July Rain

this is the hour that sticks to the skin

cuckoo clocks droop
over stones
in the midwife's garden

drool drips down
from the dog star

captured mice are photographed inside your eye
and can't get out
for the pressure behind them


from The Troubles (1993)

Santa Cruz

my grandfather's eyes are covered with shells he
has his mouth open
inside there are ocean sounds
they murk in his beard
my aunt refuses to hear them
and hides in her bedroom watches television
her children play on the floor
tear toy wagons apart
put the pieces together again
making small furry animals


from Thebes (1993)

That You Like It That Way

the real loser may be a thief

do i enter the room?
do i?     do i?
hello clock
hello plate
hello chainsaw
what's for dinner?

theatre

the wolfman enters stage left
puts an entire bungalow on his head
sings shakespeare
juggles a whale

cut to the foreign legion
and a random national anthem

that you snort coffee
     from rolled-up salvadoran peasants
that your cat doesn't like you
     even when you feed it
that you treasure the wine of your youth
     only when it's vinegar
that the iron in your shirt is only instant starch
that you're your own mortician's ultimate fantasy
that you like it that way
that     the chess game     on the wall
has arms and you think tells the time
to fight for you

theatre

the wolfman is someone you were
the chainsaw is your voice a year from now
your shirt your chest
nailed together with invisible flesh
the mansion     in which you plot
is only part of the wolfman's left earring
and below his feet
you can hear the jungle
scream
when the creatures intuit that you
too
were born there

from The Troubles (1993)

The Last Surge of Romance

at the end of its life a world is conscious
of not being in love
stars zooming away like romantic mistakes
scientists carrying fish in their armpits
numbering bombs like bottles of mouthwash
while entire streets
stick their noses into junctions of tall buildings
and inhale deeply

my hands
can't find your buttons anymore
have you sold them?
how much did you get?
the street
is cold to all offerings
the choice between apology and war
is made on broken down streetcars

on those steel hands rings of flesh grow
the rings throb unmercifully
grow like worms copulating with themselves
they swell
but cannot scream
there is no mouth to them
instead we watch the skies
for hints of mehanical romance


from The Troubles (1993)

For A Wall Street Journal

even you
     died
have tomatoes you to scream saw angels sauced
another burglary
giving it the rocks

even
your more
has mold inside the cranium
and even the would have been you
has a wealth of should have grown:

rich     in the wrong reason

even your church of commerce
has mice inside
is still alive

from The Troubles (1993)