Invitation

An invitation to your mountain.

To patch the holes of your leaky cabin.

To use my muscles which ever ones I choose.

I would need a visa.

Across Boundaries

I will be professional when professional is fun

                                                                                                Draped in pink cotton.

I will feed the wrong dog                    when it comes

                                                                                                The font was circus.

With the same last name         like gang-busters  or nitwittery

I wish I could spend all day with the track star.

                                                                                                Misty eyes.

Always yielding to our modern scholars

colorful beads dangling   from the necks of gentle giants

Head to foot on the grass        under 14 tons of old               school steel.

You asked if I was happy with the struggle?

                                                                                    The Red Badge of Courage.

                                                                                                The Scarlet Letter.

I will write that poem for the  plastic    gutter              spoon

under the M

crave the extremes   like don't let the day end

In sweats         stripe      stretching across her

.

become a monk and a god star beaming

Knees up pressing on the seat back in front of them on my hands palms down

on the tops of them side by side on the school bus                                                                                                                                                  

                                                                                               

                                                                                                             drivers            mind.

I Think the Clock is Slow

A double hit by Van Halen.

A slave girl holding a vase.

Tumors filled the books.

Books filled the shelves.

And he would wait

and pray.

I had 3 teachers

to strangle me

as a pre-teen

something about like-

the way I would say fuck you!

like what most think

until their eyes begin to bulge  

and so forth

wide collar of one

spectacles another

claw marks the first

walking towards me old school

zombie style. 

Another Stack of Words

Brother’s Curse

The leaking brings him slumber

His handshake drenched in black

only a lochnessed shadow

Stuffed with bedazzled swallow

Sadly replacing a nail with a screw

His eyes rolling at the map

Oxygen slipping bottlenecked- away

 ‘Pharaohs gold comes in a can’

The seas dry up

the rivers crack deep

The fossils of floating baskets revealed

weaving a damn swan storm of dirty dereliction

and unmarked bills

His nominal life spills from his neck

He cleans the balcony with baloney

Wringing it like pay phone cactus