A CELLOPHANE AIRPLANE

A fascination with the rearrangement of animals

A sleepy love with racing breasts

An avenue to turn paralysis

That which
remains part of the fiction remains
New York

glass shards
in the grass
helicopter
a situation we can’t

stop immaculating, each one veering

into the joke, likewise I tear
at Red Shift
I grow my beard I
ride the train

I lurch and return I
always knew the reason

there was no reason there
there was no reason fit

I stopped not
looking and got
stuck that way

*****

I’m highest at the cemetery
ambling through the capillaries
of lawn, tombs pursed

with the exception
of names, which have themselves
become words

I read my way through
the light, is it not imagined?

It is

and the darkness
is alight

I have watched the gospel

on my television and furthermore

I have kissed the girl

on the highway overpass and I don’t think

the two distinct

*****

It ended with bourbon
and tulips, we split

our desires
and folded them

into a cellophane airplane
which never touched ground

again

She wanted to dance

but that part
was flying

A MOVIE ABOUT DUDES

Eleven inches of this mundane gas

that’s what separates me

from the asterisk
her tiny blinking

eye robed
wetly, taken
into its digital

loom

I thieve as I
will, needing others to
keep ahead of myself

as in an act of forced improvisation

an act of shedding

worn topographies for
another’s gait or tongue

The bum is now
donning shorts
his ankles scaly, red

Buds are calibrating the park
but there is no liberation

I came home to find him perched
on a nearby stoop

wearing his BORDERS T-shirt, his ear
mashed up

against a silver radio whose fuzz
would not stop

*****

The rappers say it’s like
that and what’s
more: it is

In the same way
that music disturbs
a silence

that never was
I find parts
of myself torn into

frays of sonic excess

parts of myself snarled in the convolutions

of an always already
choreographed world

I do a small dance only
to find it large
do a so
simple step and end

up staggering in
fury

*****

Most stay testing the gray
balloon brains of their enemies

I swell

It was the Sunday
after my Bat
Mitzvah, ogling

mugshots at the precinct
so many torn
out eyes

*****

There are always cats
in old French movies

A cat erupts
on the nightstand
and wine moves into the socks

Then it was that we rented
a movie about dudes
blowing other dudes
apart

Everyone was constructing
I from within
the men from without

A quivering bird took quick
refuge in a length of pipe

The poor own the clouds
and we love them for it

TO ALWAYS GO SINCERE IN THE BLUR

Mom thinks New York
offers only two

guaranteed entities:
helicopters and twins

I suppose that makes three
an avenue to turn paralysis
remains part of the fiction

I stopped not
looking and got

stuck that way

*****

Why does Washington get all
the sexiest squares?

I’m trying not to fall
in love with smokers

I’m mostly failing

Twitch go
the rabbits, twitch

and sniffle

The dogs today are better
groomed than I

Poetry is a situation
is mirroring the

front

*****

He dreams lovely allows
him into the afterworld
Sunlight goads again
so I am
balancing The train

in the photograph reads Pussy
is God
The restless murmur
of metallic things continues

I promise to never stop moving
I promise
to always go

sincere in the blur

*****

The intake of visions
implicates a structure
of permeability

How then does
one put it
aside?

I was listening
to Jesus, etc.

the apartment
on the first floor
was looted

The Pistons were beating
The Cavaliers, a helicopter

crashed in the Afghan
desert and more

Americans died
estranged

The earth only receives
a tenth of one percent

of the sun’s
energy

You were right about the stars

They’re just like us

A NATURE POEM

shedding the semiotic

for the seismic, working
against diminishment

I found presence to
be a form of magnetism

probably the world is too
sure about its things

*****

Police helicopters charging
like bulls and below

the squeal
of the train’s breaks
rang to a stop

The next day the United States
postal worker riding the F was reading

Danielle Steele
staring intently

at the thin page past
his thick gold chain

Outside our bum is huffing
paint as the toddlers play T-ball

This here is a nature poem

*****

It was the night of the executed coat
thief’s dismemberment, the night

we realized a knife is a pen
when it is inside
the body

You took me out
of the room by
the elbow in order

to conspire against what
you called the trap of the corpse

A convergence

of bodies within the body

of a makeshift box

A gift of the hand to the hand

of another out

of a love of some sort