Infinity Blues Read online

go

  get it from thugs

  and

  beat some asses

  but

  we don’t talk anymore

  and

  I will never hear you laugh again

  because

  we left

  and

  it’s over

  and

  one of us had trouble letting go

  so

  no bike

  and

  just me

  and

  lots and lots and lots and lots

  of

  questions

  and

  too much night

  infinity blues

  nobody is going to be able to save me

  and i AM going to die

  but not old

  and not slow

  but suddenly

  in a flash

  i mean, a truck may go past

  maybe i slip because i am tired

  maybe i know to slip

  but i can’t watch beautiful women go by me anymore

  and grow old

  and lose my grip

  and know my words are lessened by the days

  the dark days of the artless

  i am a fucking fool

  you know

  for thinking this is poetry

  or that anyone would care at all

  i don’t address you

  when you read

  because it was only one girl i wanted to need

  who i wanted to write to

  or for

  only one set of legs

  for me to set the seed

  i am a dirty old fuck on the inside

  but not

  i am all kinds of trinkets and Southern things

  forget

  spoiled by loneliness

  and made of forgot

  i am rot

  and i AM going to die

  and it won’t matter because you all will be dead soon enough too

  time does this

  and i’d rather slip

  into the tarmac

  into the ocean

  unnoticed

  like i was

  like it were

  than feel this kind of pain and know i am only turning green

  from new growth

  i could never stand

  i am not fit to be an older man

  not now

  nor ever again

  i am broken like the lamp on the nightstand

  i am the ghost on

  the foot of the bed

  i am

  a pair

  of her shoes

  and obsessed

  like i am supposed to be

  and filled up full gut

  with infinity blues

  In the Middle of the Night Goes the Bang

  in these slow moments, when there is too much time, i feel the entire inside

  world of me collapse into its pile

  the words drift from me

  and i am but a calm swarm

  an endless end

  my skin touches the edge of the desk and i know i am alive

  sort of hanging

  and i feel a soft heart

  my own

  go into the gears, go shredding

  for lack of tears

  and more words

  for the things i could not express

  and time

  which will not wind itself back

  where the folds of what was me and what were wishes

  came undone

  like a slow dress in a brutal wind

  like when a flock separates

  and takes no shape again

  was that my soul

  my heart wrapped in tin

  with a wire

  on ice

  and a bulb too thin

  or a dream too long

  or a breath too kissed

  words they do fine

  but cannot touch

  this thing i miss

  a heart

  inside me

  when

  in the middle of the night goes the bang

  Lighthouse

  when a woman leaves

  she leaves

  and leaves

  with scents

  and all the smells

  of the house

  when a house is calm

  go

  with

  her

  she takes with her the essence

  of a place

  painting the insides invisibly

  while you were not looking

  or shall i say, i

  when a woman leaves

  her smells

  are small

  hells

  each much nastier than a sting

  burned into your bed

  in a fiery ring

  and with her went the candles too

  white ones, delightful ones

  lit from time to time

  shining

  when she left she took the pictures

  too

  no diety confusion

  or something

  either way my retinas are masked with shadows of lines of the burn mark of her

  face inside

  tonight i missed

  that scent

  that smell

  which is why i sleep with her sweater

  it is still there

  fading in the rest of a wooden ship

  with a white flag

  and battered sail

  The Rushes

  The house shook with horrible thunder

  so we went inside

  where the noise was

  coming from

  The spaces in

  between the words

  became a line

  so we went under

  the house

  then over the spaces

  with words

  The words were not

  enough

  to keep her in my

  dream

  i am almost about

  to speak

  and

  i awake

  the house shakes

  like

  my hands shake

  not

  someone else’s

  but

  by themselves

  The house and i

  shake and

  everything else

  is moving

  not me or us

  it is a none-of-mybusiness

  earthquake

  this day

  and

  you know,

  i have seen these

  colors once but they

  blurred by the

  rushes of

  disappearing

  i’m a sick man, buttercup

  a sick man sits curbside, morningtime

  papers just being lifted from

  oversized doors

  leading into the catacombs of homes

  and thinks,

  “when i am old, or not, and pass

  i hope i become

  a cloaked witch in the woods

  behind your regal house

  and my eyes are hollow

  and eaten out by birds

  and your children will see

  my shadow

  in the hall

  and in the woods

  i will haunt them

  and they

  will know the name of the abandoned”

  then launches back upon the bench

  and thinks of a laugh

  and skin

  softer than a cotton patch

  in a cloth basket

  and breasts like imaginary tears painted blue on a canvas 9 feet tall

  and calm

  and as the wind kicks up

  a bag

  and throws it round

  the square he thinks,

  “but i will be tired by then

  and my soul

  so tired now

  is like the kind of cry

  t
hat becomes so inaudible

  it is not a mumble

  but like the constant

  clicking of a greyhound

  throwing a rod

  quietly, trying to cut off

  its gasoline supply

  and i have become

  the actions

  of a man

  ready to light himself

  with something stronger than fire

  to erase even

  these last moments of

  total

  fucking

  regret

  and

  despair”

  and then has eggs

  takes medication

  for posttraumatic

  events

  and

  collapses

  on a bed

  of fine silk

  where

  he never belonged

  because

  i

  will

  never

  fucking

  belong

  to

  anyone

  again

  despite my mumbling senile heart

  rocked into its useless place

  by

  every

  unknown

  betrayal

  and

  line

  that could have taken lovers anywhere

  but

  left one

  to

  question

  why a man is even born

  with pure

  desire

  and

  hope

  hope is as dead as the pigeon

  floating

  in the water

  below the statue

  in the tank

  those new showers

  will

  wash his wings

  into the gutter

  where

  i

  am,

  buttercup

  I Fucking Miss You

  To not be with you.

