Archive for March 4th, 2011
Don’t Make a Mess
It’s Friday, but it feels
It’s March, but it feels
Off to the races without tires.
The tank is full. If you light a match,
I need a helper,
but they are allergic to me.
In the Balloon, I see them swim the Channel.
They’re safe because sharks are flying after me,
eating the only good pieces.
There is pain and beauty of the stars
that explode in the back of my neck.
Why do you tire of wanting to fly again?
Think carefully. Don’t make a mess.
They won’t remember me,
a wren in a dark cave
with ugly eyes like death.
A mess is a bad memory.
Silence is brutally good.
A Moment Being Better
Joyfully, hair stands large, shooting sparks across globes,
blowing by shocking blues of spring days,
smoking away death screens, running on top of galaxies,
like on treadmills. No grass, but towers of Lilacs like dinosaurs
stretching back muscles. Home. Unimaginable gift
for all of my devotion to the undisturbed?
Pushes of deep rivers in dark deserts,
Vibrations only, movement to kill Satan forever.
And what is Hell? I reign on tall fences rooting for
frantic love powering seas of hurricanes,
songs lasting forever and spiraling towards
soft fields that have been set on a table for heavens.
Music, shivers, my world, here. This is my place.
God put me in a stream made of electrical kissing for eyes,
nose, hands, and even tongues, but oh, Lord,
the sound, the beautiful sound.
I am not back yet, but I am on my way.
Home. Steal my blanket, burn it, stomp on it.
Satan has helpers who will not die. They make new blankets.
My crash comes at me, sledge hammer disgusted with
hating the world again, but it’s back heaviest.
I want to remember that one moment
when I thought I was getting better,
when the world was so good to me. Just a moment.
When I die, I will remember that moment,
struggling not to hate God for stealing it from me