Thursday, April 23, 2009

dark in day

dark in day


grey skies through painted windows
timeless darkness seen as memory.
the smell is given by light.

nascence of childhood refurbished
momentarily accessed through an accident
of pure lack of light.

a tremulous backstep slips through the mirror
like a refractory silent carnival ride.

quiet of a sprinkled sidewalk
where the best way to avoid the drops
is to watch them deface a pane of glass.
same light of scant electricity daytime
can’t make it out but can’t quite get in.

collapsed in fascination
at the brightness revealed
by the dimming sky


constant interrupted sleep
waits for mispronounced sustenance
delivered by mo-ped

on a rainy stoop
next to spent miracles
& misbegotten romance.

slave labor of disused umbrellas
a pageant before stuttery eyes.

no second side
could be given through jazz bassoon
concordance filled with stumbling laughter.
no walk home need be made.

a tent pitched between floors
suffices to attain a smoke ring sporadic disposition
based on light & chill & unspoken cures.


smells luscious
smells dead
everyone is so near
hunched over
flavor protector
preserved shallow nerves
orchestra turned honeycomb
stirs through revolutions
the same viscosity as protein

dinner music that is not me
the blended rasp
of symbolic portions

flames translated to english
as letters

placated brown rimmed hat
crown translated to flames

even more exotic
i haven’t dared ask you
what is in what
you’ve been stirring

it’s very simple
mixed with rattles & slams
out the window
on a single hotplate burner
it’s very simple
i think you’ve heard of them


four & twenty blackbirds
bask in troubled paraffin places

the only reason i came here
was to cut out the palaces
without batting an eyelash

a smile & a wink
of last night’s daybreak curtsies

special functionaries barter over the curtain speech.
dress rehearsal flag.
apology-quiet descent.

a lot of text to invent.
praiseworthy demonstration of matter.

the skipped thick consternation
i’m so sick of it.
the wind’s secret metronome.

heartslick idiot
the silence can be like a snare.
this wasn’t the name emblazoned on worth.

fortunate collapse left me to a hidden pace
crescent salvation of eggshells

same as the next walk
to the threadbare doorway.

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