Maybe 1972

the devil

maybe1972 — Thu, 31 Dec 2009 05:24:45 +0000

its spinning around in my belly like a yo-yo, like a slug
on a string. the nausea. an empty church down there.
the singers gone home. the choir dry oak pews every
tallow and taper.
shadows. its been so much like that. for so long ago its
just like but now. that and so much ago too. like now.
but the spinning is a memory that holds you.
a sick cavern.
what else could it be? do not forget that cave. that dark place
is the sleeper on a wet stone. place your head in that hole
on tuesday. quick look around you could pull it out of there
sometime on a loose hot thursday.
just like that. away from that belly-sick is a flaming
silver light. hits you over the head with an ember kiss.
better grab that torch and run and spin. devils out to get ya.

honey

maybe1972 — Wed, 30 Dec 2009 05:19:40 +0000

i dug my short knife
into a maple tree
and twisted it in there
happy circles

the sweet ran down
the blade and lapped
against the handle
gathered tall

strength warm shudder
run through leaves
against a watching sky
could hold

where while the last look
caused who came
again to say i have
to go

salt

maybe1972 — Wed, 30 Dec 2009 05:03:40 +0000

must of ate
one
six twelve
dozen
apple

must of drank
one
pint fifth
gallon
milk

must have wept
drip
drops drinks
salt
blood

caught up in
a flat pan
near the
brown straight
grass

held out
crooked when
the cats
came
in

question

maybe1972 — Wed, 30 Dec 2009 03:37:04 +0000

answer

horn

maybe1972 — Tue, 29 Dec 2009 04:16:02 +0000

i tried to play the trumpet
in a stolen room we climbed
through the sun window like junior thieves
prying
the house on vacation and ransacked
the toy room surprise

hidden under the dusty bookcover
truth
and the path led front door
led back again near a round plastic
sphere at the top
of the black pole
we kicked a summer night ball
in the front door key and
stood

religion! religion! the hall crowded with
the smell of sunday voices and
the kids grubbed doughnuts behind
sundays backdoor
in the sun there i dropped
a napkin in the great stinking
dumpster its great clanging lid
covered in filth

lid slammed again when they shook
its contents into the angry
truck that soiled the
stinging cigarettes
from morning

made man

maybe1972 — Mon, 28 Dec 2009 05:21:54 +0000

im going to have
to run
right through you
because i have
no grace
there is no french
twist
or darling hair
to part
i am as i was made
all meat and heart
yet sensitive
punched gloves
fitted over these
butcher hands

through these dead
eyes
this rusted soul to
capture
the lowland fog
soft on your shoulders
as
halos kiss about
your kind ear
as well
as be sudden
to welcome
the sun
behind the trees

trees

maybe1972 — Sun, 27 Dec 2009 06:25:42 +0000

trees
more trees
lights
holding
deep darkness
cold
more frost
wrapped in arms
below

trees
more trees
holding
lights
coldness
falling warmth
ageless
below
arms

arms weeping
holding eyes
more eyes
below frost
holding
lights
fanning reach
holding
trees

when i flew

maybe1972 — Sat, 26 Dec 2009 04:24:55 +0000

when i was a kid i
built
an airplane from
old soup cans left
empty
and when i flew
among the deep clouds
the tin
motor bubbled tomato
plumes
red exhaust dropped
below where
how many dogs
following
dragged bowls and
spoons

a spider tried to hide her

maybe1972 — Fri, 25 Dec 2009 05:41:11 +0000

i dug a cave into
solitary ground
with dirty spider hands
clawing and sticks
marking slices in the soil

to confuse water
i hid there too that
orange flowers dragged down
dorothy absolute

hide
just until the critics curl
their critical tongues
make majestic motions
while fluid arranges

fruit

maybe1972 — Thu, 24 Dec 2009 03:40:51 +0000

a red table cloth
scrunched
like somebody pulled
their hat off fast
hard bad luck yellow
bottle of wine with
shadow faintest
bowl of fruit some
kind of jumbled offering
from the ancient seeds
as ever grown in
Magellans
back pocket
his mule drew
fields that made
journeys walking
endless