Marching To the beat of ‘I’
drop the ‘I’, start beat 2, rest
stepping to the beat of ‘I’ first
foot falls like ghosts
hopscotch down narrow alleyways
Skipping cracks, circumnavigating ever-encroaching pools
of blood from Johnson’s breached artery
cannibal deities of concrete burial
junkies hunkered down and out in doorway bunkers,
shadows converge on fresh blood
leaving a stain
contagious in proximity to blood-spattered walls,
hematoma, urine flowing from liquid viscera,
step on the cracks
seams in the concrete through which
ancient rivers flow,
opening a vein
Coroners arrive to measure the width of the wound,
painting the new shoreline white.
rush of blood to the arm
phantom heart skips a beat
urge to arrest the tempo a breath
catch up four bars
Retrace steps past to present tense
universe constantly reinvents itself
at an exponential rate
out of range
of lenses
Anticipated beats tied in knots of two to twelve bars each
counting on an abacus, a rosary of beads
a linear table chart, a map of pages strung together like EEG sheets
brain scan off the chart
time wave
the anti-rhythm and one
(pause for breath)
not ‘I’
Bilabial hihat bzzzzzzzz
split buzz
a tat tat tat tat
a surgical increment of time
anticipating a missed beat
and one rest
splinter (notes)
stain the alders
over curvature
overture
catching flies an ephemera of insights
glisten
Splinter (curvatexture)
sing sustenance
I feed on verbiage
photosynthesis of ephemeral insights
globules of dew
enclose, each, well, placed
word
inferred, from voice
sparks gather’d in wet globes
glare of surprise
symbols sprawled across
a curvatexture of flesh
proportionate rhythm articulating
joints grown in gravity matrix
feedback from worlds less than a mm away
concentrated in valleys and veins
clandestine burial beneath the leaves
house camoflauged in the trees
in fourteen shades of green
shadows expand exponentially
between dense foliage
in pitch dark I go walking in your landscape
proceed in predictable rhythms
carefully assessed steps
constantly questioning one’s competence
and clarity in the dark
Cinder filter lens directs
one sensory department to the next
which sense is most expendable
in the dark?
tandem walking autumn strewn lane
through a colonnaded hall of alders
greet me in this
a product of my imagination’s
self devouring consciousness
What have you brought for my appetite*
seeking sustenance
centered on
you.
New interdimensional inexclusive being poem
1 monad
2 dyad
three mediator
four quaternary
5 first human number
9 is completion
11 is mastery beyond divinity
10 is divinity
destination for interdimensional shift
Notes in the key of ‘green’
singing in harmony with nature, ahhh high ‘C’
1,2,3, 4, 5…
shades of green
aphids and… seven species of flower
chamomile, lavender, salvia, blue—green sage
nervosa, brown lobelia, red rue
eucalyptus, tea tree
leaps off lawn key green the signal
shrouds gnome
re:green
recycle, green, conservation, parks, keep green re:green
breathing in the key of ‘C’ (sea) green
chlorella salt aquamarine
stumble bump beats
metrical feet measure steps
into uncertainty
fields on fire
fertile loam
growing nodes in proportionate rhythm
articulating limbs sing
in the key of green
Entanglement poetry
Full swing arm span
a crane working within walls of
the page
unrestricted by narrow notebook margin
drifts of paper, block screens, mirrors
windows draped in orange fabric
October four in the afternoon
Pacific standard time to wake up
Have you walked in my shoes?
there are no roads through this country.
(you stare at me like a grazing cow)
I am a man who has lost his way
looking for mushrooms in cowshit
their four stomachs
turning the grass into something useful
filtered water
“What am I doing here?” You ask
Me on tabs of acid,
“What? What am I doing?”
chemical cold and contracting muscles
brain too busy to eat, biological processes slide
across phosphorus to specialized cell that
makes food so there is no need to order out
all the answers I came up with
and this is what I have to show for it:
Entanglement poetry:
making connections that are already there.
