hey, dave, is that untitled too?

Oh, why yes, it does happen to be untitled. I hope you enjoyed the spontaneous post featuring a titled poem yesterday as well. Hey, okay!


untitled 836


“Mommas
mommas
mommas
,

take care
of
those

before

they grow
to
distant”



untitled 1592


I shooed her away
with
the
empty cards
.

and then this:
you
can’t
quit
when
you
feel
so
guilty
.

she made the bed,
again
,
and I sat alone on
an
orange couch.

but I’m the whole
universe
.
I’m the fool
.

she’s the lovely young thing
and

I’m the one who
runs
away
.



untitled 4451


E has had love
in her belly
for

some time

drinking fire
and

the moon saws

her jawbone
in half

with my t-
shirts
wrapped
upon
the balcony
.
she
drinks rainwater
and sleeps outside on the rooftop



untitled 2795


I’m the murderer and I am
draped in a white
coat of
the finest cloth.

I can eat at your table.
you are pruned
and full
of desire.

but I will not sit in the chair
beside the glass coffee
table.

I am a fool,

you are a peasant.



untitled 3188


you could have this whole world,
I’ve seen it, Erin,
waiting on curbsides, dangling from one bedroom apartment
window like
seasonal Christmas lights.
the streets are broken. hobblers cripple the sidewalk,
defeating their legs against the wind,
shining and shrieking at the city buses, at the make believe
goodwill lenders, bankers and shrift suited business men,
opportunists striking their fiddles.
but Erin,
in your small timely frame, your lust for feeling, your absolute trust in the sadness
of man and dimension,
you can be the conqueror.
ugly vixens don’t believe, they rub red velvet between their crotches
and stalk prettier someones.
but you live in denser fog.
yours is not reality to devour;
it is far sweeter, dynamic, scary, amazing, bright and luscious.
fantasia, the girl in the blue sweater, drifting in and out of dream
with all reason and sincerity.
I’ve seen you;
laugh and cry, strike out with your elbows,
dance in your rhythm, the sky is green, the grass below may
be brown, whistle your song for the birds, roll in the dirt.
great destroyer of the modern world, girl with a face covered in revolving
locks of hair;
harmony
sinks deep down
into
your
heart;
that is poetry, shifting grains of light
wafting across your
hands.