Tuesday, March 22, 2011

What do I do without you or otherwise you.
Back to writing a book

Back to itchy fingers
and twitching eye.

What would I read when sickness falls
No longer able to communicate.
A kite I fly.
A broken piece of glass.
10 metaphors for life.
Scribbled on worn napkins
and stuffed into pockets.

I know it's not good for my skin.
to worry like this.
and it peels and flakes
and worries more

And breakfast will never be the same.
And the sunlight never warms the way it used to.
Waking me on the forehead.
And sleeping without dreams of bloody murder.
or other terrible mess.

but what else.



Tuesday, March 15, 2011

ichi kana slum dweller
my parents said your parents dead

come again?
my parents said everyone dies. everyones dead

and spinning falls to the floor

who else said it is
and everything else

and brain stutters
falls to the floor

and it sounds like apple eaten
when i close my eyes
to sleep

and it sounds like breathless taken
in black box death call

a wealth of nations
buried beneath my skin

and again i repeat.
your bitch life is over
all understood

Sunday, March 6, 2011

i seen a old people day one day
sitting dangling water worm on a hook
and whistling

and one day i myself said
who are you to judge another man

yeah but that was yesterday

i slept on the couch
shoes and shorts
and battery powered
to stay warm

its always winter ive said that before and
its always winter
and old people

i slip away sip
and swallow
and drift
and sit
and water

Saturday, January 1, 2011

and i just don't want to be a coward anymore
is what i should have wrote

and asked why i feel so comfortable and uncomfortable
at the same time
in the same place

why i feel so like a man
and so unlike aman

and Allah i ask
i bid i beg i question
i sweet-talk with
hair slicked back

under the boardwalk
sung in spanish
over the radio

i kneel down
eyes closed
hands folded

while a room
full of myself
punishes me

and over a cup of coffee i realize
she has already been already been dead for ten years

and everything goes on the same
as it always has

me in my cold-sweat shirt
and you standing over me

Tuesday, November 2, 2010

my shoes in the museum now.
dream about that.
left overs from train rides
and other side ways
and reaching around the mountain
to grab onto something
other than what’s on my own plate

crumbs and wanted tastes
of cardamom and lesser evils
in America
and in America again.

and eyes closed I pray
for decency
and times past
natural disaster of soul
and soles worn
and warned
against leaving.
but where are you now?

not America
not with me here
here in America

sleeping in the libraries
with leaking roofs
and pages stuck together

why you think this is joke or metaphor
or beneath what you belong to

how do I get want I am going after
in America

remind me of that.

Saturday, July 31, 2010

I could be a penguin bird
in love with a girl

the great Leroy Jenkins
and people fucking in the next room

eating fish
right hand left hand ed

Islamic violin.

I could be a bird with wings
sing song broken as well

and everyone would be happy then
except me

I’d dance and everything
still. but she’d be never again.

maybe a worthy silence.

I could be Leroy Jenkins. maybe.
India navigation 1979.

the whole world changing around me.
people in asia. sleeping.

airplanes wind mills
people speaking dutch with chopsticks.

I double lock my room.

thirtyusdollars thirtyusdollars.
a day. and I’m still hungry.

in love with a girl.

I could violin my ipod earphone.
waiting for a text to say.

all is forgiven.

all is well and goodnight).

Wednesday, July 28, 2010

and this is what happens when you have to pick a favorite arm

a favorite toe
or a favorite breath

then winter comes

and all the good you’ve done
just laughs at your failed attempts

to make everything feel okay

you say good things
and fold hands
and whisper blessings
and hope and hope

but do
only in books
only in sleep
only in little wooden puzzles
from Indian craft shops

and everything else is just what it is

what it’s always been

what it’s always been?

build a boat for me

and I am a window