Wednesday, February 25, 2009

2 Poems


Last summer, it stashes our gloomy autumn.
The rooster busts
Bricks of plum wine.
A sea goo pawns the willow bank.

And flowers melon while their lasers
Climb white branches of blob.
This pasture's full of moons, it brightens a little
Like spittle.

A feathered gargoyle scorches
The tyranny of my combustible glaze.
I’m rabid in snow, in black fruit
I’m your gray chasm.

The snow on fruit reflects a bonfire.
In a little world we’ll be gone.


I've been here too long.
Every night, I think in terms of death
And its nocturnal anchor.
I take responsibility for the future once more.
The United States of America does not torture.
Speaking to my friends, I can hear the
Disappointment and concern in their squirm.
I walk five miles a day, sometimes ten.
I attempt to exhaust myself so that sleeping
Comes easy.
There's nothing to show from this life.
Look outside your window, at the hoods, at
The heads.
Water covers it all, my mind holds germs.
Past machine guns and mortars, some living people
Claim our programming is a necessary reflection
On failure.
This one's called the well.
The black's been here so long.
I owe it all to glue.

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