Two Poems
Be A Minecatcher
i'm not one to summon snakes
or dance upon the edge of knives
or bombard the earth with apocalyptic
hymn, skull full of dynamite
no, i'm a quiet, writerly type
i like sonnets. books where not
much happens. the sensible things.
i detest Jack Kerouac and rain
trampling tin roofs
but every once in a while,
the demon of that damned Kerouac
fellow finds me, and i find myself
playing catch with mines, shooting
thunder in the back alleys, swimming
through sewers, yelling at strangers on
the bus, slurping lizards through a
mouthful of mud
in the dead quiet corridors of midnight,
cats appear at my window two by
two, gin-drip tails scratching glass
"time to spit out your teeth and dance,"
they say. i'm ashamed to admit i hear
these voices, but i know i'm not the only
one with blood on my hands
Meditations Of The Nameless Infinite
∞ tragedy of the fly
in the mud, a tiny fly writhing
crushed by the rain, wet wings go nowhere
∞ humility hymn
pelted crow on the roadside
wait for the night to obscure thy shame
∞ ode to fungi
mushroom mashed up against the shadowy edge
umbrella head bursting brilliant; the light is implied
∞ a shit rose
on the bathroom wall, a diamond-shaped shit stain
dreams itself abloom, for it knows not where it grows
∞ black rainbow
dark puddle on the rooftop, reflecting rainbows
could be gasoline?
∞ sprinklers
uptown, there are sprinklers to preserve the greenness of the grass & the whiteness of lilies
here, bouquets of scorched earth, broken heads like polished snake skulls
∞ icarus
don't you know it's a sin to give your son wax wings to sail to the sun?
. . .it's not the fall that'll kill him but the death leap from the floor
∞ the improbability of an airplane
somewhere in a cloudless sky, an airplane weaves oblique
nothing more improbable of flight, yet there it goes