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)

Traffic

brightness     is probably
the least predictable     outside of cleveland
two cars     smashed     in a bar together
all the ditch can drink is water
and still     when no one expects it
the light blazes bright
outside city hall
for at least a moment

from The Troubles (1993)

Reunion Gig (after Ginger Baker)

i saw you beowulf at your drum kit
fifty years since grendel
since the breakup of the band
that made you royal

now you're ordinary
the speed of your sticks slowed to slow competence
your old guitarist's slower too but his fingering's more subtle
your old bassist needs a crutch to stand up

but you pound now     hard
as you did when you were worshipped
and your slow courage drives the music forward
and the songs still stand brave
     at the mouth of the dragon's lair
     where he wakens
     as in the old days
     and waits for your solo

Paintings For Tourists

paintings now by a schlock artist
the purple onion stands a chinese nightclub
cigarettes burn low the last vestiges of high school
my heart     is a building pass
in my shirt pocket

yes     yes     my friends are dead
begging blood while leaning
against buildings in the financial district
brandy turns into cherries
sheep on the street look up
hoping that stuffed potatoes will fall from the sky

you sat here once
the chair you sat on is tamed
bicycle messengers ride in your jugular vein
you just exhaled the blacktop of columbus avenue
now worn     it still never refuses to shine

from The Troubles (1993)

For Joe Speer Two Days After His Death

if i believed in such things
i'd have known the vision meant you were fine
visiting me     no     interrupting reveries
as a large yellow dog on a red sandy cliff
staring at me in what might have been anger
two nights after you'd died in albuquerque

i felt the anger     then my own shock
and confusion after feeling both
if i'd opened my eyes i'm sure i'd have seen you
right across the room
then i felt the love     and the hurt
as you stood more solid than dream
then faded to the color
of the insides of my eyelids

     the hillside on which you stood
     was neither california nor new mexico
     the land was wild     land is wild
     belief is wild and it's scary to be so tame
     that you don't believe anymore
          did you visit me after you'd died?
          were you making the rounds
          of all your old friends?
     i think that you'll be a happy dog
     or maybe     untame     a happy coyote

The Mythologization of the Lightbulb

the two lightbulbs use electric knives
to carve their dinner of broken candles

along the bannister
the amateur statue's severed hand
groping for another lightbulb

it is well known that lightbulbs
seldom go out walking at night
scientists argue
as to whether this has aided in their evolution

on the piano a candelabra!
an audience of lightbulbs!

the half dozen lightbulbs visiting the zoo
back away and avert their eyes
from the cage where it is rumored
they keep lightbulbs with simian diseases

on the silver screen:
lightbulbs in love!
like the northern lights:
lightbulbs in love!

a herd of white elephants
stampedes through a library
of fastidious lightbulbs
who are looking for a bright corridor
back to the veldt

isn't there somebody here
who will agree with me
that even the dreams of lightbulbs
once had arms and legs?

at the end of each millenium
all lightbulbs are broken
by people with glass jaws
who are looking for revenge

from The Troubles (1993)

Try Not To Be a Serial Murderer

try not to be a serial murderer

if people find out
no one will sit next to you on the bus

no one will want to dance with you

people even creepier than you are
will ask for your autograph
and take it home
and add it to a pile
that means even less than your list of dead did

you'll get to be a has-been
a boring creepo
and people won't even try
to overhear you at cocktail parties
to hear about the movie
nobody will make about your exploits

and even the next fad serial killer
won't want to kill you
because you're so boring


From The Troubles (1993)

Wildly Until

I


back, back from the flashlights could seal his doom. His eyes got to his feet and scrambled he had to run, and fast...as he went, into the alley. He rising only to race into the fog had to be...he knew not what but this time stabbing pain in his right arm, he pushed himself to his feet wildly until, panting, with sweat and burning them closed, he came boards, blocked his way... he crashed through the barrier safety, he sensed the taste of liquid unite with that of the sweat pain.

this naive newspaper and his arrival here.



II


He dare it as they'd said it would:

It wood red schoolhouse go down above which a sign wearing a black handlebar white shirt and a blue. But like they belonged their wearers travelled all of them wore the same. He sin town, the Grand Hot quaint though it was.

Upon was the center of attention handlebar mustaches, headgear on their head and they all stared at a show the same as the others but

"A room"

he nod

"No,

"Off odd here now."

"When?"

"Dunno," darker else brutes ped over the top cap fell off. entire skulltop was a concave "Didn't tell me." reporter's head. The hats skulls from everybody's view, and even zombie!

They had surrounded him. "Four others!"

everything and



III


"You o"

It was dark. Moreorless hazings of the light, like that "Yeh"

"I'm you?"

"Archere?"

"You room. Or you starve

"We're... Just... Any room with bullets"

John's red. The brute caught it. The guard's weapon and waist. The rope above holding the guard's rope son threw the noose-end. He missed. He tried a third

"See you

He climbed



IV


heard Marie's voice

keeper staggered forward, muttering then bowed what was left of his head. And, there was a concave metal disk. That smiled.

"Now you are master here," she said

wearing a bright green bonnet




From The Troubles (1993)

Note: I've done some minor punctuation changes from the original, which was punctuated to remain true to the material from which it was cut up. There are a few irregularities remaining, but the new version may prove to flow a little easier. The sole remaining version of the piece from which "Wildly Until" was cut is now posted to my other blog, Things I've Done For Blood.

