And Now History

in the burn of bay leaves
those coals women keep
suggests safety of entry
to hear how you landed
it is mint and soda water
tossed back to clean throats
for dust once touched hands
reenacts what was has origin
follow but never care to speak
those that the winds are relevant
nod to crowd it is good that you
came here and place is my time
i come with letters never sent
read and then we will talk

Clark Gable

i’ve heard this before
met a closing department store
where we left our movie
careers as hearts of gold
like prayers put in newspapers
once a silver voice is over
at times still strike three
& scales my grays for you
in structures of second chances
whose certainty of past
not like a stone but like a fire
catches in the santa clara
focused here to witness
the last work i will ever do

I’m Afraid I Can’t do That

this is another pennied december
& machines that remember ozone
clean our rent in kitchen light
perhaps dearest geek sputters
old science is more voodoo
what was rose to our speech
is blue light therapy to me now
to conserve argues common sense
if my spirit initiates from clay
all disappearances in czechoslovakia
are here in the great grain storage
where mamma continent speaks
in comfort and immaculate turning
we have the need for more grace

A Miracle Happened There

and they heard some noise
like any saturday morning
joy and separation of lovers
at the end of roads in rome
there’s terrific parting gifts
with fictitious travelogues
helen was never out of paris says
your popular website infatuation
duchamp was made of streetwalkers
it was never just dammed water
that made mistrustful believers
of the companions of father christmas
the very model of our drunkard
out of place in the land of tomorrow

Mother if Another

for kari

o blast furnace, o taxonomy, o pharmacy
you reborn world flood mythology
added on yellow paper to collage nouns
that sentences admit being afraid of
once divided labor this aboriginal dance
utopias expelled by awkward robots
is careful articles in colonial sculpted city
it was your past in my present that made
today in unfair years go by unpainted
righteous regulations in ritual of podcasts
me the electronic mother of true temper
for a lullaby without just more traffic
what that word was left only artifact
memory teat tonight i breathe with you

We are Beggars Ourselves

here is the party of historical queens
answers by post-bellum house tales
behind doors of tribal scarring bleed
another song on three ships tells
zero scores without surprise
it is said never turn around
the soul is antique & mouth born
ready for fight or flight by scapula
that twist and grind under nighttime
consider it is what mice announce
slight sourness every kitchen returns
to anger and is left as body function
two in the morning crawls cotton mouthed
from which is a voice unsatisfied by quiet