"With wrinkles from squinting in the scope"

I want to be hanged from a minaret

for the heresy of finding the perfect word

perhaps what Eve, beside the tree, said

to herself

I want to grow candles in my silhouette

selling two shadows for the price of form

returning from seasons I accepted for themselves.

my only regret is not to be able to be everywhere at once.

and one day I will shove a hollow horse into you,

out and all around will fall the pretenders

claiming to forgive you.

Swinging under the trees

Pretty White women with a sense of entitlement sitting on camping chairs with a cup holder asking "grab me one," while picking ticks off their legs, just above the flip-flops and below their bikini bottoms, listening to mediocre radio from Saint Louis, on a float trip in the Ozarks with their dog and their big boyfriend. His name is Brent, or Lance, or Logan. He will kick your ass, is that what you are asking for? They play washers with simple metals, their shirts off.

And the hills are lush and green as those in Spain in spring said Columbus. And from the long arms of black oaks dangle ropes. White people swing on them. Black people used to swing from them.

As Beech, Birch, Holly and Hazel sit above the river, hissing in the wind.

Z

“The cicada’s envelope”

Wednesday is Tuesday’s child

And says ‘I told you so’

And Wednesday is represented by a girl in her door jam

Nodding her head

Not bored just ready to leave

This is what it is to be born

You are awarded a shadow

A black wife with thin wrists

She sleeps on floors, trips on puddles

And eats light like a locust

Tonight the moon is coming back

Black-eyed from trade routes

He pulls from his pocket spices, a cicada’s envelope

And a mirror

He shoves into the shelf of a cloud

To confuse the face of the lake

I

Bear with me; I am the spoiled child who needs motive

the closest I've come is the lone solid thrill of folly

even my shadow lacks the taste of pennies in its mouth

together we both need a girl to sit atop our train wreck

Please bear with me my need to be historic

I am the brat picking windmills in the garden

many men have loved but it is I that must cum balloons,

last time I brought them to ballet i went on the nod, fell into a nightmare

and when waking far from home I went next door

surprised by nothing therefore expecting everything

A men

“30 somethings”

They wink and they toast

They throw money around like it was right

10,000 acquaintances breaking promises

Out on a Saturday night.

Because I am surprised that people resemble each other

Now you know how different I feel.

They wink and they toast

But still draw dicks in the shitters.

Le chemin le plus court pour descendre dans la rue est de sortir par la fenêtre

idiot scissors

Heros are born when heros die

Nuisance

xxx

When the colors betray themselves

The colors tighten their uniforms

but talk behind my back of mutiny

apparently blue refuses to be tacked to the sea

Because the sea is synonymous with freedom,

And above that red and orange argue amongst themselves

for the sunset

Green is for spring and rebirth, and money, and the hate each other

Now look at your fingernails

they might as well be seagull bones

that thing that used to run after everything

Like the birds of our eyes

picking at the flowers for the skin they are in

And all the flags are bastard children

of dead fathers who fought for the idea

that colors betrayed.

A ball of red yarn whose string we have been following for years

is being batted at by a cat at the end of it

The ripple throws up its' arms, robbed of its' silver

by the transparency of the river

to pay for the divorce of it and its' bottoms

And on the bottom the blacks like minor keys

are free on eight octaves to sing the blues

I understand because I am white

and just another color

Even the keyhole wants a raise to continue to support your  flimsy perception.

All your friends in one place at one time

x1

Put your back into it

Classical music

When she came back from Europe bragging about operas, Lyn was in her mid-twenties. Johnnie was just a memory and all he himself had were memories of Lyn. And as he sat on the dryed-up well, where they first met, he thought about jumping in if she said no.

She had blown her trust fund money during a semester abroad, and therefore had seen all the night life that Berlin had to offer.  Her red curls she had now cut and bobbed to fit in with the big women. She had chased them from dive to dive in some corner of another hazy morning.

She was now decidedly bisexual and bragging about operas.

Dress down

x

Momma was a road
and daddy was a car.
He had an accident
and it was me.

Half for free, the other double

I think I could have stolen everything;

The small cheeks of old people

The beach from the seagulls

The light from the light house

And the ship from the bottle

I figured I could have painted orgasms on the faces of sad fucks

Rick grew up in Rolla Missouri. When he was young and growing up his heroes consisted of a modest cast-cops, firemen, and the kid up the street, Shawn, who blew his hand of making fireworks. He even set up a lemonade stand to help raise money for his hospital bills. The latter came by in his cherry-red corvette and ordered a glass and sped off without paying. He decided that day not to have any heroes.
This worked out exceptionally well because, as his father had left his mother for the road, he wouldn't feel disappointed by his baseball pitches, his fear of roller coasters and what not.
Consequently, Rick was a loner. He set up the Feed Store on his own account and successfully gleaned thousands from local farmers.  He can be found today on 8th street, over there past Phelps County Bank. Stop on by and check out Rick's cherry red Corvette.

This man told me that life was short, but he told me that life was short very slowly.

I saw you at the fishing hole last century and wanted to see if you caught anything beside your reflection?

"Back in the U.S.S.A."

Shivering through the Star Spangled Banner in baseball stadiums

While the bulldozer does its own patriotic thing in the suburb's‭ ‬radius.

I pulled quarters from 

behind your ears

and rushed off to buy you
flowers.
It took me months to convince
your mother
and myself
for that matter.

Progress, O Noble Destiny!

The Revenge of Tom Sawyer

"Tom appeared on the sidewalk with a bucket of whitewash and a long-handled brush. He surveyed the fence, and all gladness left him and a deep melancholy settled down upon his spirit. Thirty yards of board fence nine feet high. Life to him seemed hollow, and existence but a burden. Sighing, he dipped his brush and passed it along the topmost plank; repeated the operation; did it again; ...Nah fuck it! he said." - Mark Twain

/

Ah to be young in North Africa!