cold dark deep
the gravel pit pond
is the deepest thing
you can imagine
a shopping cart sits
on the bottom in the grass
with a bass
in its ribs
waiting
the hole in the bottom
where the cold water pours in
who knows what lay
in the darkness
in the fissure
through the crust
in the gloom lay
things little minds know well
things only seen at night
things
only hinted at
or implied
or whispered in a story
nobody wants to hear
ever.
universe
the universe was twelve bricks wide
and each brick was a lifetime’s walk
and each brick held a parent’s heart
each brick mapped out the airless night
rain would curtain every doorway
every doorway sloped down dry
dry was just a winter’s blanket
doorways mapped the city sky
my universe was twelve bricks deep
as even drunkards need to sleep
as every junkie ties a sock
as doorways fill up empty blocks
the rain would sheet away the glow
as every street lamp guessed your name
as london fogs push by on legs
as nighttimes all were not the same
the universe was twelve bricks wide
twelve bricks kept me slightly dry
twelve bricks wide and fifteen deep
all you need to fall asleep.
men are worms and I am a cockroach
i just spent two days on my back
with a 101.5 degree temperature
my wife was very understanding
on the outside
for appearances
inside
her eyes
her mind
inside her head
i know what she thinks
she can change a diarrhea diaper
and talk to AT&T
and wrangle a puking cat
all at the same time
with dinner cooking
and the whites needing folded
when she has the plague
and is bleeding out of her eyes
blinded
and not complaining
not whining
who’ll listen?
and i want to euthanize the cat she’s had
for seventeen years
because she’s too old to shit in the box
and pees on the floor
where i preemptively place pads
to save the oak
and then the other dummy
comes along to paw litter
out the damn door
all over the mess
the old one made on the floor
and i just bitch and point out the obvious
that men are worms
and i am a cockroach.
moon sonnet in burnt sienna
if i could write a sonnet for the moon
to woo her steady face during the night,
i’d leave her breathless, pooling in my room,
and let her shiver in her frozen light.
if i could do one small immortal thing
like marking down the distance of the arc
the moon makes when reflected in the spring
of what pours from me quiet, in the dark,
i’d need a better pen and finer page
than what i hold inside my reaching hand,
and it would take an aeon and an age,
till every hourglass ran out of sand.
so never send your sonnets to the sky,
for poetry can sing, but cannot fly.
they told me to get a coat, it’s fall outside
they told me to get a coat
it’s fall outside
like when your breath
hangs in front of you
windlessly
but i just go in sweaters
and look forward to maybe
a sunny afternoon
where clouds chase leaves chase
sparrows chase light chases
chase chase chase
and
mostly brown now
the trees begin their clicking season
nakedly waiting
envying pines
statuary
my footsteps still feel like summer
my belly murmurs, “spring”
and all my responsibilities mutter,
“winter is come”
Thanks for all your work , Red!
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