strange loops and monotony: short poems
(1)
we are all remembering
solo pictures of daffodils hang
in the memories of his plastic heart
where I work like the aphid to an ant
in the amalgamation of my fears
and wipe away dews from the picture frames
and milk sweet tears of ancestry dry;
so low I go into the seas of my own fate
pools of reflections I dare not sink in
not to be slow-swallowed in lakes of black like
leaves slowly pushed in tar
I swim in this mirror maze made fluorescent
made sin by the numbness of conformity
(2)
fork in my pocket
the question “would I devour you?”
left to shimmer after being asked
the impending line knives through the air
we would eat us and all things
slice down ourselves
to forkable slivers
and pass our plates to the back isle
so we’ve waited and became overripe
but you know already know that - you’ll say
our hides are splotched,
fruiting bodies, not left-overs
we agreeably picked ourselves to early
befriended by the grips of our teeth
and naked as dogs we merged
“what good are plates half-full?”
left to chew, left to dart and fork your way in and out
“what good are train cars that are left empty?”
“what good are sweets without a bitter snap?”
in and out of my hands
(3)
thoughts when I unclogged the bathroom
my connections get lost in a sea of a thousand others
they dissipate into the manifold of shadow
of shrouded, rippling nature
tips of trees are lost in the array of our silence
touched by the dimensionless quiet
this passion ran out of pace
too clean for us to skate across the span of seamed love
direct are our mouths when we haven’t hated ourselves enough
my lips driest when the fondness of others drips
and salivates down the mouth
like a black thread sucked into a hairy sink
we watch ourselves sink down
starry-eyed
(4)
it’s not me you’re talking to
it’s not me you’re talking to,
just figures in my head
each star will cast its shadow.
each lithium lead bead will poison it.
each starlight thrust will puppet waxen mouths with single strings of jelly beans.
each clouded thought,
each dream that builds a sacred box of hugs and good-night kisses
like thick stacks of sediment
Each shift,
shimmer, shale-shake, and shape
the empty shallots waving coarse,
will make you want to cry