daytime I

my mouth and laugh and falling down

winding with the carriage's spoken words.
eyelashes framing and small cast shadows
on two gentle spiderly grips.

one side warm and the other for later
left behind time, descending
lines in blue-green haze.


and morning comes so fast and night passes so slowly
when days are watered down.


off again and on the top of a muddy hill,
a king steps gingerly, avoiding puddles and other nuisances.
but he laughs with the peasant
and they both laugh together
and in time, they both laugh alone.


daytime II

tomorrow

eastern amber westward
dims the shabby remains
and grows thick
like bells to their top.

the sounds of artificial wind
and utile rain mingle,
combine to render wakefulness
as they did sleep
before all this.

i can't help buy see it as a rehearsal,
though i've been told how real it is


inside a cat's yawn.


nighttime III

later

red plastic headlights
spin slowly, deliberately,
mockingly.
an expansion towards chrome,
blue not waterly or limp.

the air disturbed
and hypnotized by sin waves
killing green and preferring brown.

a breath from under the hood
seen up close across the beast.


nighttime IV

then

crossing from town to country
under an enormous stone-skipping man
living low on the earth
so far to the south.
but lighting,
through white clouds of mist,
the tar road.

leaving the stink of human self-abuse
and eventually the natural stink too,
I enter to rest on a too small bed
in an upstairs room.

as if dead I sleep
and awake to sleep the day
in a flurry of
destinationless walks
and self-inflicted pleasures:
all in avoidance of life this year.

but I am thankful.

nighttime V/ daytime IX

pas janvier

la pluie
douce et legère-
les lumières
si jolies

qui m'encerclaient.

je ne les ai presque pas vues.
elles étaient les idées importantes
qui ne restent ne en mots longtemps
ne en vers du tout.

je n'oublierai...

daytime VIII

farewell

my thoughts are
lost among shivering willows
casting off petals
freeing seeds into the wind.

they clatter in a dance
and spinning
turn backward
into my mind.

a sorrow since before me
is laid bare by the hovering blossoms
and a nearing warm ache, inside
holds the knot close.

seabirds out of place at
the corners of your eyes
hold them back and
lock them, gazing upwards.

petals gently fall.

in between breaths i can hear your tears
and my warm right thumb dries them
nous ne pouvons pas nous voir seules.


nighttime VII

and days now pass slowly, the nights watered fleece.

fluctuations of snow and rain.
a command: sunny weather! mimic my mimic my mind!
my thoughts mere judgements of emoted others.

carriages rush flowingly by now and the mud that splashes
(splash!)
is even more refreshing.

i am filled
by an image of diving-in, foolheartedly whole,
tempting nothing; looking well on film
like wet streets in the night.
cold air feels warm,
though i'm made much cooler by my own feet.


all night. (and you claim i talk to myself.)

flutterbys. a name for our daytime chills,
obsession of day/night dichotomy;
i couldn't have misspoken.

but there's no real difference there
and my images are much more pleasing and real,
than real.

in the early days i realize the non-acceptance of
self-awareness in this consciousness.

nighttime VI

it
seemed unlikely,


but the box was
open anyway in
that ecstatic fever
that sometimes
happens.

grandpa says,
"you can't clutch
it like it's your
only soul.

"your only soul
is your only soul;
you can't make
that your only
soul."

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