it loves you not
you've forgotten home
for the taste of concrete
and the smell of smoke
don't touch it
let the flowers rest
they're growing without your help
believe it or not
you've forgotten how long it takes to remember how to take shelter in trees
and the leaves idly turn as color TV
home. it's just been one dream abandoned
for concrete and smoke

we bought plots but not caskets

you lie there with your eyes closed
like there's no one yelling your name
you always play dead when you have a moment of silence
I tell you it's no different than running a fifty yard dash
you'll be out of breath and down on your back either way
don't you think that maybe it's time we dig you a new grave
with marble etchings and flowers to mask that smell, your smell, your self imposed stink
the truth is you're gone gone gone away
disappeared in moments when you can't hear the words I say, your self imposed silence
I wonder if they make tandem caskets
then even if we change and fall back into this noisy bed
we'll have fallen together
self imposed silence is not fun if you have nothing to be silent about
put the x's over my eyes
and I'll stick my tongue out
and pray to be food for carrion
let's make our cemetery and remember how it feels to have a place we can call our own
now that's something I can lie in silence about
gone gone gone, lie down, we're gone

June 18th, morning after night

words are nothing when they're whispered in my ear
I may grow into them and make them my gospel
but I still stand alone
and when I say alone, I don't mean alone in that "o woe to me herp a derp derp my right hand is my best friend" sort of way
but an alone in a way that stands without a crutch
an alone that follows us even after we conceive and we taste the comfort of primal love
damnit
it's easier to make big words
and statements
than to live them as gospel
to live as white, hot, seething spell and fury
as this or that truth
as if I can find a reason to sleep instead of blink one last time
as if I can't whisper what I meant to yell
when yelling is all that's left
to me
and us

17th Drunken Sky

I found the latch open
And I had to climb
Not out of necessity
But out of that boyhood instinct
The desire to go higher than those you think should be beneath you
I'm not saying that I'm right or wrong or that I think in that verdant shade of undecided
All I know is that I'm climbing towards sky
All I know is up
And upwards