—wait, what?

     

(Oh—sorry, I didn't hear you come in..)

Thursday, May 22, 2014

"The stonefield's harvest"

Left-handed milk-drinking gangsters shining
cheap shoes with stolen pomade.
No one tells them what they should do around
here, anymore…

We learned how to wound from a distance, I’m told 
was mankind’s next big step forward —
but it’s faster to hug the haystack hard if it’s the
sharp pointy things that you’re looking for.

The stonefield’s harvest comes in, cold and gray
–we’re riding low and we’re clear on approach.
A mantis shrimp can’t think a single thought,
forced to see millions of colors.

A hail-stormed walnut tree’s in no mood, left there 
until the earth moves itself.
The bad guy’s exit plan leads to the roof, regret 
curdles about halfway up.

–Well, just because you get the banana out
doesn’t mean you’re not doing it wrong.
Can only time-travel in Findlay, Ohio – because a heart 
needs to beat to change at all. 

"Free-flowing ceilings"

Damasked, dishwashed kitchen knives;
lovely ladles, idle – of mokume.
You never did call me on the phone, so I’ve 
been stuck here in GMT minus four.

Free-flowing ceilings soothe inconstantly – the
central coastal upstate lowlands abide.
Then Boca Burgers and morning deadlines, maybe 
some knife-hits (surely most ill-advised).

The heartfelt signatures forged by a 
part-time phone-sex troubleshooter;
the southward-outbound trout, taking well to a
bit and bridle there after a while.

Soured buttermilk cat paw-prints, vinyl tile.
—Uproar: rib sandwich month is no more.
Overfed, under strain, chipping for more ice.. 
silence is the best news that we’ve never heard.