a liar

undulation told in the bathroom
a liar. house settles between
finished and tall, and tall and
unfinished. the first howlings
of the year. bathroom shudders
a drip tap told me. to fear is
a fiber thing. houses are really
large woodwind instruments we
chose to live in. unfinished shows
us this in gale force, a low calm
pitch, resonating a window. left
open. fear is a fiber thing. as is
the rolling bucket. the slow sliding
then the silence. a little gasp.
undulation told the curtains it
was a liar. closed the doors. made
a little room, of stillness. sat. drank.
washed it’s bleeding teeth.
folded dirty clothes. ate a cake of soap.
undulated. said i was a lair. unfinished
house next door sings like a flute
i wonder if it confuses the bats and their
precious
little
echos.
whether it sounds like their mother.
and they begin to roost in her chest chamber.

a liar

6:30 – 12:10 the next day (or, a punk prayer)

(1)

i can’t explain
i just wanted to cry
and you wanted a cigarette.
go then
that’s when tears started
it gave me shivers
my whole body moved
to riot
revolt
revolution
we laugh because they are funny.
right?

(2)

later. the river looks so dark
and full.
leaping a little far into
distraction
from the rain
we talk about floods.
as the red light curls
with the gold
you’ve never seen it from this side.

(3)

only the water seems shiny
everything else has lost its luster
better when it wasn’t legal
better when it was free

(4)

i told you already that it was shit
i told you already that it was fine

(5)

once we’ve reached queen st
just on feet.
we close our eyes to the blaze
white light
right. this is a shopping mall
sliver woman with no vagina
advertises handbags
(i know cause i checked)
(you know cause i told you)
do the lights turn off?
do the manikins ever see the dark?
are they always bathed in white light
and does that make them angels
who is light like this for
at 3 in the morning.

(6)

at the last bar, they serve me
Gordon’s
but you’re the only one complaining.
we drank Tanqueray when it wasn’t legal
we’ve got better tastes
i know.
i know.

6:30 – 12:10 the next day (or, a punk prayer)

600 meter eyes

600 meters to fire hydrant, if it doesn’t add up,

speak with governed throat. who owns your eyes?

eyes stare a parking lot

wide! open!

scribbled on the concrete, save the trees.

i guess the cars mean they didn’t.

who owns your hands?

walk this way. have a break, have pure

brandy. learn to walk with bottle feet.

you won’t slip if you just sit the fuck

down. who owns your feet?

boy sitting at the bus stop looks at

me and says. nothing

today the clouds look like they are leaving

me

back to sea. but then i saw her mouth

her eyes

eye lashes

sunnies.

she owns my eyes now and all of their

600 meters.

600 meter eyes

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

for the days he hacked too much away (or; pinocchio is told its okay to play with knives, because god did too)

…one day pinocchio \asks me\?
where he came from
so I gave him a \\knife\\
\\sandpaper\\
\\wood glue\\ and
\\danish oil\\
((I TOLD HIM TO FIGURE IT OUT FOR HIMSELF))

the priests make \too many; mistakes
but perhaps it is simply
((CRUEL))to talk of  – genisis – \as if it was\
easy(?)
as if god did not
CUT THE SKY out of his eyes
the sea OUT OF HIS THROAT
as if light \\WASN’T\\BLOOD!
as if he wasn’t just afraid of the empty…

…so it was that pinocchio begun to
;grow yew trees
;chop and prepare them for the wood glue
;attach them to empty spots
\\for the days\\that pinocchio
had hacked too much away

for the days he hacked too much away (or; pinocchio is told its okay to play with knives, because god did too)

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

Tourist

and that night, she grated her face upon a palm tree

cause mama pays special heed to splinters and spines

stumbles on a bus home

gets on for free, takes lots of pictures

imagines she could kill the world over, and over, and over, like turning

soil and replanting

and that night, she lied about everything

she imagines she could lie herself to a different place

stumbles back on pavement, wonders what a car feels like

if it could take her to space.

to ocean. and that night, she knows you are following her

and that night, she screams at traffic lights,

because she knows she’s gonna die

and that night, she just says hurry, hurry, hurry

get it over with, i’m tired of the slow creeping

just fucking split me open to bitumen, bleed me out,

try and love me with your choker hold,

try not to love me at all, try not love making corpses out of me

and that night, she watches boys in the distance

playing football under stage lights

remembers running for her life

being taught

to love, being hated

 

 

Tourist