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1. |
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for the last time
bugs swarm
down the mountain
you can’t stop them
coarse moss
gathers pebbles
you might find a
throw pillow
in the fireproof room.
you ___
my blue look alike,
downbeat.
//
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2. |
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Sour berries line the trestle today -
this line with notes of metal.
Always see the golden spiral
in every broken seashell.
I saw the outline of his necklace.
He told me about the old hotel.
All of his sisters and brothers.
All of his sisters and brothers.
Today I smear chalky mucus on a pole like a kid.
But I'm old - I listen to soft music.
We rent a duplex off Kingshighway
within the slow-blooming universe.
What did you say?
I saw the outline under his uniform.
It was this time last summer.
It was this time last summer.
Cool, clear water in a brown pea coat.
I faced the waste with cotton mouth,
bit my tongue to spite my face.
I would shake my brave face out.
Now I scrape a cocktail napkin off a tray,
when the weather blushes gray.
Go away from my number.
Go away from my number.
You are the sweetest flower in the city.
Hygienic bees make the sweetest honey.
And you are what I love the best.
We go to work and we make money.
You can't take it with you.
Blood in your gums and sand in your teeth.
Rub a numbing salve.
Touch the stinger spot
where your terrycloth caught,
when your next breath stops.
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3. |
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Plastic bags of shrimp spill open.
Did golden arches shine, shine right back?
Chew your cheeks and spit saliva.
We go, go away, shake, rattle.
This soil smells like campfire smoke.
Someone is looking, looking for me.
Change the ring, the ring on your phone.
Your ringtone was ringing in my ear.
I saw the plastic fasten cotton.
I saw in the pocket in the coat.
I saw through the tinted window -
stars in blackwater
who stumble across.
This song is unemotional.
Forest shadows slowly creep to me.
Forest officers stay away.
Forest detritus loves the loveseat.
I disregarded cool, clear water.
I was in the water in a boat.
My favorite stagnant water froze.
Now the nights are hot.
I sweat my rouge off.
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4. |
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Green plastic comb. Grease your hair back. Don't
loosen your loose track. You would
boulder on the bluffs,
overlook where waves subside,
take solemn mountain cat naps with
burrs in your socks. You would
cut the humid asphalt after
midnight with your leather briefcase
snapped.
Flashing your smile - what charisma!
Every storefront mirror was a window.
A new rumor will consume you.
Will you remember the outfit you
wore or your gold ring?
Will you mourn the reckless
hunk with red eyes who spoke
slow, like syrup
pours from plastic pitchers?
Remember stocking jewelry, costume
runs and sweet martinis.
Clean sheets on this
bed won’t calm you. You
saw the poison scratch,
deep in his own damp canvas enclosure:
wax and mold,
cold cream, cold sore cream,
epsom foot soak and
“Goin’ Down That Lonesome Road,”
but no soggy bundles
between flat rocks.
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5. |
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Wrap long arms around the tree.
Merry Christmas, Eucalyptus.
Hard Luck Lucky sucks hard candy.
That's too rich now for brave Blood Heart.
Down at the pool hall, that bird's nest,
liars cower.
In Coward Harbor, heavy rainfall
falls in step.
All of the sudden, rubber downfall.
Liquid said it, said it best.
That was rubbing in it, rubbing
alcohol.
Touch cold marble, knocking solid.
Squeaky sneaker steps.
Echo diminishes whisper,
knocking hollow, echoes garbled.
Waft in peppery, oh with -
Oh what ardor! Oh
loner, wallow, bouncing ball.
Oh clasp knuckles, gnarled.
Elegant shake delicately.
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6. |
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can the singer watch the venue
accuses a person
terrorizes the party
a salt lamp sort of person
banana peel slipper that's who
whose hot breath is steam in the darkness
outside the all-nite supermarket
who shoulders the canvas bag of tall cans
and will this evening yield a darling
is a question can
always take issue
ice cubes melt across the barroom
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7. |
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Give the gift of love a gift.
Bite the filter off.
Seal it with a death wish.
Take it from the top.
Take the last train of thought.
Curl up on the tracks.
You are like your dog.
You make me laugh.
New paragraph.
Last night your eyes were rolling.
I saw your eyes roll back.
You said you were in control.
Control is an illusion.
Spin the steering wheel in circles.
Emotions float
like loose cartilage.
The storm is on the ocean. The surge
is catastrophic.
I am worth my weight in empty words.
Patience is worthless.
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8. |
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I only keep my own secrets.
I come from Susanna with down on my knees.
I lied on the application.
I come from a generation with different values.
I breed fancy pigeons with down on their feet.
I revere fine breeding.
I come from California with a banjo tattoo on my kneecap.
I carved my hit list on a swivel seat at Foster’s Freeze
with a razor-sharp five-hundred dollar bill.
Someone rifles through my glove compartment every night.
Once I found your letter in the gutter, drawing flies.
Jasmine rice and safety glass.
Who put the bomb in the bomb-detection dog?
Who pulled that rug out from under you?
Who put the bomb in the shoe-bomb decoy?
Who put the plume in your picture?
There’s a false face under your mask.
There’s another false face under your false face.
There’s another weapon under your weapon.
There’s another victim under your wingspan.
Who was that person shaking?
And was that shaking dancing?
Who smeared prints on your chrome doorknob?
Who put a hit on the patsy?
There’s a skeleton in the graveyard.
There’s a skeleton hiding somewhere.
There’s a shadow in the video.
There’s blood under the blood.
There’s blood under the blood.
There’s blood under the blood.
There’s blood under the blood.
There’s blood under the blood.
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9. |
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Don't stand so close to the stage.
You might cushion
a fall from grace.
This is a close call.
Don't cast aspersions on my friend.
Cast your first stone in a house of mirrors
with an iridescent ceiling.
This is a casting call.
Don't exploit my child's weakness.
My loaded shotgun is a bloody Kleenex.
My bloody Kleenex is a downward spiral.
This is a wake-up call.
Don't make eyes in the makeup aisle.
Fix your gaze -
ogle the sun.
This is a call to arms.
Don't act like a star.
Don't romanticize your scene.
You look like a magazine.
This is a tough call.
Don't love something fake.
Don't lick your index finger
when you turn the glossy page.
This is beyond the call of duty.
Don't abuse my generosity.
Your bruised ego must be a blood blister.
My smile is a boiled needle.
This is last call.
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10. |
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Though you love jarlsberg
tonight I think of you
as a dazzling sharp
horseradish cheddar slice
between two crisp leaves of
red cabbage or beside
a perfect melon sphere.
If melon is the squash of the summer
squash must be the autumn melon
but who is the true chicken of the sea
and does she know the hen of the woods?
Paul Goma describes the village
Mana, where "watermelons are
cultivated 'like reptiles,' you
watch over [them] from a tower." ***
Imagine WE could view an
endless field of melons from
within an ornate tower.
Imagine I could see you
sleeping in your sleeping bag -
I would cradle you in the
comfiest blanket I would
wrap you in the softest cloud.
*** Goma, Paul. My Childhood at the Gate of Unrest. Readers International, 1990.
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released December 20, 2017
