on seeing

on seeing, the ground did not immediately

fall,     away

on seeing, it remained still and green

and grass

sway

the sky remained ribbed and

picture

on seeing, the sky was so

blue with the

calm ache

of your your back

to me

of indifference

on seeing, boy you

stretch hands like

you once did on

my lap

you walk with weapons

on seeing, this does not

matter                    , to walk to

own hands

(your hands)

which lingered where they

shouldn’t

on seeing, everything is still

on seeing,     you walk

away from me,

the crime

scene.

and i sit, with the place where

it happened     , wishing

i could

like you

just simply,     walk away

on seeing,         i am the calm

blue ache,

of a body              , invaded.

on seeing

Tuesday second second

it was a Tuesday maybe
she was leaving the country hey
for almost a year, spoke about
a different land, place,
spoke of smoking, how she hated
second hand smoking
i told her she’d get used to it
told her not to worry,
10 months of exposure
would not give her cancer
but hey, maybe I say that more to myself than, anybody else
you talk about nicotine, old lovers who still
live in your chest
in your lungs
between your ribs
not much room in there for else
you look so young, and I look so old
i had a dream where I
let you come back in bed
i have dreams where I let everything slide
except remember there are two
you and you
if you put me on a hill of rolling
wild flowers and grassy hair
i will let you set fire to it
and burn out these edges
and my best friend shall cough everyday
she is in Japan and maybe you won’t, and you won’t, and I won’t but she will get cancer

Tuesday second second

roadsidekillings

laying in the strip of grass
roadside
a body sunken
the corpse of a possum struck from the
sky, now flat and resting
settling in for the long sleep
it’s exciting when they change the ad posters
at the bus stops
in this suburb
makes you feel less
deserted
neighborhoods have a funny way of
doing that
they hold you so close and tight
you begin quickly
to feel isolated
nobody really lives here
they are all pretending
to be wives, to be husbands, to be daughters, to be sons, and dogs, and old couples across the street
when I pretend, i pretend to be dead

roadsidekillings

meat with beef: food/thought

meat sat with beef on the hill side

and spoke about dogs

he said in tones of grass and sky

they say that where we go to the place inside of what they call a ‘dog’ i see them in my dreams running like a tide of teeth and stomachs to sort through the little bits of ourselves

beef twisted his head and thought about this

beef thought a thought that he decided not to tell meat

meat continued

leaves us wondering what they do in with every little piece of the grey matter in the part of us that thinks about things like sky and grass and fences 

(there is also the tone and smell of a fence)

leaves us thinking thoughts like, is every thoughts that we have a little blade like snip snip of grass that starts to in tiny little moments strung together get taller and stretch till it dies and we forgets; are the dog stomachs really like our mouths how we munch at the little blades up high of grass (that touch the sky) ‘cept their stomachs they eats thoughts or the bits that think?

(there is the hotter tone shill and corrosive, a smell that burns red, of a fence)

beef thinks again, munching on green and staring at the sky

beef thinks about dogs (cause beef’s seen dogs) and thinks about how

the dog might even think about anything

meat speaks again

sometimes we tries to think about where all of the bits came from, but we don’t think we know…

meat lies back the ground disappearing to a sky pealing open like a can

there is a first thought that ever was and it was like this grrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr

beef stops chewing grass, doesn’t even think about what to say, just says

whats that?

meat answers

the mincing machine

(the tone and smell of the fence comes in waves of heat and static like wuuur wuuur wuuur)

meat with beef: food/thought