every blister is a call to arms
a magnificent war of flesh
on flesh — a body becoming
the enemy of a body and that enemy
realized is the certainty of a face
looking back in a mirror

a search in a medicine cabinet
reveals a bandaid in a white box
with red and blue writing
— friction avoided .

a heel, a finger, a burn
healing, a long walk without socks

a girl in a short neon-green skirt
jogging along the river  demanding
attention for her and her bright red hair

a search of the neighborhood
reveals a brick house and an old Camaro
with red and blue pin-striping
— contradiction avoided

looking back in the mirror
the face looking back is certainly
the enemy of the body of the enemy
— a body of flesh becoming magnificent
war, a constant call to arms of skin on skin

for all (without saying) clams
that do not clam — the inkless
squid — jetting along (the sand
without god) and never
searching,  i beg   (quietly)
you steam (the frying leaves us
less than we should be
and every clam is thusly
offended). the almighty
is salt, not water. the air
is irrelevant, but the oxygen
is still (like the water) everything
which god (and which un-god)
makes the stones harder
(or not at all hard, depending
how they strike the body) is
the mystery — believe what you will
or won’t were all decide
(or none of us do because, god
and things like god are brutish
in the begging) find a star
pick it, better than you pick
your knows and know not what
it means. light (she flies faster
than god) and dark (she waits
without feet) and the twi-might
resting on the lines “yes sure”
and “no, god NO!” heaven
is not the clam-ity or the sand
the madness of punctuation or
the poem. heaven — that is you
long-haired and forgetting
how i loved you best as i sank
alone (god i love you. god…)and
hoping sex or something like it
might be religion as i died another
little death. alleluia please

i counted 13 jellyfish
constructed from metal
with little purple lights
to symbolize life
or death or whatever is
jellyfish can’t mean
without purple lights

they did not move
they could not move
they were not alive

they were not jellyfish
they were bits of scrap metal
twisted with pliers and hammered out
to look semi-realistic

they did not float

they did not sink

they were not jellyfish
there under an octopus
which was not an octopus

there were no tentacles
only metal bent and feigning the reach
and bonelessness of something so deep
below the surface

i counted them twice, both times
there were only 13 — and on octopus
none of which were real
none of which meant anything
except, it has to mean something

it has to be relevant
it must be

where is the 14th Jellyfish
i don’t see him
or her
— until i look in the mirror

God, no, i’m not a jellyfish
that’s the only thing I know
and i start to cry

she’s wearing something
ugly — it makes her look
fat or worse (much worse)
like she should go
to a gym. i don’t tell her
anything, i just smile
and hope she doesn’t
eat anything with gluten

she says something to me
about the color and
the material — i wasn’t listening
she wasn’t fat,
and it wouldn’t matter
if she were — but that dress
was all wrong and that shade of
— sickly (ate the wrong thing)
puke, it wasn’t flattering

she left, i left
i looked in the mirror
and realized — my god
this shirt is ugly

Che looked at her, “Really?”

She nodded.

“Who are you?” Che asked.

“Jane.”

“Pleased to met you,” Che said.

Jane laughed, her round face glowing like an autumn moon.

“I’m sorry, but life is that complicated,” Che sighed, “what makes you think you know the secret? What makes you think you’re smarter than everyone else?”

Jane paused, “One doesn’t need to know the answers to know the answer is simple.”

Jane raised all 152 centimeters of herself off the bench, tucked the red leather-bound book under her left arm, “Good to meet you Che. Perhaps someday you’ll understand. Perhaps someday you’ll look in the mirror and see the miracle I see.”

Che started to respond, but nothing came out.

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if you are yawning
i am yawning too
if you are tired
i know what i’ll do

if you are sneezing
i am sneezing too
if you’re awake
I am the endless blue

if you’re alone
i am alone too
if you’re lonely
i am here for you

The smell of nothing is something
special, i suck it in through my nose
push it out through my mouth

the taste of something is nothing
important, though it sucks
when it comes in through my hose

The feel of almost anything
relevant pushes up toward my mouth
and into my brain

The sound of whatever this is
tromps my ear canal
and pulls me to get up

I sniffle, there is nothing
to smell, nothign to taste,
nothing to feel — so I feel nothing

Nothing at all.

wearing clothes in public
when someone might see
a naked thought hanging
in the crepuscular threads

both feet galumphing along
the sidewalk, both eyes treading
the windows leaving no prints,
both ears speculating
on the inarticulate sound of nearby

the nudity is blushworthy
the wind sharp and bitter
you have no memory of the question
I asked you before you left

evening and the shirt become
a prayerful testimony to the shadows
— until the raucous stars arrive
to make a party from this jaunt

the pause over the Eastern Canal
comes an alleluia to the carp
both feet keep on, both eyes stare
on, both ears hear nothing else

goodbye, covered flesh
goodbye, answers
goodbye

By the Ladd & Whitney memorial, 37 students
wait for the light to change. The dead are dead
below their feet (and a little to the left) quiet
and forgotten (mostly) — having died on the way
to a beautiful war misremembered (as all wars
are only beautiful if misremembered) by men
and women caught up in the fervor of freedom
believed rather than the meditation on freedom’s
best steely shackles and translucent skin.

When the light changes, life (valuable precious
perfect wonderful holy beloved dear kind
hopeful) sweet life crosses toward downtown
with backpacks full of books to quote
in papers to be written about subjects overflowing
with echoes of one war or another, every one
being more beautiful than the next assuming
the next is further back and harder to remember.

she watched the spider climb the wall
she watched the spider rest
she watched the spider wait and wait
for the fly that looked the best

she watched the fly zip to and fro
she watched house fly land
she watched the fly just fly away
as he didn’t understand

she watched a porcelain plate be empty
she watched a plate just wait for food
she watched a plate just wait and wait
and never know the food

she watched a spider climb down a wall
she watched a spider leave
she watched a spider’s web alone
and ponder what to believe