CLOUDS OF DUCKS GUARANTEED

riding

in a car,

i'm sitting next to a dog

looking into its eyes.

in ninety minutes from now

i don't know where i'll be.

waking

to my phone

i checked my email and cried

from a deepening trough.

it rips the net of dead roots.

points a blank lit up sign.

homestead

in the trees.

between the road and the house

i figure some wall exists

the little head of this dog

gives me sight to look through.

dark grey.

other grey.

they fuse against the scruff line

that i'm barreling on.

give me a cud i can eat,

don't forgive me at all.

on monday march 18

this tea wants to make me go to sleep

i got out the ring today

and he called tonight

it's like talking to anyone else 

i've ever been in love with.

FoodMeds (DON'T SHINE FOR SWINE)

completing tasks gets me berries and greens.

i want honey everywhere except in

the place you can never put honey, stupid.

"it's disgusting" said the tv teen

being ultrasung. in the kitchen i'm mumbling

outloud in another language (the heard internist)

"only red and yellow spices allowed"

as if there's a doctorate in my pocket.

then my forehead glints in the hoodlight's

wafting citrus, carrots.  singing

"bowl of oranges" with aggressive joy

at spots to breathe in, between "worry"

and "now i got".  i'm so sorry

that i have to cover my face so often now.

holy hell, i will teach myself to think,

"i'm in a holy hell with geniuses."  

{{edited}}

YOU'RE LISTENING TO NOCTURNES

i feel nothing

moving in my belly.

my cheek slides over the strings

until they squeak in the

prolonged voice i'm trying.

if you hear anything

it is bending around

a natural blue darkness.

i want what you say to be undeniable

the product of having x'd out

weak connections angry touches.

please.  i don't know where i'm going

but down and quickly.

it's windy. tell me settle.

i'm losing my chord

fingers shaking under

force of posture.

eyes rolling back.

i don't blame you

that made it possible

for my back to break

if i hit.

it's cold.

did i forget to eat?

preparing to speak

a flammable target for darts of fire.
when i am old, i will not spray flames
on the young.  i promise to listen.

a little girl called me a boy to hurt my feelings.
i'm not a boy.  i'm not a girl.  i'm not on fire
until the air steals my saliva
and, drying, i shrink
my freckles amassing
my floating ribs scraping and crashed.

FRESHWATER DRUM

you mean for us to starve
walking and crying out,
against a bladder of milk,
"leitmotif leitmotif".
not right there with you.
tablelegs sinking into
cousinwood floors.
a cottonwood fell on me.
i watched my grandpa
hit the head of a living fish
until its earbones fell into my hand
and i join millions
in trying to feed the sea humans.
i don't want you
to hear everything in the morning
and most things all night.
when the weight swings my invention into action,
block with your face.
it is sick to describe anything to you.
i must be sick.
is this the end,
now that the first end
has faked us out
and turned me into
my own fucking saga?

MOW DOWN, GOES US

you have a good need knife

to run the room with.

speak up, person whisperer.

at the top of the cabinet

i think instinct says jump off.

cloud gathered across the street

with a century of total waking hours

in the whole thing.

it poured all over the one and another one who was trying not to let it happen.

decide to make the knife a tiny plow

no for dirt. for dirt. 

only use this on the ground.

blow out the dusty glasses.

i give this 5,000 more years.

from a dozen billion 

drowned to nothing.

it is that ashy, i wouldn't like it.

kill me in a slough at the end of the day.