look how miserable i am right now, look how pale and sickly i’ve gotten, and i am so bored. when i finally get out of this boot, i’m going to set it on fire, bury it in a fifty-foot hole, and dance on its grave every day for a year… so long as the doc says its ok to dance
reposting this from my old blog to my new blog, rediscovering some of these old poems is kind of fun
so this moth sits on the back of my hand, examining my substance
and the circumference of all things
human, and with or without comprehension
of the odd shaped man-contraption, will drop dead
living but a single day
weeds grow in the fields below cool shades of sky
and worms play with ideas of immortality
(mortally wounded flied dangle from spider webs
like spider snacks in spider traps in a way that only dead flies can)
the mortally wounded chevy nova sits flat against the gravity
of dirt road, uncertain of motion
suspended in summer
wandering in thought
becky and mick in the backseat talking, i am in the front
stevie ray plays little wing on some distant frequency
she crushes out a cigarette and lights another
then opens her mouth to let her confusions flutter:
how come violets and blue, and not violet?
How come the ocean is blue, but rain is gray?
if the eye in the sky sees everything, can it see itself?
is everything watching everything?
when dogs dream, do sleeping cats awaken
screaming with nightmares?
and we’ve been waiting here for hours
if the tow truck never comes for us, does it still exist?
we consider this
and suddenly hear the sound of one hand clapping
blam!
as i slap another bug crawling across the dashboard
(it all comes back to me, the primordial memories
like buzzing swarms of bees, or bees that swarm buzzingly
swarming memories of primordial buzzing that comes back to me
like hot kilowatts of bees)
it all comes back to this moth, a dusty paper god
who lives but a single day, and spends it
banging against the windshield
2009
your love is like sniffing glue in abandoned playgrounds
your love is like running thru hell with
naked feet
your love is solving complicated math with broken fingers
and broken toes
400 million trillion blackholes in this universe
all of them in denver
all your accidents end
in denver, you’ve got asphalt and postcards in your pocket
you’ve got lilacs in your hair
your love is playing with snakes
you burn your candle from both ends and the middle
you burn your candle like you hate candles
your love is like a puddle of gasoline
you can swallow your heart and start over
your bullet holes are filled with black noise
you can play a blue guitar
a heartbeat and a bruise, a heartbeat and a bruise
you can play a green tambourine
you can play a goddess in a tight sweater and jeans on a mission
from heaven to find reason and ruin in a single drop of rain
you can play dumb
heartbeat and a bruise, heartbeat and a bruise
love is a blue guitar you drag around by the neck
400 million trillion broken hearts in denver
all of them yours
you play dirty pool and you’ve got dice up your sleave
your laughter is clattering and witchy and itching all the right spots
but your soup is cold
no one knows where you came from
your star name is papier-mache angel
your earth name is catastrophe spiral
fate is a chimera
you are prodigy of chimera
your eyes are haunted gloomy kamikazes
you drink kamikazes
you throw kamikazes at everything that gives you pain
your love is throwing side-eye at the world
your love is a one-eyed horse in a snowstorm
your love is like rust falling off a truck parked on the side of the road
next to a junkyard
your love is like looking for a black cat in a dark room that
ran away years ago chasing blackbirds into blackholes in the
darkness of denver
you love is something
unspeakable
mythological
non-sequitur
more than
and less than
and other than
true
posted for shay’s word garden word list
posted for the sunday muse
jalopy dreams 