Dark Horticulture

He doesn't show the
growing of a plant
inside the closet
like an endive hide-
ing from the light
outside the closet.

The jerky movements
never coincide with
intent, but move
unto their own devices.
Which is a life divided
without surplus.

Scrim Shack

Running through
the spinning scrim-
shack.

The having of a
heart attack,
beyond a heart attack.

The chlorine snif-
ter slides bumpily along
the edge

of upturned tables.
And holding on is
just not doable.

the Crushed Bug

Raining,

sun

and the crushed bug

on the deck it's cara-

pice is brilliant brown

and segmented inappro-

priate  Underfoot now

on the deck.

Tree Seed

The television screen
deguassed The pallor
of the sheen off the
marble obscene bust
Prepared for all the
corrective lenses on
the old machining table
just so—prepared.

The piles of this tree's
detritus They correlate
the sight has sent a
fright into us So
the small tree's seed
spilt around the deck
lavishly and we fight

But the stuff ends up
drowning us

Eire

I was certain you were back I've
had a serious heart attack in your

absence So far away in Ireland on
some druidic and verdant island

It's boring a LASER so finely tuned
that it's colour's all subsumed to

colourlessness Which is an invisible
beam and indivisible because it has

been slowly weaned Because you are
so far from me Because you're turn-

ing to the sea You're onyx locks are
waving, wailing dolefully Skin puckers

into goose-bumps Into blush of shame-
ful stunts

Subfusc Gem

You are like a subfusc gem full
of internal facets and darkness

Refracting light at oblique angle
sidelong to the point of things

Whose
love projected on the ceilings

of any & of all the buildings


The golden rings—who, coiled
—fill the the joint's insides

The subtle difference of the wave when they collide


Summer, stifling forest and
the tempestuous glint of metal

in grass He will let all
pass above the grassy pitch

which is leavened, stretched

Looking toward the recent
past, to try and find it

The clearing out the fire
pits The oft-painted

sitting bench

Summer 2007 (3)

Walking,
Hot guys.

Chewing on ice
all day, night.
(no air conditioning)

Setting up rules,
building forts,
spreading my things around
in anticipation of staying.

Getting used to things.
Smoking a lot of weed,
sleeping in, if I can.

Going to the beach
once or twice. Not riding bikes
(it's a long story)

Sweating too much
getting dumped.
New blog
for photographs
(that's five)

New flip-flops
for in the house.
Not going downtown
Ever. And it's nice.

Summer 2007 (2)

Walking down Hot guys
on ice. Everything is nice.
Catsup.

Reading "Slaughterhouse Five" again.
Billy Corrigan
bland.

Steamy rises from
the fries. Cooking shows
all day. And into the night

Too tired from
laying down too
much.

Piles of mulch on the
sidewalk. In front
of condo across street.

Summer sweet
Ice cream treat
Novelty.

Provenance
Lording over everything
Sweaty in the museum.

No-see-ems
Nazi, burning 'cause
you can not-see them.

Absolutley.
Not even
A little bit.

Spit.
Sports television
Aaron Sorkin's "Sports Night"

Fright of
never darkness
Allowances

for what should
not
be allowed.

Golden Cow.
Differences in religion
Cardamom

Small twigs
Arranged into
faces.

Places
Islands that were
separated

Dollywood.
The mainland.
Off-shore.

Wires.
Liars.
Fire burning fires.

Good paper
expensive stores
sweet-smelling

paste.
Rough on tongue
to the taste.

Depress-
ors.
"Family Guy"

Jokes,
artichokes.
hope

Summer, 2007

Walking down
Hot guys
in ice.
Garçons
smell like weed
in alley
on ground.

Cigarettes
smoking.
Piling up from
since the summer
When smoking.
That film
around the package.

Something else
illusive.
The city
new recycling
Changing again.
New bin.
What can go in it
what can't.
Go in it.

Black Suede Jacket

You have the suede jacket
But today too hot for
black on black.

And light—God knows—
Can't escape from its
velvety surface.

And sit in front also
of this place. And
see if you can't save face.

the Ready Descent

(for Callen)

I. the Roll-Over Accident

Driving down the shadows
of roads with sacroscant

children in tow the guy
inside the car—like a boat—

and who drives it, swerved
to avoid. Like a bird sliding

through a landing on ice.


II. Captain's Evening

Whose throbbing fan is
in the neighbour's window

leaning out to lend a languid
hand into the evening's musk

tonight. And whose cooled-down
feast of vitality-inducing stuffs

laid out. The thing was
conscious of us; catered

to our every human lust

And whose darkened later-
evening holds in as much

as helium bulbs in rust.


III the Flooded Iowa

Upon the hill, in house,
or on the side upon a lawn

the empty space inside devoid
of walls contained the bouncing-round

of rubber balls. The overwhelming pock-
ing sound. The roads all down the side

would slide into the waiting sound of

flood water.

Memorandum of Activists

All of our dead miracles
and dying. Watch

the perennial lovelorn
trying or not trying

Buck finely the vents
who're venting the dryer's

exhaust

The converted Pentecostal
church. The arch buttresses

a monument to love lost

Elegy on Yves Saint-Laurnet

Struck hard
by the death of Yves Saint-Laurent
& don't know why

Apparenty king of
couture
to ready to wear

Unprepared for the death
of one last
modernist

Heir to
Chanel
& Christian Dior