case no. 1

a case for writing in iambic: it's a historically beautiful way in which to write. it has a living pulse in it. it speaks to the ghost of Shakespeare.

a case against writing in iambic: it forces me to use words like titian.
 

my door is my calendar and I've opened it

So I am at your house, really your apartment and you are there. I’m a 7 in a scale from 1 to 10 that delineates my love for exposed brick. I can’t remember if you have it. But I am in the apartment and you are there. I can’t remember if I’ve been here before. I look and I see your grand piano. Your grand piano is very close to your kitchen. You go to the TV. The TV is hanging upside down in the closet. We want to watch this closet TV and we can’t figure out its physics, it’s gravitational basics. We abandon this project and I see in your living room you have a Christmas tree set up and a bowl filled with Christmas ornaments. I see two nutcrackers with their arms pointing to one another. I think it’s September. I think you’re a bit crazy to be ready for December so early. Then I think it’s sweet you love something so much to as to be ready for it three months too soon. Then I see your coffee table has an Easter basket on it. And there are colored eggs in it. And on the yellow armchair that you told me you found on the street there is your Halloween costume folded and ready. By your coat rack, I see a picnic basket prepared for Labor Day. You have an area dedicated to each holiday. In every moment you’re ready for our calendar celebrations, marked by the furniture as X’s on a map that is your apartment. I think it’s sweet. I leave your back door to go to my place and I sit inside waiting for the 29^th to pass. I was told I shouldn’t have left the house today.  But I won’t be a slave to my calendar.

a stab at iamb in the shadows

Light shadowbind me and across we find

The lines, which etched and offered take their flight

Across your back they reach unto your mind

So dear, we see we’re sunk in our new plight

Oh bind me to those words that you hold dear

So dear, you’ve taken them for your new prayer

Scrawled and woven, submerged as in a tear

The ink is permanent, on that I swear.

I shake the rust and in these mounds I make

Deep red, a path through which I cannot see

We have no guide to lead us from this quake

Of pigment rouge and titian, we must flee

Let make, flip our new fortunes to a path

A path so new that I can light the way

And run from the cascading colors’ wrath

So we might find a new grey for this day. 

two sets in the shadows

Shadowbind me across the lines of your back
The lines etched on your shoulders offer
a poor source of direction
Bind me to those words you hold so dear to make
permanent
And shake the rust, orange and deep red, and make the mounds
we have to trek through
We have no guide to lead us through
Our flying capabilities are restricted to what's stained into your back
Let make
Flip our fortunes
to a new path and
light the way or I'll do it
Because my elbows are lightbulbs
and my ribs
reflectors
Let make
Make use
Bind

lost pay and fall

I’m not trying to rob you

But please please please

No I’m sorry

But obviously I need

I have one thing or

Another

The papers in my hands should say so

You worry about a

Disease

I worry about fading

But my realization is not as artsy as that

My realization is single shot

Single celled, and

Single sold

I expect more because I expect nothing

But I take everything

When it’s offered

And I have a chance to link my

Eyes to yours

And we discuss, or I talk at, talk to

Totally a night on the ground

My arms on the cardboard

And my head in the dust

Shake me if you see me

And I don’t stir

I’m not trying to heal you

I need my strength

For another day

$2, $1, 26¢, it's all the night of- the night it was

I dreamt last night that the Met was an equation

Each room a constant

Each style of art, a variable

An x or a y or a z, maybe f

And it all grew old to me

It grew manageable and

It grew smaller

The air grew stale and heavy

My wings of fancy were clipped

Too short

I hit glass and slid down the façade

I no longer had the desire to see the Rembrandts

And the works of Breugel

I met my bath

Which was a puddle of mud

And insects

And now, I’ve caught up

I will lie here a bit longer

Until this equation catches up

To my new sense of gravity

And consciousness

final day, my first flower

I knew her as a ghost before I knew her details

I see her structure and support

I see her supreme signature on the souls of

The wandering and found

We must live life like a celebration

I heard she once said

Lets bring one another to this

Moment now

And sign

Sign

Sign

Sign

Sign

Sign our marks onto this canvas

Before time takes us

I have the ink

If you have the brush

She already gave us the time

To sign