A Wolf on the FoldChewing On It
Something is breaking apart in my mouth,
sliced, crushed, drawn
from form to mush,
something beautiful in the gulp
something churning,
sitting steadily pulped and
waiting to give life
BUILDING A WORLD FOR MACHINES
Picture it, picture it,
identical tasks each day –
we awake like
springs, like chain-pulleys and
gears, we
smile our sawtooth edges
we turn & turn
until we crack, until
we’re yanked out and
replaced overnight –
what a beautiful world,
what a beautiful world
someone made for us.
The Scales Forever Tipping
The scales forever tipping
to overflow; so far down they
circle, faster and faster,
the scales forever tipping
spilling both heart & feather;
spilling both coin & lead –
all measurable things are
subtly immeasurable;
all mass-produced goods
nicked here, exceptional there –
the scales forever tipping,
wanting to be free of weight.
prizes
many fine prizes made
by many fine hands;
see ’em heaped and stacked
in the cold, cold dust. Many
fine prizes
for you to win
and win, and win,
many fine prizes worth
as much as you’ll believe –
whatever shakes your shakes
and gets you roaring
to win, and win, and win.
ode to joy
Oh Joy
flightless, fleshless,
lesioned and weighed
down by heavy tumors –
Oh Joy
the world has done so much
to you, and still,
you leap and skitter, poking
beak above the brush,
as the dogs lower their snouts
to the trail.
everybody knows a guy
everybody knows a guy
who made it on TV, who
you see now and then and say, hey,
I knew that guy, that’s —–
pretty cool he’s on the TV,
and that’s the end of that,
there’s nothing else but knowing and
the recognition of the knowing;
nothing much else.
tick season
it was born to seek and
burrow, it was born for
the cuff of jeans, the
forest of hair,
it was born to bite and bleed and
for that we burn it
wherever we find;
for that we
check and check our necks
right away, then hours after,
for that we itch at nothing
but the knowledge
the wish, the certainty,
that there could be
some mouth on us.
life sketch
someone has drawn you
somewhere, sometime,
in some coffee shop or
idly driven to scratches
in an overlong meeting –
at a pep rally, or
a cafeteria,
or a child in their school –
someone has thought –
you. interesting.
and made a mark,
a mark in the shape of you,
beloved or
just to pass the time,
someone has drawn you,
and you have drawn someone.
i do my own writing
I do my own writing
even when it’s hard –
and especially when it stinks –
I do my own writing.
I do my own thinking
though the creature begs and scratches
from inside its careful box –
I do my own thinking.
I try to live
as I live,
I try to be more human
and fail, and fail,
but I do my own living,
even when it’s hard.
Eligible Disaster
blessed is the covered injury;
blessed is the fund-bearing disaster –
all our pains and ills,
and only some of them sanctioned,
only some of them eligible;
and the rest,
the rest:
ruinous.