you know the sound

you know the sound

a box of nostalgia 

dropped to the ground

at your feet

play a high hat
light shuffle
put an echo
on that seagull
give the guitar
a little tremolo

like your 

fat lower lip

but don't 

give up the ship 

is that lipstick?

is it yours?

don't tell me

you have let him

out of doors?

don't let him

out of your sight

into something 

the size of 

this summer night

turn all the 

lights down low

someone play on

a lonely piano

now if you cry

it will echo (echo)

like your

thoughts tonight

this won't 

ever be right 

is that lipstick?

is it yours?

don't tell me

you have let him

out of doors?

don't let him

out of your sight

into something 

the size of 

this summer night

you know the sound

a box of nostalgia 

dropped to the ground

at your feet

[[ I started it this evening as a sort of a joke exercise -- I heard some Eagles song, so I decided to write one of those 1980s Don Henley songs about suddenly being old and nostalgic and stuff -- but then it turned into its own song. You could do it with a straight face or not. ]]

Whose war was she in?

[[ From a memory of when I was very young in the 1960s and my mother had brought me with her into a social club. A drunken woman approached us to see this pale little boy. She said she liked my name and repeated it back to me in a low, drawn-out voice several times. Her face was scarred, seamed, pieced, I don't know from what. In those days, she could have been through either world war or through a windscreen made from the opposite of safety glass. ]]


Who is this tumbler reeling
towards us in the club?
I must be five and she a thousand.
I must be terrified and frozen.

Save me, ma, from
the fates at night.

Save me, ma, from
the bombs that fall.

Save me, ma, from
the patchwork face.

Save me, save us all,
ma, from us all.

Who is this woman with
a glass of something golden,
an orange cigarette smolder,
a face pieced back together
along the seams?

Save me, ma, from
the fates at night.

Save me, ma, from
the bombs that fall.

Save me, ma, from
the patchwork face.

Save me, save us all,
ma, from us all.

Whose war was she
in? Whose war?
Whose war was she?
No one left to ask.

into the wood

[[ it might be trance, drugs, meditation, dreams ]]

nothing else 

only this horse

only

only the horse

only

nothing but this horse

nothing

nothing but this horse

nothing

so saddle up

put on your hat

your hat

put on your hat

your hat

nothing but this horse

nothing

nothing but this horse

nothing

and then hold on

we are almost gone

into the wood

you feel so good 

you forget 

you feel so good 

you forget 

nothing but this horse

nothing

nothing but this horse

nothing

you forget 

you have ever 

wanted

you forget 

you have ever 

wanted food

you forget 

you have ever 

felt this

you forget 

you have ever 

felt this good

you forget

almost

to breathe

people say 

you're wasting

people say 

you waste away

people waste 

their days

saying things

when they could
go with you

into the wood

plasma

[[ solid>liquid>gas>plasma ]]

I go 

from state to state

(from state to state)

I look 

I look for you

(looking for you)

|: You  excite my atoms :|

I lose 

I lose my balance

(I lose my valence)

I fume 

then just as soon

I freeze

I'm stone

then in your hands

I liquefy

I tell myself it's just a phase 

transition

Tonight 

(I drive)

Tonight 

(I am driven)

Tonight 

(I am driving away the night)

Tonight 

(I may be back)

Tomorrow 

(for sure)

Tomorrow 

(at your door)

Tomorrow is at your door today

|: You are in the blood :|

a history of me

[[ It's somebody who paints graffiti in the subway. But it's also those cave artists from the previous entry. ]]

The smell
of electricity
and aerosol.

I have known
this other sense
since I was small.

I touch the
tip of every
digit to the wall

I press a
fingerprint to
seal it all

and leave
(and leave)

a history of me,
complete and illustrated
mystery to me.

With a full and
finished wall,
each cell in me
(the imprint and
insignia of me)
tells in me.

I feel a fall into
the only well.

A lighted torch

[[ Have you seen the hand stencils in the caves? ]]

A lighted torch,

then hands reach
through the dark

(reach through the dark)

The artist's hands

a conjurer's hands

reach out to you

(reach out to you)

from when they were

(from when they were)

to when we are

(to when we are)

from what we were

(from what we were)

to what they have

(to what they have)

what we have become

our side

when even the church bells 

are playing our tune

someone must have died 

on our side of the moon

[[ or ]]

when even church bells
play our tune

I fear we've lost
someone too soon

someone from our side
of the moon


[[ "Malgosia Fiebig, the city’s carillonneur tweeted that the Dom Tower in Utrecht would play “Wake Me Up,” “Without You,” and “Hey Brother” to honor the late musician [Avicii]."  ]]

what will

America pretends
America exists,
but that America,
America, is gone.

Find a safe room,
American,
under the ground
All wireless coverage
will soon be down

Find a safe room,
and keep one
ear to the ground

listen to
the fall of empire,
autumn of atom,
the spirit leaving

listen to
the pressure leak,
the hissing as
the spirit escapes

this carnival balloon
deflating and settling

for what?
what will be?
what will be?

code

the latest mythology
the one about people
becoming their code

is a reformulation
of all the old myths
of the eternal soul

we will never separate
us from this flesh
we are what we feel
and how we feel it

pressing refresh

weather so nice, 

but I am at midnight 

pressing refresh

how I wait for

the end of the world

hovering over F5

feather bed soft, 

but I am at midnight 

pressing refresh

woman says come

but I am at midnight 

pressing refresh

[[ 

"I am at midnight" -- literally at midnight but also the Doomsday Clock (real or something personal?)

"how I wait for" -- literally how, but also hints at, perversely, "how I long for"

Anyway, there it is.

]]

monsters at night

beware the ladies' tea on Sundays

beware the patrol car on the prowl

beware the crowd of good white people

beware the cowl beneath the scowl 

there are monsters at night

monsters stand round your bed

monsters in the daylight

monsters in the little things they said

beware the quota and the red line

beware the diminisher of dreams

beware the doubt beneath the surface

beware the is beneath the seems

beware the simple routine questioning 

beware the lineup at the fence

beware the cameras malfunctioning

beware the miraculous evidence 

rerun

stay home, 

eat chips, 

solve the case 

of the girl 

in the bullet 

brassiere

life is good

but is this

the good life?

it is.

when we die

we will die 

you can die scraping ice off a car 

you can fall off a rock

I will die 

with the brain 

from beyond 

making rude 

overtures

to Nurse Nancy  

what could a pale man do?

what could a pale man 

do but pack up?

pack up his oil and his towel?

off to a bright beach 

where I will bare my

chest to the wind and the sun

rub down my body

rub myself down

rub myself down on a towel

do you admire my polarized spectacles?

how do you like how my spectacles shine?

say how you like my dark gleaming spectacles.

this is the loveliest 

state of Connecticut 

If I had a pipe 

I would take out my pipe

I would take out my pipe and smoke it

god in LA

Push your cheek 

into hers 

and look off 

through this wall 

into distance

and cut.

Look at that nose --

who sculpted that?

There must be 

a god in LA.

There must be 

a god in LA.

Look at her close,

look at her close-up

close up. They have 

plucked every 

follicle clean 

from her skin.

Look at his cock.

He pretends to be
having this erection.

This erection

has him,

gets top billing.

Look at her legs

descend from wasp 

ancestors, swing 

down from her 

skirt, landing gear 

fixed, flaps down.

Look at her slap 

back on the blacktop,

flat on the tarmac,

asphalt, concrete, 

combustible.

Circle the engines and

spray her with foam

Oh, daddy.

empty shoes

out of 

her shoes 

she floated 

over, over,

her soles

were bare

above our

open mouths

her pale

bare soles