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.
medication.
passing-the-time.

solutions
delay
solutions
dismay.

wash
rinse
repeat

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
except

i seen a old people day one day

sitting dangling water worm on a hook

and whistling

too

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

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
amen

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

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.

why.

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

here

in America

remind me of that.

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.
somewhere.

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

all is forgiven.

(or:
all is well and goodnight).

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








a favorite toe
or a favorite breath



then winter comes
again



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
who-ever-you-are




and I am a window



blue.