Feeds:
Posts
Comments

Posts Tagged ‘food’

June 8th, 2018

We pulled our lawn chairs close together
onto the flexure of the world
and into the hanging light, that often falls
at the same time of day as the failing of our beer supply,
whispered our deepest concerns.
A lot of people die without knowing anything truly happy.
A lot of people die without knowing anything.
A lot of people die without.

A lot of people die.

Occum’s flattened earth is taut, and doesn’t give.
Where do rivers go if they don’t run in circles?
When they come to the edge of an unfolded map
do they fall into wine-dark space? Or rise above, finally relinquished
from the gravity of indecision. This space between
spaces is so thin, and haunting. Is it worse to be angry in a bad place,
or lonely in a beautiful place?

Larry Walters knows. Our last beer is for him.
Poured into the abyss, floating ever upward
above the mountains, passed the lanterns that
hang from an antique bronze cloche
and into heaven where he sits with St. Anthony
outside the pearly gates. They kill time. Talk about travel.
Food. Wine. Tattoos. But they don’t go in. They never go in.

Advertisements

Read Full Post »

I stole something which I had plenty
and of much better quality.
Wickedness filled me.

I remember its feeling
being full
like a thanksgiving feast
of pear stuff birds
we made dance by
alternating their thigh bones
left and right.
I nevertheless felt forced to imagine
something physical occupying space

perhaps even growing
like aunt Sysaphus’ gut as she pushed
another meatball through infinite space
outside the world.

Perhaps today she will explode.
And the space remains evacuated
of anything physical.

The child of my self forms mashed
potato into his fancy in an enigma
as if in a mirror.

I thought of my sister’s dolls
the heads of which I removed
in an attempt to horrify.
It didn’t.
In surprising ways these thoughts
had a visceral effect

on me.

Now I am an adult
and my old loves, hold
me back. They tug my grament
of flesh.
I still want
people to know I steal things,
things I don’t need,
but I steal to be social,
to claim purpose,
to snub even my inner voice
and in so doing
claim the freedom I am owed.

Yet still the voice continues:
Let it be now,
let it be now.

Read Full Post »

We
Talk over dinner
over and over
like the river
or an ocean sound.
shhhhhh.

We
Missed out,
Nobody is around
under, under
the skin

We begin
to speak in spaces
sounding places
silent faces
beside and besides
ourselves.

Silence
is a collection
stolen. We find ways
to steal each other’s time
in the speaking space
within me, within
you.

Eating
only to be empty.
Something is lost
between us. Between us
Age clings like frost.
On and on
goes infinity.

Time
the agent of change
puts me above you
and now the spaces
without you
can’t speak.
They can’t speak
without you.

Read Full Post »