  my God

  my world just ends

  goes calm

  before me in a darkness

  like a night

  is a darkness

  i strike

  inside me

  that moment

  and

  all i see

  our hands

  together

  enclosed

  around a light

  it was simple gestures

  not fuss

  that kept me in the deep

  protected by us

  if I could

  I would build those walls

  back up

  but they went Jericho

  from backwards wishing

  rung as clouded bells

  for the missing

  of your touch

  upon my life

  as i sit here so far from a home

  written in your chest

  i am sorry

  for every moment now

  i wasted

  taking breaths

  thinking

  i might have that chance

  to hear that soft laughter

  forever

  a jewel into the oceans

  a bread crumb trail

  ends

  and i don’t know

  i am so sorry

  so sorry

  i fucking miss you.

  Hammer It Home, Slugger

  Last night

  i had that stupid dream

  again

  where i am in jail

  so horrible

  i should wake up relieved

  but i am not

  me

  depressed in a puddle of pillows

  and lint

  a newspaper

  unfit to print

  or a dull sauce

  dream-lost

  and

  it wouldn’t be so bad

  if i didn’t know inside the place

  that it would never be loneliness

  that waited for me

  to break my face

  but me alone

  separated in a cosmos

  where i couldn’t stroke her neck

  of hair

  outside somewhere

  she is cornered, scared

  with me locked tight

  with me not there

  but it is just selfish

  of me

  you know

  that i would care

  to defend

  a woman against her own dreams

  from my head

  to my knees

  you shouldn’t have,

  really,

  lying like you should

  in a loved bed

  why don’t you

  you know,

  hammer it home, slugger

  and call it

  before

  it’s too late

  and

  neither of us will win.

  That Door Is Closed

  fixed red sign; too bright;

  blasting neon

  red brick cloaked

  in darkness

  and

  noise

  two bodies pass the gated store

  this is a nighttime fantasy

  you say

  “you say” that

  THAT

  to yourself

  with panic, a body fidget

  and

  it’s like

  somebody was not there

  and

  closed the doors

  Dear me,

  That Door Is Closed

  That Door Is Closed

  but

  like a new thing in a new cage

  i find the wall

  with my face

  and

  etch the wall

  for the future remembered dark fixture fingering

  but

  this is not that house

  nor a home

  i knew

  past present or drawn by hand

  in blue and white

  this

  is

  a

  fantasy

  now

  but worse maybe

  but worse maybe

  but worse maybe

  but worse maybe

  see what i am doing

  i am writing it out

  i am writing it out

  i am writing it out

  i am

  i will

  i was

  i know

  THAT DOOR IS CLOSED

  THAT DOOR IS CLOSED . .

  but, but////// … … .

  but … … …

  but fuck.

  fuck.

  fuck fuck fuck fuck

  fuck

  that is what.

  Cocooned

  i break the seal on the sea

  i enter the water

  all done by noon

  in a bath

  or by shower

  and off off off i go

  into my milky broadway

  into my world

  i count the rings on the tile

  i clean awhile

  it’s never too soon

  in a minute

  goes the hour

  and off off off i go

  into my wordless tower

  into my static

  rainbows with new colors

  seeds with seedpodflowers

  motionless whirligigs

  and godknowswhat

  really

  banging around in the cracks

  i do not say her name

  it would break my back

  and splinter my shield

  and i am just made of small dreams

  and tough talk

  and fight

  and a weakness for privilege and might

  we lost it

  i lost it

  so

  i break the seal on the sea

  i enter the water

  but i do not leave

  every wave in the
ocean now stays

  wrapped in her name

  cocooned

  Where?

  where

  where could i go?

  like this.

  swollen from head to toe.

  salty as a tear

  inside a sea

  bothered like a sail

  on a worn beach

  workmen’s prints

  up each side

  scattered

  for the love of god.

  where

  where could i go?

  if i were a dream

  i would meet us

  like a mitten

  gray cloud

  over us snowing

  in our hair

  in the city

  your hand in mine

  my fingers

  on yours

  locked

  i loved you so much inside me

  i swallowed it up

  me in a cup

  my skin

  stars

  in the air outside and between

  in a single word

  in a thought

  of you

  where

  where could i go

  now?

  My Favorite… Ever

  you were my favorite

  and i pushed you away

  so foolish

  so so so

  foolish

  and then wrecked myself against the rocks

  like a doll

  to the floor

  with myself

  then you

  and it broke

  b r o k e

  you

  with reason

  and beauty

  and grace

  loving me

  so reckless

  we were

  reckless

  i was

  and now

  this moment

  this body

  feels trapped

  in sickness

  in grief

  like

  i slipped out of time

  into a thing

  a place

  that should not be

  and

  i cannot break the spell

  of this moment

  ever

  I Make Myself Sick

  I make myself sick

  Really

  Fawning over a lampside table turning blue and red

  and blond, all of a sudden

  sitting in the middle of the room

  surrounded by particle accelerators

  and trash

  Like I could drink the whole of the ocean

  and browse through the fish

  that lie at the bottom of what was the ocean

  to find one perfect for my dish

  I make myself sick

  Really I do

  I’d rather ring you up and leave you be

  to be alone

  than meet you there

  and have to disclose what it is I do not have

  sick

  generator noises armpit stinks

  dry heat and basement sweat

  and blue eyes

  this is the lot of the crime

  I’m parking cars here all the time

  dreamless ass-face

  discovering nothing