Love/Gun

I knew you for years
I don't know what living is
But now that you're gone
In a flash - an accident!
And instead I killed you

Now that you're gone
I'm struck behind my eyes!
And I miss you
I knew you for years
I don't know what living is


An accident for sure
Now that you're gone
Helpless to miss you
Instead I kill you
Though I knew you for years

I don't know what loving is
I'm struck behind my eyes
In a flash you're gone
And I didn't miss you
I miss you   I miss you

-
                                       

Miss Huntington

You've been breathing all morning the rose whispers of dawn.
The past is a picture getting dusty on the wall;
a familiar thought lost in a blink.
New children right now launch into being
whose sole purpose is to remove the picture,
the memories, the wall, the foundation,
the dust, the sound of breaking, the dawn, the whisper.
The sun rises in the garden of them.


-

A Love Song Composed in Threes and Fives

we're restless
and afraid
of ourselves
everything we touch
delights us
offends us
reaches itself out
as we recoil, leap
with joy, jump
in front of trains, reach
conclusions
about men
and women

I look after you
a sort of between
world jangle--
this jammed into that
and when I look into your eyes
I drop out
you drop out
we become
liquid together
as a fog
is water
suspended


-

Wood Ant Yew

  

You knew all this

before I put it here

in front of you. None

of it's new. Some

was strange to me

when I saw it well

after the rest, but it's

not even your first

absolutely accurate guess,

as if you always knew

and now you're bored

of all your mastery.

-

Small Carnival Barkers

     He crosses himself
     says some under his
     breath about animals
     and whiskey and night
     the smell of death
             
               It's because you thought
               and that smell rides on you
               like the tiny bugs
               covering everything
                               everywhere
                                outside
   
     Don't bother, he says
     Don't do this

                          This is the last
                          of the day a few
                          candles of it left
                          some red cotton
                          candy, the midway
                          of sunset the sin
                          of the insects
                          drilling in, the thrill
                          of hidden things

     His lime heart drops through
     clouds of an ocean, grand
     ballrooms luminous, night
     singing everything to sleep
    


-

Still Here

I went to bed at 10pm last night.

Turns out 10pm is late.

As in: so late it's equal is never.

And then I got up at 4am this morning.

Turns out 4am is too early.

As in: you should have come to bed earlier.

It's night all the time without sleep.

Watch yourself now,

your tongue wants to do nothing

but lash out.

Did you think there was going

to be some sort of understanding?

Here's what I understand:

Disappointment is a weapon

when it's cultivated.

Erosion is a process.

You start with new material.

And you try to make it perfect.

Anger works quite well for this.

Quiet anger or loud. It doesn't

matter. It wears you like evernew pants.

><><><><><><><><><

I'm looking at a catalog that came

in the mail. We didn't ask for this.

People are happy in it. I want to buy them

and replace myself with a better

model. Present it like a shine off

a new car. “Here I am!” I would shout.

And we could go out or stay in.

And it wouldn't matter because

you would finally be happy with me.

Until I started to talk. You really don't

want me to talk. I keep saying things

you don't want me to say.

As it turns out, I'm not really the one

you want, just the one who can take it

the best. The one still here.

-