haunt memory

an infant’s eyes

and what’s behind

how about when love’s denied

for the first time

the longing for milk

that look of anger

will it haunt memory

at what age will judgement

seize the child

the separation

the absence

the labeled cardboard boxes

filling the otherwise empty room

 

this is the change

that does not come about

 

this is the thought

of forgiveness lost

 

to the void

 

and yet love remains

even if it’s battered and abstract

An Average Urban Journey

spontaneous memory

I am not the one

to tell you how long

I’ve had to let

the water simmer

even though I put

the pot

on the stove

I am not the one

to know

how to define

the meaningless

now that what isn’t can’t

be symbolized

and yet we try

 

these words are only

morsels of what could be

if only we could properly

listen to our minds

it’s like the wind

and it isn’t

this book is a vessel

like ourselves

the temperature

is a sign like language

on her shoes lie

rain drops and

my eyes are anchors

no longer tethered

and so they wait

at the bottom

of her heart

but only for a moment

as I see the sky

I can’t see the sky

and so we sit

with iron / sideways blushing

 

we’ve gotten too good

at saying what we

never mean and

the letters look tangled

yes there are so many

trees around us

that no longer exist

and did you know

we twitch while

shifting thru time

so that our ancestors

wouldn’t break their

sturdy bones?

 

how fragile we are now

and yet we destroy

everything we touch

so says the dirt under our feet

so say sorry to the dirt underneath

your nails

why do we love

the color blue anyway?

 

i am not the one

to tell you

that amorphous furniture

for the blind

are pipes crafted for human

consumption

An Average Urban Journey

Bodies litter stained floors

in this subway station as the head

piercing drone of trains rush

through tunnels, an anonymous man

throws his own body in front of a machine,

is crushed by unimaginable force.

I am unaware of this, sitting inside

the beast that killed this human.

We stop for a few moments,

a robotic voice announces

that there’s been organic

difficulties. The world won’t stop

and so we’ll move on after more machines

clean up the mess. There is nothing

to say about the dirt speckled

baby blue tiles that adorn the wall

I stare at beyond the blurry advert

that encases this compartment.

We begin to move again.

This is what happened:

we said nothing mattered

enough times that it actually came true.

Only a few don’t separate meaning

from life now. Emerging

from the underground I found

a poem in the sky then followed

my sour gut, ignoring more crumpled

bodies along sidewalks. Heavily armed

police everywhere. A rich and powerful

person enters an ancient marble temple

on 17th street. I walk towards the source

of spotlights roaming skyscraper walls

and then sit in a fabricated park to lick

the invisible moon above us with my feeble

thoughts. Again I get up to wander and worry

about death, then remind myself to allow

my feet to guide the rest and arrive

into the unknown.

one

a setting

any place

where humans interact

people speak

translate thoughts

invoke knowledge

or visions and we interpret

how individuals

will keep eyes

inwards

describe the feeling

that’s what we’re here

for saying things

whether it has meaning

or not

it matters

the energy in our bodies

has the ability to stay

awhile if only we construct

ideas and will them

into existence

time breaths taken

when memory

fucks with us

walk through a park

but not leisurely

do we find comfort

in remaining still

are there ways not to notice

the mechanics of staying alive

let’s use the machine

to find our way home