under the pictures

[[ "they" is someone undefined, indefinite, unlikely, impossible, discovering the remains of the last of humanity huddled in our tunnels/caves ]] 

if they come for us

they will come for us

down in the tunnels

maybe they'll find us

what is left of us

under the pictures

we drew on the walls

pictures of animals

running for their lives

from us 

if they come on us

bones and dust of us

down in the tunnels

let them laugh at us

all that's left of us

under the pictures

we drew on the walls

pictures of animals

running for their lives

from us 

venus and the lion man

[[ This is Venus and the lion man and a nod to last week's potatoes.  ]]

Venus and the lion man

emerge from the soil

rooted up with this year's crop 

of bulging potatoes.

toys of inspiration or the

roots of reproduction?

all cooked up by

last week's potatoes.

Venus and the lion man

emerge from the earth.

yellow contraption

we could put flowers 

in your hair

a dozen sunflowers

burning air

a yellow contraption 

is what the folk 

would make of you 

but fuck the folk

we could put violets

in your hair

small flowerlets

behind your ear

but who would know

and who would see

and we don't care

who who will be

a yellow contraption 

is what we'll make 

(and hope 

dear vertebrae

don't break)

bright lovely quake
and fuck the folk

I want a music in me

[[ Well. Music and night. ]]

because I close my eyes

I want a music in me

I want an art in here 

when I go into sleep

when I die I will close

my eyes and hear a bell

when I am dying I will hear 

the voices falling, rising 

across the last threshold

in wave, in wave, in waterswell

because I close my eyes

I want a music in me

Thou art in me,

Mistress Night,

in comely dress

of soft Moon-light

climb the dark stairs

what's this bubbling 

up in my blood?

what's steaming

under the hood?

mother in the garden

fire in the kitchen 

mother in the garden

fire again

put down the pony 

frogs in the basement

neighbors on the party line

frogs in the well

lights in the drive

blue, red, and turning 

mother in the garden

something is burning

under the car at night

holding a torch for father

smell of spilled gasoline

orange of cigarette

smoke up the chimney

the game on teevee

twisting the aerial

pictures of snow

caught in the thunder

running in the rain 

wet camera jolting 

and jolting and jolting 

stories to 

sleep on

the dark and 

the bells

Nancy, Sikes,

Silver, Kim,

shipwrecked and 

kidnapped

and

climb the dark stairs

tempest and midsummer

salt and vinegar

the Russians in winter

alone in the woods

under the car at night

holding a torch for father

smell of spilled gasoline

orange of cigarette

mother in the garden

fire in the kitchen 

mother in the garden

fire again

stories to sleep on

climb the dark stairs

if I were a saint

if I were a saint

I would smile as you slipped

you would smile as you slipped

your sword through my heart

how we would be

in a painting of us

I would smile as we slipped

your sword through my heart

Parcheesi Variation

across the central square

a diagonal walk

from orange to black

from tile to tile to tile

from new moon to full moon

from full moon to sun

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

the large glass

[[ Duchamp's "La mariée mise à nu par ses célibataires, même" and Manet's "Un bar aux Folies Bergère" whirled together. ]]

the large glass 

behind her

means nothing

to her

the large glass 

before her

means nothing

to her

the gentleman 

in facial fur

means nothing

to her

it is broken

is gone

in perspective

this man 

he could be you

a gentleman

in facial fur

telling her

pour me

a glass

in perspective

this woman 

she could be you

serving in a 

cinched waist

carefully

wishing him 

gone