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Every day I dream the monkeys will burn all the computers and leave typewriters in their place––
I've forgotten the taste of grass, and the rich hot burn of the sun. I am one Buffalo among millions,
running over the cliff, into the oblivion below.
>>>>
>>>>>
I want her vixen sunset
vixen whiplash
vixen candy
vixen demon
vixen angel
I want her to soothe me and take
my tension away
my attention away
my money away
my time away
my life away
away away
I want her in the morning as the sun
rises & we sit on the porch with coffee
and cigarettes & I want her in the
afternoon lying in bed letting the
hours evaporate through the curtains
and I want her in the evening with
no one else around & nowhere to go
or no phone ringing anywhere and all
the time & all the attention & I want
that to be enough that’s enough for me
vixen landing
vixen sideshow
vixen slideshow
skin so soft I barely remember
skin so soft I fall to my knees
skin so soft I’d give her anything anything
if she would/could love me
>>>>>>>>
sometimes the waves go back up the river
to the top of the spring and drink at the tavern
and get their fill and become birds diving
into space
(edit by half)
forever again my love scorching in flames a burnt marshmallow on fire on a stick burning feverishly . . .
forever again my heart scorching in flames like a burnt marshmallow on fire on a stick at a campfire in a frozen moment . . .
forever again my love forever again and again forever my love my love my love burning burning like a comet crashing through
earth atmosphere so much friction all fire and flames and steam and smoke then vanished before it hits leaving not a trace except
the memory it burned across my weary scarred sky, crying with rain, pour water forever into the endless river flowing to the infinite
waterfall falling forever into abyss of burning stars boiling infinite space burning burning new stars bursting to flame forever expanding multiverse forever again my love scorching in flames a burnt marshmallow on fire on a stick burning feverishly . . .
I'm just all mixed up about love all the time what is love can I love am I capable of receiving love giving love sharing love swimming in love -- is love something other than being a servant where did I ever get the idea that love was like being owned -- it doesn't sound right -- I want to laugh I want to touch I want to swim against her body like an otter but I'm all hung up and I don't know how or why I got twisted and torn except I feel too much I care too much and I'm so afraid of things that are only my imagination or other things that ain't even any of my business ain't even any of my concern at all if I loved and could live and could take love in -- I'd be light as a feather not like some sort of 1930's gigantic ocean liner passenger ship full of worries and woes and whiplashed hobos jumping off the boat to take their chances with the sharks-- no sir I'd be spilling the wine digging that girl both of our minds in a sensual swirl
what would it be like
comfortable inside my own skin
less certain of tomorrow
than any flower.
do tires get tired?
do they retire.
do they get bored,
going around and around.
do they dread the re-tread.
--
raining and raining all day.
lovely ırain raining in a rainy sort of way
dripping and dropping from the windows and trees. making everything shiny and shivery and soaking and free. sweet rain and cool air, full of oxygen and sleepy afternoon naps, or a book on the couch listening to the tires glide by outside in the rainy rain rain the sweet rain the lovely cool very wet rain.
--
ipso haphazard law of houndstooth
horatio coming up in the world
his alligators flashing his boots aflame
mr. locomotion jumps into the rain
his car is careening his brain is upset
he hasn’t eaten or slept since he can’t
remember when.
bank
the wind is blowing
some rain fell--
enough to wet the streets
and make the sidewalk
steamy.
at the bank. I thought
nothing slows down
or stops
for a second
when
we’re gone.
walking down 43rd street
the memory junket and the
pony express logic of the acrobat
frozen in the crystal palace of
daydream and
dementia
dice rolling like
eyes into the
head playing peek-
a-boo with neurons
creating chaos that propels
another footfall down the street
to check the mail or rent
a video
a leaf falls from
a tree across the street in
the dark lit by a streetlamp
a stray cat whispers and
disappears into an evergreen
a car tire squeels
you notice
your tongue would like the
sting of a shot
of whiskey
your plans for the evening
take a whole new turn
the heart keeping time
to memories hidden
deeper than you
could ever
dig.
bobby obsolete was getting a new channel on the super-portable TV he had in the closet. He kept that TV in the closet because he liked to have TV sound always filling his apartment--but he didn’t want the TV in the living rooming noise--saying things he could vaguely understand but not always--sometimes muffled and sometimes just jangled noise of jingles from the jingle jungle, the TV desert of selling and buying. but now he was getting this new channel that would fizzle and splutter like a candle then snap in sharp for maybe two hours here and two hours there.....
