The Dance

We danced the dance of the glitter-stained dress and shiney clean white jumpsuit
And 'twas a shiney glitter stain jumpsuit dance
Involving many intricate smooth stepping steps

And the photos were exceptional
The praises secure
And the arms of my love and her lover were sure

And afterwards there was some incident of bad cologne and cheap breath mints (I guess)
Or windfall angles
(Really I blame it on the poor rotation of some great axis)

Such ended the night of the dancing glitter-stained dress and shiney clean white jumpsuit
Whether you tell it in tales of hot metal crashes or missed cues
Sufficient to know;

The wind plucks the glitter and the night rain unglues the suit
Sending us back to our corners (or rooms)
Brokenlove trapdance ensues

Autumn's Body

Can She hold me responsible?

Would Autumn have me
Fell the trees before Fall breeze
And dress warmly down past the knees?

And She wonders why I huddle with damp photos to the chest
And forget my timepiece

Can She blame me?
Would Autumn be confused, if I didn't wake each morning at all?
Just sat in my trundle, thinking in tangled bundles
Of sandy shorts and tangerine swimsuits?

Autumn promises return
Of what June thieves
But oh, what wiley returns
What cruel reincarnations
Some new insufficient pink faced vision

Once when I was 22, I'm convinced I almost drowned

Once when I was 22, I'm convinced I almost drowned
Or something quite like it
At least I don't remember coming up for air

I remember trying to pull myself in from the tide by her hair
(Which the weathermen remarked
Had been changing)

I do remember suffering at the hands of many suggestions
(And preferred methods of resuscitation)
Anglo-Saxon home remedies while still under sea

I think they even managed a song or two over my still throbbing head
And pipers who applied the holy scriptures
Little naked people with harps they made from cardboard and twine

And now above, shall I wonder why this world tastes of darkest green salt?
The carnival rides all look suspicious
And everyone's face sodium shriveled when I greet them

We left ourselves as gods somewhere back in childhood

We left ourselves as gods somewhere back in childhood

Motherwhitepicketfences
Flawless friends and even more flawless arts
Shedding brownjacket defenses against the weather
The moon never dimmer than the sun
The tides never bigger than our bodies

Listen, a seraphim sweeps up from hell
Carrying fall leaves in wing

A man boasting the business pages at the street corner
Covers his right wrist and twists
A memory from his stomach
It never looked so glossy as it did today
Out of the business pages at the street corner
Tidy, wingless flies on the tongue

The Pennyman and the Cloakmaster

I have not often in life made myself available
Nor made myself scarce

Nor have the morose entanglings in my throat been often chunked up

Perhaps you should be grateful for each of these
But how would I know?
Why would I care?

And therein it is;
The pennyman and cloakmaster
Neither of them disagree

Pavement/Notice

The seer is blinded
The interpreter of words, deaf
Pale tales given crooked legs
Overcoat drowned
Cityplaza streetshopshining
His insufficient revolver removed
Inept stairwells and circle corners blame it on his ears
Lack of balance, they tell us
Lack of vision
Lack of resolve
Lack of mercy

Man, his nerves on pavement like loose spagetti wheel
Sets his clocks by sounds of local cigarettes
And prostitute vignettes

Witnesses spool out on duke's rock steps

Poison Clover

Your lips are hardly eternal
And your legs never existential
Barely anything I ever asked for
Chrst girl, you're not at all what I asked for

You never once became what a woman's supposed to be

These fields thick with poison clovers
Walk close to me

Funny Girl

Ah, you're a funny girl
Funny smiles and walking down mall aisles
Supposing little boys' hearts on a string

Ah, you're a silly girl
Running back to your place and sigh about silly things
Or laugh or cry and spit

You sure have a funny way of showing you care
You sure have a silly way of sticking around

240 at 7th & D

I forgot there were so many left-hand turns on the ride home
I apologize I didn't look over to see your perfect blonde/blue face

Though I should have taken your offer for the inside seat,
My shoulder couldn't handle your arm/heart burden for the afternoon

If it makes you feel any better,
Christ himself doesn't get through clear anymore

The Airlicker

Lighter
The night flickers
With his newly lit joy

The airlicker
Grabs his jacket lapels and huddles close to the embers
Cracks his left knee joint
And remembers

Resignation

Ok, so someone should take you and your soon-to-be 23 year old smile up on the offer of borrowing Zoolander from your trunk. I'm not worried about getting fired for such things, I'm just afraid you're like the rest.

I mean, really, why do you look at me and smile? I've thought maybe it was my ass. Maybe the time it came out of the men's room with toilet paper in it (so I have to compensate by making a joke of it). Maybe it's the fact that by the end of the night my hands and head are dusted black (maybe that's your thing, I don't know).

I'd like to think my soul is burning some sort of incandescent incense.

Though, I know it isn't the size of my penis... I suppose the way I was standing in the light earlier must have given the illusion of of girth or something.

Or transitor radios in your head happening to play the right tune... Or the fact I can't speak my mind properly when in your company (but I never can).

I want someone to love me for no particular reason. But when they start to, I know it can't be true.

Maybe you just want a C.

But really, it still stands to reason you're lips should be kissed and your offer taken.

Fuck your inability to see a foot past the nearest dick

Fuck your inability to see a foot past the nearest dick

Unknown

It's a gift
Out of the paper with balloons, partyhats, and the littlefrillythingsyoublow on it
The contents of which, got lost on me

newTitle(ThisTown);

Why come to this steamshitcadillacpissingumbrellaman town?

'Half hour from the metro stands an old haunt
With half emo kids
Half bridled by their parent's ghosts (prostituteskirts and 10dollarchips)

Choose thistown for shineypillars if you must
But oldmarblecarvedmen might even want you to call after 2 years

Fuck you, city

Clay/spirit

Father Street
He carry slipblade
Weild it
Up in my jacket
Taking space

Mother CigaretteLiqur
She come up in my face
As she please
From brickcurbknees

Clay/spirit walking down alley evening

Among such thinglass tiling
Thick soles

Seasongods

The gods are much friendlier in the fall
(I know this because they offer me more shiney prizes
And frequent flier miles)

More women at my disposal (or more likely; reprisal)
More admiration from assorted poets
And even leaves to line my train of thought
(Amassing romantic infatuation/lines upon post-garden seats)

Spring
She reminds me I'm a dumbfuck who people/things leave

Before

Fall in love with me before the forth of July
Before I travel down to smallshittown
And see the fireworks on jazzplatesbuffalowings
With the family

I grew tired of offering suitman 25 cent for a fag
(About proper for this city)
Cigarettegift no loss for cigarettemen
No poorness/richness proved otherwise
(No cigaretteeconomy)

A hussy asked me the way to fancysexualaffairhotel
I'm quite sure
Prepared to fuckfancybusinessman
(I'm convinced he copulates in fulltiejacket)
I saw the end of an affair
Eyeshadow on cleanarm
In the center of shadey square
With rusty whitemetalbackedchairs
Forheretrays

Save me before the forth from this town
The city of unsleepingmolds
Slipcrawling underbridgepavement
I ashcoat my soul
Inhale nocity