Why Build?

in a sequence of sevens
an old plan revoked
asked of inconvenienve
flaming women dance
by the pricking convocation
of reason
look for the posting
thrid floor a yellow warbler
on the first day of the year
but who's coutning?
secondly is pure statistics
fear/hope are orbits of planets
as if some giant breath
took all life with one inhale

Mailer Demon

in latin there’s a curse
so many unwanted pennies
return to the sender
come to wake as zombies
under the witch’s hammer
back now so unexpected
in the accuser’s science
that steals my vote
in the undeliverables
mustn’t, shall not, could not
when a falling tree
yields to silence
it is a tale told
by a gastroenterologist

Please Hold

the name compels you
as we fill in passages
from your missing biography
the best predictors
being this unsuccessful season
skipping compact disk of
true/false/true/false/true
to be a man of use
in our attemptless decade
this sincere vision of media
we want enough time
as guerillas of conviction
capture just enough breath
as the band plays us off

Body:Image

in all the newsprint
bodies counted in ink
the reason you live
is not because you
have been shown how
all great lists
deep gospel
entwined:anatomies
that argue
for love the violence
embraced:inventories
invent this anathema
look away
out of grim rehearsal

And We are Them

what shall i do?
wave at the new glory
on the dock of the bay
i’ve taken to repeating banners
look to fight evil
lasagna diner this friday
for the ungodly romans
on the brick house of
belief in consensus
when too many founders
would never bother speaking
when some girl is dead
and isn’t getting more alive

My Bond Villain Name Would be Dr. Maybe

and what of our immediate past?
or accurate historical past? do not
recall? or past of religious texts?
in the ex nihilo creation sagas
of conservative christian extremists
privilege was created with
the breath of caucasian man
& we are all out to get them
why, i expect you to die,
for a actual education plan
in your newsletters we poets
are some terrorists with voice
in the newspapers you
are just terrorists with arms

They Say It’s a Cult Classic

thirty-eight degrees & windy
mercury vapor lamps with
this sound of ticking
clocks slowed 1,000 times
over fields of snipers
chasing moose & squirrel
through court histories
our volumes placed together
waiting in white tile rooms
at the Faye Wray scene
my expectations in the lobby
led to new graffiti
what we do with first signs
what we do with last ones

Cabbie Love

For Mike, Andy & Liz

ending with descartes
clocks the midnight taxi
black irish beauty spills
for fun and games
in cockney rhyming slang
this isn’t funny
this aborted fare
tumbling out the door
to fraternal city night
for lack of design
knock down drag out ride
still hears cans scrape behind
it must be so lovely
to work with the wife

Public

I had a night in which everything was revealed to me.
How can I speak again?
- Sarah Kane

the trains kept crashing
for something to do in this world
exposed by fluorescent fixtures
professional, but annoyed
in our working models
we habitually forget
through public installations
i am red cellophane
sticking to the night floor
come to foil a diabolical scheme
to withhold music
for its global ironies
or car conversations
the truth in these scenes

To Look Like the Time

if they told you
you’d be this oral
& forget most of your body
to the obsessions
of childhood
wrapped by the wrist
i want to hear breathing
to discuss affects
in rhythm with led numbers
that switch in morning red
muscles in the ribcage rise
echo in the white bathroom
clinical & embarrassing
but never utter it so

Only More So

i’m hip to the size of the pond
this isn’t quite Morocco
whichever flavor you may be
well below the legal limit
Hamurabai wrote for ecosystems
not in the least continental
lest we forget origin theory
in the hypnotics of appearance
clever as a newly caught badger
in your own business
that masked man
who defines the debate
can’t afford to overlook
the truth of silence