Infinity Blues Read online

  You,

  You are on that old piece of metal

  a heart

  on a wire

  hanging above the downtown lurch

  of a street

  blast neon

  white light

  clatter go the taxis past

  feet bruised with suit weight

  and rushing

  in the screams

  i see you

  or

  i see your name

  You

  You are on that old piece of metal

  spelled out

  like that

  You,

  You stretch out very long

  too long even

  pale white

  littering things on my thoughts

  i project across the room

  through the windows

  onto the hudson

  and buildings interrupting

  you

  with bubblegum things

  with hands

  to hold my face down

  into the fire pit

  of night

  and

  i can feel the light of the moon

  in your greasy paws

  poster-girl stuff

  i think you are a jail

  representing what i like

  way up there

  swung with bulbs

  neon blast county fair

  white light

  broken up upon a star

  bubblegummed

  and

  blazed.

  i always knew you could do better

  nobody has arms universe size

  to reach around us now

  that we went

  nighttime hush

  and

  shadow with glitter spots

  so

  i catch a butterfly in a jar

  when i close my eyes

  and release it

  as i say your name

  it’s what my doctor

  it’s what he said to do

  might i undo your name

  from mine

  if for an ever

  but i riddled with rainbows like visions

  of misspellings and you fixing them

  but how i spelled them

  made you smile

  until you were shipwrecked into me

  sunken in

  to a hack

  because you dreamed me a beach

  and i always, under sand, understand

  buried my head and feet stuck out

  where you live now

  someone who isn’t me

  like this

  and i am ok i guess

  i always knew you could do better

  than me

  anyhow

  nobody has arms universe size

  to reach into the landfill for my sweaters

  you threw away with the stripes

  of my blanket, i named, for how lonely

  I became

  somewhere a seagull hovers over a landfill

  and shits on a letter with both of our names

  next to a rotting carton of eggs

  i try to make myself tea

  like you would make that tea each day and

  like clockwork at night it would be in a pirate corked glass bottle

  but i burnt my arm

  and myself

  in that moment i became so weak i was 33 years old

  and just some crazy man alone

  in his kitchen crying

  but i always knew

  i always knew you could do better

  than me

  i always knew that.

  What a “Someone Else’s” Is

  Uh oh,

  I think I let someone take me when i was an egg

  already cracked

  and make me into

  something hearty

  but flat

  facedown against the bedsheets

  or sometimes

  not even that

  Uh oh,

  I think I let someone take me when you were not looking

  when cracked

  yourself maybe

  either way

  we are ALWAYS theirs for the taking

  surely,

  if one or both of us is not looking

  even once

  because we made ourselves that way

  surely,

  my insides went from an ocean to a creek

  and no smile is all for real, ever

  since

  i slept with you midday cheek on cheek

  like in the movies

  because THAT

  “that” just Does Not Happen

  not really

  it is just a wish or why would they go through so much trouble

  did you ever think of that?

  a wish upon a wall

  and eyes upon the wall for having heard of such a thing

  or a twenty

  with sodas and candy

  and silenced cell phones

  that is

  all but yours

  so

  so many tears

  i am always ruined now no matter

  how loud i make my colors

  or how hungry

  those mouths may be

  –it all comes out

  eventually

  wash or not

  and trust me

  they see

  i am a plate of food left half eaten and belonged

  if only ever once to a taker who paid and did their thing

  did what they chose and paid

  and that,

  that is no love

  but exactly what and how it is today

  and everybody knows

  what a “someone else’s” is, my love

  and I,

  my dear,

  I am not exactly that

  uh oh.

  like a werewolf

  if i were a vampire

  i would drink my own blood so that i would die backwards

  or something

  do something with black magic

  to make eternal life go musical chairs

  for a second

  and i would have never been here

  for you to destroy

  with bad checks

  written out on good will as payment

  of some kind

  for love–

  bound in the binds

  not me

  not at this age

  not at this time

  when i am softer

  and

  hardly fought

  to grow more into something new

  when i have barely rested for the dying

  to get older

  as it is

  new and whole or not

  like a werewolf

  i roam these nights built to destroy

  fuzz-faced hairball vampires

  or else i will expire

  because,

  besides that i have to be sober

  i have been wishing for a new box of dreams

  to project upon the walls of my house

  the house of my heart

  and soul

  but only so you might see it and your eyes

  would go back to blue,

  vampire,

  and the audience would sigh

  for i had done a good thing

  even i

  a creature of the night

  you and i

  then hugging and kissing under the moon

  as the credits rolled by

  the projector playing that fill the red balloon

  and everyone starts laughing

  as they are crying

  which is sad

  because i will probably eat alone again today

  and talk to myself in mumbles like who cares if i am crazy

  it might keep others from finding their way in

  i do not save the day

  or get the girl

  like a werewolf.

 
; New Pieces

  i am with Y O U dreamer

  your red halo in the pillowpile

  cottonskin

  and all slow slow s l o w

  b r e a t h

  i am with you.

  past tense,

  of course.

  in the shadow of a green couch

  in the back room where we sat

  laughing laughing eating

  operating machinery

  no thought

  the glass floor somewhere shines round your legs firework bulbs

  voices drown out

  the bow breaks

  the time comes

  the time passes

  we are alone, or

  now, now we are

  by ourselves, us

  us,

  what was that?

  my god.

