Saturday

In my room
putting my feet into
another day w/o
bangles,
air space

but what would you like to
drink with that

Someone leans over a ladder
jerks upwards a window
I piss a creek
down the backyards

in style
she drops a glass bowl
through a sheet
un-injured.

Document 9

Later that night
Darling explains
everything

Our kitchen becomes
like the cutaway model
of a beaver's dam

She loves me this much

Kept awake by hammerings in other time zones

A girl speaks with her horse
and not much else
under the yawning trunk
of a mini van
under pink skies for tank tops
the long sky forgets me

and fading pals
calling come on dude,
believe in our movies!
from the windows of rusty cars,
off to smoke pot
in Mark Twain's tomb

on another day
I won't be in

and I'm left with
memories containing
just our outfits
cheeseburgers floating
where our mouths once said
"what's up doggy" and
two pairs of blue jeans
kneel near a baby's bottle
in the sand.

Dream with Warren

It was the day Warren shook the treehouse until it fell
and my dad offered us warm beers from the washing machine
and Warren said yes while I declined.

"But I'm glad you're here,"
as I'd been meaning
to call him,

and sometime later we were sprayed full of machine gun bullets
in the jungle-print bathroom
of an Italian restaurant.

Then: Again

I know,
If today should become a small cut
on the bomb-builder's hand
I will stand on this year's frozen pond
tearing off stubs of my Old self
and putting them in my mouth
for getting lost in the details.

"Then again,"said the barber,
as he spun my chair
so I could inspect his work
on the back of my head,
"you really believe the moon is that big
when it's among the buildings."

May 17

I walk differently with new shoes into a field full of dandelions at night. I walk into this field, shiver, announce my presence to this field. I am sheathed in cold air. Cold air sheathes me. The field introduces the sky for questioning. Is it a bowl turned upside down? Are you drunk? Has my voice changed? A doe limps out of the woods. The doe, that’s your symbol! It moves through the dandelions with shadows stuck to it/ you move through the dandelions with shadows stuck to you/ something like that. It’s stupid, anyway. You’re back but you’re not glad: What is the symbol for this? Maybe it’s on the radio. An airplane guides itself with a white light. You will fly tomorrow. All my good ideas seem pretty bad now. I think about the airplane’s destination. Wherever it’s going, I totally agree. (Later I find out that the airplane made an emergency landing on my high school’s football field, and looking back, yeah, I saw it coming).

I have this image of your house: It is sunset, and orange sunlight streams through a set of sliding glass doors, splashes on your kitchen table which is made of blond wood, travels across the floor, crawls up the pantry door which stands partially open. I think there’s a grocery list or something, tacked to the door. On the floor, next to the door, is a dog’s water dish. You’re in the backyard. I can see you through the sliding glass doors. It looks like you’re waiting for something to be thrown to you.

The sky is still there, waiting for me to do something. I decide to make a wish. I wish curling up into a ball and crying was common practice, like going to the bathroom, and equally as effective. All my old ideas seem pretty dumb now, though I take some comfort in the fact that they looked good at the time.

a long time

I'm a bit worried
what if my voice has changed?
we'll go slow, and gentle
how my dad treats flowers
flattened in the storm
without disdain
for the wind