In 20 years, you will remember
the blue sky
and the bear-shape of the one cloud
the smell of asphalt, the pain of landing
and the color of the blood on your knees

In 30 years, you will remember
the feeling of a bone against the ground
the taste of grass
the sense of falling, the pain of landing
and the color of dirt in your wounds

in 40 years, you won’t remember anything
except the feeling of the wind
through your hair
the beat of your heart against the inside of your ribs
and the sound of moving
humming through your ears
as your mother yelled after you

God, you’ll miss your mother
her voice
and her touch
as she cleans the wounds
after you fall again.

Back when i was a noun
I verbed all over the place
I became a pro noun

as i tried to do too much add verb here
add jective there, and next thing
you know, I am being trailed
by extraneous exclamation points
and everything’s gone to hell.

now, i’m just a tawdry preposition
with conjunctivitis
but that’s how it goes
when you’ve got a life sentence

At first, I think this is my kind of joint.
Then as I walk in, “Ouch!”
“Dude, watch out for the bar,” the bartender says.

I climb up the stool,
wiggle my tail into the seat and try
to figure out what will take the sharp off my worst points.

“Bartender, that’s my bowl,”
I glare at him venomously
as he serves some anyone in skinny jeans a scorpion bowl
and a plate of something munchy.

“Screw this place,” I say
and I walk out into the pouring rain.

A frog is swimming around in the torrents
where the road should be.

“Hey buddy,” I yell at her,
“I need to get across.”

She rolls her eyes at me, “I’ve known creepers like you,
I’m not going to give you the chance
to hurt me.”

“I’m not going to hurt you,” I tell her,
“I just need…. a way out.”

She looks into my eyes, she softens,
“Ok, hop on my back,
I’ll carry you.”

Halfway across I start to ravage her.

“Why would you do that, now we’re both going down,” she says.

“I can’t help it,” I tell her,
“It’s my nature.”

the skillet, a magpie tells me, she is breathing
there is nothing shiny about the black
except the sharp citrus sizzling

the magpie pulls his wings to his chest
searches me for a reason to fly
away into the mad tenderness of morning

the skillet snaps angrily amidst the grunt
of catfish, salted and seasoned and ready
to be blackened

the magpie, with his dead eyes, tells me
she is breathing, there is nothing shiny
about the the whitening flesh of fish

the skillet explodes into a heated waiting
she is there, nothing but rage, wordless chatter
and lemon juice wafting into the sunlight

the magpie caws, winks, and flies
away to the places high above, cool where maybe
the scent goes, but I can not search.

the sky will not fall
without a push from a man

without a planing down of soul
by the heartless

without the madness of certainty
wrapped in a cloud

Buildings will crumble
& tumble
& burn

but the sky will stand
& watch
unless a man gives a push

Bodies will break and bones with snap
& blood will curdle in soft sunlight

bodies will leap and evaporate
& hearts will speed, then slow, then stop

but the sky never ends
it only twists
over and over
& over the horizon
unless a man pushes

I am roaming
galled, divided into three parts
all mankind, with me, and apart
from me, classless and classed

moving towards
slipping away

unmoved, unfeeling
gripping and swaying

I am roaming
galled, indivisible – my hair parted
to the left. All man. kinder than me
I see you, moving away.

The kind man, parts as friend.
I am the unkind man
divided into three parts,
all galled – moving, immovable and moved

I beg, and revile
I demand and embrace
I reveal and hide

I am roaming
galled by the division of man
body, mind and soul
kind and kindred
we move
I am moved
you move
away

Apart

We part
Friends.

the turtle waits
on river rock
under a moaning sun

he waits for love
in a shell
that feels
that holds a heart
that protects
bones.

he waits for hope
as the minnows school past
shimmer in the noonlight
flow from there to anywhere

he waits for God
without a smile
or faith
or even a dream

when the moon arrives
and laughs at him
the stars said, don’t be cruel
turtles don’t dream

the turtle slipped
into the cool black water
then in silence
eyes open
he dreamt of nothing.

i remember smoke
the orange ember at the end of every breath
pulled in and released

i remember lips
soft pink lips
and smoke rising into the darkness

I remember laughter
the husky dream
that hangs between life and what comes after

In greece
I sat in a bathtub
to learn of the quest
for truth.

I looked toward a Goddess
that knew only wisdom
and war

her armies arrayed below her
in marble – she smiled
and they saluted her
without arms