poems

29 January 2014

In its broadest sense is the search
For human meaning in the sky
Derived from "account of stars"

>?????!???

Moveable feast

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#3: Chinatown SF

In the mornings here, which is not a warzone,
there come sailings and crackings before voices.
It is not Chinatown SF with its Bang-snaps—

also Throwdowns, snap-its, poppers,
pop-its, snappers, whip'n pops, whipper-snappers
impossible to paraphrase: "gravel impregnated
with a minute quantity of silver fulminate
high explosive and twisted in a cigarette paper"

..."to produce a shape resembling a teardrop
with a tail." We detonate the sidewalk after dinner
with adults and adult friends. The yellow box's
blue girl on the cover smiles in a red skirt:

But the sounds being made here now go unrepresented
since even the day's whole color drips and fails.
It will be a dark walk to work when we leave within the hour
in headphones, to avoid reacting to street men.

27 January 2014

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21 January 2014

#2

[I need to stop! I need to write a poem.]

My skin breaks out for once not
for oil but dry weather
embrittled and cracking top layers. Outside
the doves tromp more than usual, gawking
the hairs on each other's necks, bristle.

Grooming is big here, too.

10 January 2014

#1: #1

It's a new year. I'm an applicant but lack a sample.
A current sample - one of the state (that is personal).

It's a near year, with visible expectations. The style
of denouement is: sharp, gross, muscular.

The year heats up to be heady, edgy.
Made up as gone along—along for the whole while.

Because predication on a whole. And on its own.
From a dilettante's air, we end up waiting in line.