LIFE IN THE TRENCHES: Romance, Rebellion and Running Amok

It Irony.

Where did this word begin? I know how it lives now.  As hard as I go.  For some mutated pic Of poetry. Hilarious.  Like most things.  Such are things with the waking. In life.  One with Marco.  One with Polo. All with a cusory underatanding Of the universe.  Which is both theoretical As well as tangible.  I give thought to the curriculum.  I think about all of the educated fools Sniffing their tin stars like the ripe ass stains Of lived in quandry.  I smell the bacon that came with the  Tag of streamliners and the atomic waft of Shelter - as related to architecture.  If you were to build a home for three.  How big would it be? And could you find the time to take a moment  And stop.  To think.  How a word like poetry Can so easily turn to wraith.  Have a nice evening.  The cursor blinks at me.   

THE FACTORY EDGE

parked.  waiting for my father. 

listening to a blue flag blow in the wind. 

it squeaks like a pirate ship. 

the edges are tattered. 

been doing the deal

for a

minute,

i guess. 

cars up on pedestals. 

balloons bouncing about. 

facing the sun. 

dirty on my windshield. 

waiting. 

aching. 

feeling the enormity of the moment. 

the irony of the exit i got off on.

lone hill.

i smell hamburgers.

i see the orange letters of a place i rarely went to

but have since become a regular.

home depot. 

i am a poet. 

i can sweat copper piping. 

i know more about the factory edge

than i did a few years ago

when a friend gently

taught it. 

this used to be a christmas tree lot. 

now its this. 

center.

where the rubber meets the street - I hear ocean. 

Breathe.  Center. 

Wait.  He'll be here soon. 

As folks hush with hurry to and fro

and all about I take notice of the

palm trees, and balloons, and

the flags - in addition to the

one that grabbed my

attention. 

They point towards something. 

Effortlessly.

In the same direction.  

LONE HILL, 2010.  DISPLACED.  BUT NOT.  NEVER DEAD.  RESURRECTED.

SLEEP WRITING

sleep writing. 

really. 

 

i like to look at the bamboo sway in the wind while i sit here

looking out the window. 

 

who knows.

 

if you light a fuse - it goes boom. 

free the chinamen.

take down that bridge. 

demolish those towers. 

kill the baby killers. 

you light a fuse and it goes boom. 

is the well the one to come is the well going to come next. 

is that old piece of junk going to sink and create a place for the fish and seahorses.

alchemic coral - the coral reef? 

is that fuse that is lit going to suck the oxygen out of a room and put out the fire. 

what happens.  where does it go. 

build or deconstruct. 

deconstruct or destroy.

destroy or clear the rubble. 

be heard or to hammer in a point. 

act of love or act of war. 

a conversation or a terrible thought given voice. 

punctated.  then pondered.  now what.  i don't know. 

if the fuse is lit - the only irrefutable is the ensuing boom. 

from there.  i don't know. 

 

i like to look at the bamboo sway in the wind while i type with no eyes. 

as it sways outside my window. 

 

center. 

smile.

breathe. 

 

this is a chance to love him. 
and her.  and them.  and the beasts. 

 

the anima in the animals who became those humans of hearth and home. 

you are beloved. 

 

you are safe.  you are precious.  you are never a threat. 

 

rest.  i love you.  i do.

 

OKAY, BRYAN:  BACK TO THE NAIF. 

REMEMBER THE BOOKENDS OF THIS VERSE.

at times like these.  when you are on the cusp of something.  with the gun to your head.  and you can see it all about to come together.  but have no idea how it is going to come together.  and what is going to happen in between seeing and knowing and everything in you wants to tell those motherfuckers to fuck off.  remember.  it is not about the gun to the head.  most of everything happens in between the seeing and knowing.  and it is not about those motherfuckers.  with their guns to  your head.  you are on the cusp of things.  at times like these.  

watch television.  eat some food.  smoke a cigarette.  remember the bookends of this verse. 

there is always time for reflection.  always time for poetry. 

check yourself.  then move on. 

A Dart Can Take Down an Elephant Like a Mouse Can Encapsulate Madness

If I were to give these days a name
I would have to come up with one
Of my own invention.

There are too many options
Common to my vocabulary
That I can not trust.

They come to me quite easily
But their presence is not effortless.

If I were a ghost like gravity there
Would be no need to find it:

The Name.  More so, a word. 

And it would be perfect.
Unobtrusive.

A law with no crime to
Thwart.

Just a finger pointed at a balloon
Full of gas as it floats with the
Illusion of lawlessness, when in fact
It is another that works
In conjunction with
Another

To

Demonstrate the power of
Volume and displacement.

But

Is a whole 'nother thing altogether.

A phenomenon, is that it?
Autonomic and natural like the way
One breathes while sleeping until
He or she does not which is when
The whole thing is seen for what
It is - through cessation.

Then comes the name. Which is
No more an anomaly than the
State that proceeded it. Or no
Less a marvel than the life that
Forgot it was even there:

On a bed like a bullfrog.
Dreaming.

About what?
Your guess is as good as mine.

But still.

A dart can take down an elephant
Like a mouse can encapsulate madness.
Or a dripping sink can make some kid's
Saturday morning cartoon session
Howl worthy

With
No mind for the electricity that gives
Pulse to that which fuels it until it is gone.
Which can happen for any number of
Reasons.

Just ask the bill man or bad behavior.
Or the conclusion of the mouse man's
Sink story howl capped conditioning.

Buttons are to balloons like death is
To gravity.

*

The names that come to mind are and is an impulse that is unimportant.
Yet, they are and it is an impulse still.

Thus spoke I who chose not to frame

It.

settle.

If you are here with me now then I am
Here with you too.

Which is something.

Without the trappings of impulse.

Nor need for invention.

It just is.