now hear: a story
a magazine
materializes magnets between two plates spaced a mm apart
hands folded compression
cohere thoughts
unknowingly waits but
n0thing expects she, browsing books
doesn’t or something says
who one be will I
know I
when recognize approach I
as abdomen my twist in the
:goes here_____________) a story
the now ago
Days foreseen I’ve comet,
coincidence I’ve committed than other something
here brought has what
supernatural the in believe we both we,
telepathy
the now ago
1
(telepathy
I’ve committed the supernatural
we both we believe in a synchronicity)
a comet seen days ago
now the story, here goes
a twist in my abdomen as I approach
attraction magnets materialize a body
compression hands folded in lap
eyes roll back face falls closed lines end abruptly
claustrophobia where all six walls meet
residual sweat on palms
(net necklace raked full of seashells)
the word purled over in mouth
like a stone
delay, days later her coils reverberate
vibrations I felt a moment, an hour, a day ago
culminating in when we’ll meet again
grafted into cut womb absence
that lasts for days
conjuring some creature we dub love
crocked up in brine
(recidivist recipient of anger from other men
rebuffing a longing to be near
while the opportunists close in
with faces as long as overcoats
that could completely enfold her
in the shadow of possessiveness
I keep a crustacean distance
crab walking out of the ocean
raw and inflamed)
2
Hostess in her home
she calls calm
an acrobat of interaction
in her room we talk and smoke pot
while I’m on the clock
tick talk tick talk
(my poor body doesn’t know
how to get out of this dress rehearsal
and fold her in—the coat.)
The telephone rings
the number isn’t familiar
so she doesn’t answer
but has an idea who it is.
She says she had a dream about bears
banging on the door
“they wanted me to go with them,
but they aren’t my spirit animal
there was something strange
and for some reason
I couldn’t trust them.”
Two loud knocks jolt us out of
the infancy of intimacy
neither of us ordered any pizza.
rendered impotent by the adhesive of our predicament
caught in scandal flypaper
flapping wings about in the silken strands of a web of eyes
weaving about
a tangible ghost// friendly fire
I’m a ghost you don’t believe in
it’s not your fault, it’s mine
you don’t even how your mind
fire
works magic
perched precariously on high barstool
your face across the table
framed in the oval of my eyes
sighted to the tip of my nose
I turn to look over my shoulder
a furnace burning sinew
at the base of my neck
infuriating philandering eyes of chaperones
stare at us through the double-sided mirror
You meet their gaze between sips
through glasses half-full and blurry
focused on something across the room
—light and motion. Bifocal screen reflects a scene
contrary to what you’re thinking
flash forward, I leave alone
walking in a sliver of light
beside my only companion; the moon
shadow soldiers loom over my shoulder
pounding me with unrelenting
mortar; friendly fire
Just before last call
making trips back and forth between the bar
cause for alarm there is something going on in the harbour.
a girl appears
taking long zig-zag strides
careful to avoid cracks in concrete slabs
palpably aware she’s in enemy territory
holding her breath
she cedes into
dark arches of alleyways
sleeping façades
the city installs more lights
to deter fiends.
Addicts gather round
gas station halogen lantern
switchblade catches dull flame
in its web of slaying
waiting like bleeding inside the skull
should I sacrifice myself to save her, now
or remain hidden in my shadow?
lady laments—lays awake
I’m in trouble with someone
myself—old friends
Kennings
Thought is the labour of the intellect, dreaming is its pleasure - Victor Hugo
In the absence of observers our universe is dead - Michio Kaku
1
Loose dangling—extensions (testicles)
Tangled threads—tentacles
textiles. Fall fashion fading fast—changing clothes
raking leaves into piles along the road.
2
Tiny flies crawl across the
vertical shelf of the new sky
(beveled glass magnifies
to 20 times the size)
Moths surround streetlight
in circular orbit
in search of origin
humming incessantly
Earth shifts poles
plastic pyroclastic
hermetic heretic seal
sticks like undercooked memory muffin mix
to pan without pam
3
neon light streaks through glass
shinning on wet streets—the sea
dirty pink smeared windowpaine;
the comedown of an acid trip
chrome bumpers in morning light
the heaviness of a sleepless night
seeded clouds conceal
alien ships and docking lights
Just before last call
making trips back and forth between the bar
cause for alarm there’s something going on in the harbour.
4. six walls
strange way of reflecting/ lines end abruptly/ face falls closed
claustrophobia where all walls project light/ catches light from over
shoulder/ throws it back/ hands folded in lap/ face falls closed/ lines end abruptly
claustrophobia where all six walls meet
Dallas Road, Victoria, Sunday, May 14 2006 2:30 am
spaceships aliens vs incommunicable fear
Queen Mary, sea capital
Zero mile. Seattle.