  still i am with Y O U dreamer

  perhaps i am the deer caught on the gate

  fast fast fast horns antlers shake

  woodcrack broken gate

  burning passed me like ancient kharma

  or fate

  or dinner hungry miners the bell goes D I N G

  and out come the dirty faces

  we were here

  once

  in the arms of the orange-fall-white-lights

  and under glass

  so with you, dreamer

  i am,

  that i sleep with my head in that direction still

  of the bed

  though it will not speak back

  or breathe for you

  it is a broken mold

  cast once

  for something new

  that just got up and went

  just like that

  and then

  then came spewing us, at least to me

  came spewing the confetti of us

  only missing

  half of this

  us

  in new pieces

  Burn Up

  Here’s the wind-up, kids … no really

  i have this amazing funeral idea

  hop a spot on a Soviet satellite rocket

  after i am dead,

  of course

  my body in a heat-guarded, air-tight

  sarcophagus

  made of metal

  the mold

  my body hands crossed Ra style

  with headphones on

  mirror shades

  striped shirt

  paratrooper boots

  and hair a fuckin mess

  all this

  with a flashing red light

  that sends my signal and progress

  to anyone of interest

  as it is let go

  in outer space

  headed round the moon for speed

  and a swift delivery

  into the heart of the sun

  the return to the light

  and

  kingdom

  if i pulled this off i would still be laughing

  now

  as time shifts backwards from now

  to forward

  so,

  let’s just say i am granted access

  i will turn it off, the sun, i will

  so you will know

  how it felt

  to love you

  and be thrown away like a dirty rag

  vultures

  why can’t they just glow in the dark

  so us boys, we might

  might watch out

  they eat your eyes first

  then the heart

  it has the most meat

  and

  they’re schooled and mannered those girls

  and rarely go for seconds

  so arms out

  either way

  and douse

  here is the wind-up, kids, ready or not

  it is time

  time to

  burn up.

  Chapter Eleven

  What what what is that ringing in my ear?

  they are tearing down another theater

  your unfinished works will never see the stage

  see the stage

  boom

  bye bye stage

  worst of all I am only thinking of you

  writing like a courthouse typist

  taking dictation

  what do you call them?

  and

  the world is about to change

  can you see that fire under there?

  it burns too bright like it had lungs

  and too much air

  surrounding it up there

  this thing with eyes

  shrouded in walls

  and alibis

  I am powerless against you

  and your lies and left to die

  alone

  with my thoughts

  which only go “why”

  an infinity number of times

  and

  the world is about to change

  it’s about to get dark

  forever clouded

  black and still

  crushed and whip-poor-will dust

  I can’t wait

  I can’t wait

  to file into line

  and disappear

  into that foggy gate

  we will not meet again

  I’m afraid the work is done

  mine and yours

  oh look, there’s a party

  that’s nice, dear

  run along

  your father paid the bill

  and

  guess with what

  guess

  what’s that thing you cannot touch?

  touch it anyways

  a truth to move your hand

  born slouched

  draped like a drunken game horse

  bottled up

  half hanging off a cubicle desk

  into this word

  with meaning

  so tough, someone get a violin

  and play something

  slow

  and dim

  but don’t even dream of a drum

  that will

  of hers

  what is that, pride?

  crossed legs

  your fingers type

  words to him

  whoever undoes them then

  I will not be there

  of course

  again

  and he doesn’t even know his soul is dying

  the light just hit him

  how fast won’t matter

  once you like him

  enough to give him a piece of rope

  and trust me,

  he’ll start tying

  fast as he can

  so strange

  how I ever saw such a love in someone like you

  and

  the world is about to change

  and

  go bankrupt

  let it go

  chapter eleven now

  because then

  then

  we’ll see who is rich

  and

  who is fucked

  for good.

  Butterbrains

  butterbrains,

  gosh,

  that is what I am

  half man

  half beast

  I don’t listen well

  constantly

  in search

  of more

  belief

  maybe even tipped like a loaded scale

  if the other side were peace

  that is mine

  my grief

  mein grief

  I unplugged from the t.v.

  started listening

  no cars this morning

  valentine’s day

  people

  or maybe just one person

  slides the noose

  firmly

  around their neck

  and pushes the chair

  we lose some

  to their hearts

  and lack of care
/>
  no referee

  to intervene

  so sad

  and serene

  but I feel like there are bubbles

  you know

  enough to fit my bath

  at least for me

  mid-prayer

  to any angel or God

  no matter

  how great

  or distant

  that I care

  and I wonder if God needs love too

  I wonder should I pray for God

  that God tolerates us

  as small as we may be

  but to him

  butterbrains,

  that is what I am

  totally

  and finally buying the light

  with my faith

  not my words

  stupid like a river

  with three trees

  on either end

  rocks and streams

  branching off into the dim light

  of morning

  this reads like a trajectory

  not a warning

  I just am

  I just am

  you know

  beside myself again

  not looking

  being my own best friend

  hairy and praying in a bath

  for anyone

  butterbrains

  me

  butterbrains

  fuck it all

  how wet

  you know

  she was

  for someone allergic to being loved

  adored

  how much fruit fell from my tree

  was astounding

  and to think now

  how it does not feel empty

  you know

  my body or heart

  from the loss of the feeling of fucking through the love

  and the hurt

  is strange

  I torture myself sometimes

  thinking of that silk-shirted thick beer-tongued brat

  with a car, a family lineage, and an expensive hat

  and what she looks like

  when he pulls his dick out

  and she lays back

  her eyes too blue

  to focus on it

  you have to be a big kid, they said, to ride the black wave

  because it does not respond to love kindly

  and would much rather be a slave

  and ridden and beaten like a horse

  in full jockey

  halfway to finish line

  and punished

  but all this with no wet kisses and no real violence

  implied

  like when you want the check at a restaurant

  and make the “I’m writing something” sign

  for a kick

  and a stutter

  of lost things

  gone sailing in the brutal winds of change

  and growing old

  and wearing out

  and rusting

  alone

  living in hope

  like a stubborn kid

  allergic to the knowing

  love has come and left