you sit in the silence
and you wait and wait
not knowing what
you are waiting for
except a silence within
to match the silence without.
lightning fizzle again on backyard swing
memories drenched under heavy water
soaked to the gills like schools of fish
moving mouths rhythmically and silently
speaking only in air bubbles the mystery
lost once the bubble breaks the surface
no sound except water hitting water
rain falling and lightning running always
zig-zag never straight to the point
Rivulets of rainwater running
vertically outside the window making
reflected faces with cigarettes distorted
staring out into the past into other
rainy nights with conversation
and touching and a certain odor of
perfume lingering in the heavy damp
musk of animal wanting animal
flesh bites teeth tear slightly
secret soft in gentle places
sounds without language
“The day is just gone,” she said into the phone, staring out the small apartment window at the tree top shaking slightly in the summer breeze.
“I don’t know where the time goes, but it doesn’t seem to leave any he top of the desk next to the crystal ashtray nestled among a chaos of papers and unanswered letters.
“I mean, look, it’s almost six p.m. and I haven’t even left the house yet--and I haven’t really done anything in the house either, except make a few phone calls--so--what are you going to do today?
go pumpkin go pumpkin
whereabout layabout
fire around the sound
impulse mechanic vagabond
he’s losing his dang mind
he’s losing his dag gone mind
he’s losing ground look at him
he’s pulling his hair and
pulling long faces and
he’s restless look at him pace
Looking backward
Nitro-division of the plus side of the oblivion module
situation detached from s
waiting for the lights to shine on the decision paradigm.
To swim in the rain or simply stand
in the middle of the fairway with your nine
iron held high pointed to the sky during a
lightning storm. Not that I want to tempt fate
or bring harm upon you or myself but when
I see the rain slide slinky through the air
like a velvet mist making the perfume of
the flowers leap for me like flappers in
a corny 20’s movie it makes me sentimental
and it is the ache of loss and the hunger
to possess the past that creates these
thoughts of seductive oblivion.
spaceman was sent to find a new planet. Ever since time quit being linear.
He has a slight drinking problem which only appears from time to time. and smokes cigarets on rare occaisions. he can smoke without eithr blowing up his spacecraft or the planet and has cigarets at the same time.
still absent still vacant
space empty full of room
wanting to add
or keep letting go
wordless with words
things to say not meaning
it can be said
if I knew the language
these feelings
travel through time
are quantum
non-linear
resteless
but always returning
spaceman felt the pressure building
as he knew he would having already
lived this
in infinite variations. It’s the
variations that kept things interesting--
that made everything feel like it was
happening for the first time
no matter how many times he had
been through it--all the universes forming
and splitting and combining
with each variation.
Ned Speed ground the camel non-filter beneath
the heel of his black beatle boot--exhaling a cumulous cloud
of smoke.
Spaceman felt himself becoming weightless floating in the capsule.
It was sort of sick and helpless feeling at first, letting go of his gravity
and his ability to control his body. When he moved his arm to the right his body would float to the left--when he tried to go left he drifted right. tryhing to walk he might suddenly be upside down while he spun around.
another discussion about what we are doing together
a sweet voice in the clearing
reaching a point of understanding
having nothing particular to say
waiting for the cat to leap
from the bag of memory,
watching television
upside down, listening to
commercials backwards,
culling the time--waitng
for a toothache to disappear
in the worn hypnotic night
drinking cognac every minute
and lighting expensive
french cigarettes
with gold lighters
after dining at the castle
while waves licked the
shoreline and everything
was forgotten once again.
silence as the street boils in the rain
red cars drive past yellow umbrellas
puddles reflect stoplights and go lights
underneath and above the whispers
falling fish and flying fish looking for
an ocean to swim in
if she leaves
one more time
I can’t come back
and then she left
and it was over
and then she left again. . .
two people walk on stage
backs to each other
repeat
where are you where are you
don’t turn around don’t turn around
two people walk on stage facing each other
their arms straight down at their sides
each one saying
I wish you would touch me I wish you would touch me I wish you would touch me now
no, you first no, you first I wish you would touch me
I wish you would touch me