Port Angeles—Victoria vantage point
City lights daub the breasts of clouds
ecliptic arc optical illusion
amber moon occlusion
sliver moonglade
?uestion mark
casts doubt over the ocean sway
no way but everywhere in
obsidian observatory
resounding footsteps pound a
rollicking polyrhythm
over beach stones
purled smooth as toes.
Life, game
I’m on the topside of the slide threading consciousness through the eye of a needle poked myself to see if I’m alive and bled. It’s the game over threat of playing my final life. At the threshold of recollection, a revelation I can’t remember anything too specific. There’s a game we play in there. Its name incommunicable on the other side and keeps us coming back to find it once in that equivalent state, it’s easy to forget where we are commanding attention to bring information back. Distinguish one side from the other by calculating the pros and cons I choose whichever has the bigger benefits, the most excitement.
I come and go as I please, but never stay in either place for long inhabiting parallel universes like a rogue electron, taking accountability away from the solitary mind, taking responsibility for the worst crimes.
Thinking… the pill or the fluid? The pill and the fluid, the pill and the fluid together willfully drop down my throat like a water-slide into unknown depths of unconsciousness.
Just before last call making trips back and forth between the bars, cause for alarm there is something going on in the harbour.
The sound came first like exploding pipe bombs on Canada Day, or distant thunder of an incoming tropical storm, flashing white lights through the trees; fireworks.
We march in near abysmal dark along a narrow trail meandering through alder saplings, willows, reed grass and a fog like the head on a pint of guiness.
A tall girl in a long dress crosses the trail ahead of us.
“Who’s that?”
“I don’t know.”
We follow her until the trail ends at a clearing at the head of an inlet.
She lingers near the shore in a sort of curious dance. A blood lust reaches down my pants like a clammy hand. I can tell we’re all having the same reaction. She stands a second longer and retreats into the forest to our right.
Fireworks crackle and spark overhead on Canada Day intermittently lighting up the shoreline: A distraction.
Ships disguised as islands float offshore, bolts of lightning cross between shooting up fireworks from the center radiating out accompanying low frequency booming sounds; the illusion of distance.
Storm clouds obscure circling ships, intercontinental siblings of a mother hurricane harbour near clusters of ships and docking lights.
The islands progressively draw nearer ushered by low rain laden cirrus clouds. Our heads float up sealing sutures, blocking foramina.
Attention net feeding manifestation mouth spaceships spin like satellites on a wobbly axis and dissipate when we look away. The effect is captivating. Comes on like a drug, easily distracted. Shock sends waves of impotence through the crowd. Mowing men down in the fields; scarecrows in cultivated cornrows, ‘Hollow men’ wearing holy sweaters cowards confronted with incommunicable fear, unconscious projection X crossed messages in department of sensory recognition, veins run blue to nanotubules rewiring brain.
The island spit crashes into the reef and comes to a halt.
Some spineless idiot speaks, “You can have this place that no one wants, if you want.”
“We have already taken it.”
A collective exhale resonates through the crowd. Arousing some meory, lapse into lethargy, limbs reanimated to resist their suppression. All of a sudden there’s some
great interest in planet Earth and everyone wants to take care of it. We cry and beg. Say we will change, although it’s only us we must convince. We will never disrespect you take you for granted. Nothing’s more important than you. Please forgive us.
The ground quakes cracking tombs. Hatching dirty hell babies hack thru the dirt with axes and hammers. Frogs leap from croaking throats, mouths gripped by rigor mortis grins. There is rain. A sprawl of fresh worms washes onto the road.
It’s more likely you’ll see a zombie, stoned or on the road. Like the time I died early one morning, a friend and I are sitting on the neighbor’s car smoking a joint.
A carload of teenage boys drive by us on the road and yell, “Hey punks.”
“Pugoff,” we throw snowballs at them.
The neighbor hollers from his front porch, “Get off my car.”
We jeer at him. Roll the car into a pasture beside the road.
Real disagreeable characters pound down doors, crawl through barred windows, call on the phone, borrow loans won’t take no answer for an answer.
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