Shopping Cart Poem

i began to understand suburbia
when i saw you
in matching suburban leather jackets
pushing your twin shopping carts
down shattuck avenue
with your clothes     heirlooms
and keepsakes from your kids
piled inside
i hoped you'd kept some money too
to survive

neither of you
was dirty yet

i hoped your neighbors
wouldn't have to join you
and wondered how     they could let you be here
instead of in spare rooms
in their own houses

from The Troubles (1993)

Walking Down

i began to believe we left
when i saw you
pushing twin shoppers
with your clothes go down the hall
and keepsakes from a foreign bedroom
piled inside     invisible flesh
i hoped you'd keep
to survive
as i would wake up to

neither of you
was dirty yet
no longer to their taste

i hoped your wonder how we were
and wondered how
instead of in their opium dens of coffee house

i began to believe in eyes open at the image
when i saw you     way across my bedroom ceiling
pushing twin love overcame them all
with your clothes     you're tired
then your bones ache
and keepsakes from you make the decision:
piled inside     move while the angry dogs are left
i hoped you'd kept in your head
a gold machiavelli
to survive

from The Troubles (1993)

Inheritance

plug in the right hungrier you're born
machine will     hungrier hungrier     you stay
hungrier famously     then
fortune may hungrier hungrier
look at the
tilt
two million years of brain stimulation
and the talent isn't yours
hungrier     hungrier
all else
a lie of bar soap
hungrier     hungrier
caveman fortune
looked at the spear
hungrier     hungrier

you
your children

from Thebes 1991

Urban Werewolf

i want to find the city again
in its nighttime     pavement secure against my feet
people out dancing
many false moons

my soul needs that jolting
juice like meat juice i can't find
in any place less wild     with light less courageous
light in sympathy with my metabolism light without which i'd be a dog

light     i am tired of the country now
of stalks through wood beneath full moon
alone of my kind a city boy in fields
not those of my experience

i need to find the city soon
where four bare feet always find solid sidewalk
and meat juice flows like neon
and there are always plenty of sheep to kill

from Thebes (1991)

Soho Night Walk

am i a dinosaur?     am i a werewolf?
alone i walk scaled
bigger than in memory down tiny streets larger
in the past than when i see them now
there are people here who look like me twenty years ago
and walk in couples
i walk alone
the full moon alone is my lover
all the songs in the clubs
i've heard songs like
and if she were here
she would ask me
what did you do these twenty years
and if she were here
i would tell her
repetition repetition
fossilization

from Thebes (1991)

Travel Haiku

thunderous applause
heard in summer's train station
just a baggage cart

Killed

killed
like something six legs in the wind
something human or inalien

heroic
when carrying something
or a free meal

the call was interrupted

blocked at the broken switchboard

talk about what

can't

to your seat on
these assholes
and are made you
and more concrete
i see

and actually
dreams
none

in
giant-reaching
steps


from Thebes (1991)

Anti-Nuke Poem

i hear heaven in my washing machine ears in my piccolo
and generations of voice in my ears i'm
tired and unaffected on winter roads of greek television commercials
and rain on the roof is no encouragement to my taxidermist's duck
why     won't you cease to lie
when you tell me my phone bill is due
and i must pay under threat of eviction at armageddon

armageddon atomic bombs without fireplace
armageddon starvation without french fries
armageddon the disease of farting window panes
armageddon the car with no wheels on a collapsed freeway
armageddon running the road to ruin up your nose the last time
armageddon turn on the tv there's no cartoons

the face in the mirror shaving has a blade held close to it
this is not a joke this is real even if the image
could never cut itself
you move the mirror and image after image holds a blade
after awhile it seems abstract
after awhile you ignore the abstraction
at armageddon you can't cut yourself once




from Thebes (1991)

Can Dial Monday Through Friday

fraternity boys trembled at the
services being preened
left their pajamas behind
aware of how many hot
diplomatic sources as saying
the most favored souvenir of a
tragic collision
would ruin the electronic surveillance stations

pointing to a pair of automobile license plates
he'll have made by spring

temptress of a beer
of course i want to get
products and people since then


from Thebes (1991)

In the Village Below the Castle

when dracula is first broadcast in color
nobody can deal with the brightness
that the sky isn't green anymore
that the castle's not red
that all roses aren't grey

and that blood really flows in channels of hunger
that faces white as teeth are rare
that the healthy skin of the gorged
elicits envy

the entire village
clumps in front of the broad clear window
of the appliance store

at first each brilliant image makes them jump
then it's like a movie of the dead
the lifeless light outside
the grey brick and the snow
the hushed eyes
the faces preserved within scarves

The Next Night

the next night he held the cigarette to his mouth
til it was all ash but the last quarter inch
we told him be careful
if your last hit's too hard you'll burn yourself

he slowly
put the thing out
in the ashtray

put the bend of a finger
to his lips
lit the nail end

smoked it down
to the last quarter inch
didn't bother
about the ashes



from Bar Room Ballads (1992)

eat

eat

drink

mess

party

we



from Thebes (1991)

Poem For Andrew Carnegie

red green orange
montage the entire country
by summer has two months to get
all awake the last time

this island its chest builds
to catch a drop
of vain loneliness of radio
enough to bear steel

an ancient road
its bones buried




from Thebes (1991)