April 3, 2017

eye contact on the bus, a poet friend remarked, can be dangerous .................. NaPoWriMo2017 #3

madness is a desire to be 
more than what I need 
to smell myself 
on home ;
self  portrait with anti-antecedent poem 

vacuum cleaner 
things not usually 
on the bus ...

oh how much 
is casting expressions 
to strangers worth ...

these days as we spend 
hours, minutely engaged 
from points ay to points be 
we see seedy 
as demonstrative reaction 
eek fuck-ery gesticulation 
hold on please I 
need to get off here 
thank God I took my Vicodin this morning 
I thought about getting off more than I did 
that guy's face slid off his chin 

we use ugly sticks,
on swollen rivers,
when fishing for souls

most assholes have vernacular minds
and know to spend the night together
to reduce the will in ice boxes

for those who watch water rise 
it was a low tourniquet Autumn 
Spring too for some 
wobble magnets said they 
what were the three little words stuck 
to the refrigerator ... 

I Love You in variations 
striations and gyrations 
in a count of bean jars 
Life is You 
simple supple and repeating
there was this curious glow 
from a half melted candle 
on the bookshelf across the room 
and I, in my nightshirt 
wishing for nothing 
nothing but wishing ... 

I watched a man 
cut metal sheets today 
he made boxes and kept them 
hidden in the hills 
a few miles from the shore 
of a great Midwestern river ...

dreams that never err when aired 
on misty gauze covered moonlit nights 
are milk and honey sweetly hanging 
in the willow trees while the ones 
that stake claims to being 
a learning curve or process 
are knees that bend 
creak and groan 
grown sacred scars 
between breaths ... 

I admired the plenum 
and saw where 
the duct work on the furnace 
would be finished 
and furnished with all 
that smelled of Winter flies eventually 
because even carrion eaters 
will be that fat and happy 
we all want to go home as ...


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