The cats eyes can catch the light pivoting off the appliance,

just like you can catch the light, keep it tightly in a headlock, and love it.

Alive in the valley, the groans will grow louder just like the vines reaching upward.

I will have to help you bury the light and some of the skeletons, all without any signal whatsoever.

Bury them tightly between the crawlspaces and the crevices, and sweep the dust out from under it, too.

Adjacent from the towels that we just use for decoration, too.

Distressing about devices and warranties and the cold of wintertime , in a downward spiral now…

Surrounded by subway tile, and the leftovers that were left-out,

Their your wings, your song (s), is are indistinguishable from the brown sugar sprinkled here and there,

or is is dust from the wings of moths, or the remnants of cereal, or victims of circumstance, or a mail in rebate, even.

change filter change filter change filter change filter

The sentinel screams in red ink…..

Cradle those moths, and the dust from their wings as well , and please

keep the doors closed, and the cold will follow,

keep the doors closed, and I can finally stay close.

On Friday,

I am rusting, crumbling, like a folding chair

all consuming and being devoured at the same time,

like a folding chair,

to become inordinate, inanimate and into deafening silence all at once.

For my sake and yours, I can establish my position,

my deafening silence,

which is seated in a folding chair, arms folded,

resisting me and mine.

Seated in the chair closest to the cake and the sprinkles and the rest of the colors and napkins and other

party favors,

its someone’s birthday, somewhere,

careful, just a bit closer and ill be in the fireplace at this point,

I’m here, but someone else is gone, probably.

I am distant, and still trying to reach you,

to redirect, to contort and to confront,,,,

let me sing to you and stumble through my words,

thanks for stumbling with me.

I have noticed the birds get bigger with each passing day, and eventually carrion wont be enough.

eventuallythespacebarwontbeenough,

happy birthday wont be enough.

I know just a few flavors species of flowering plants,

but to know more would be pretentious, and the streaks of light are just as invasive as the movies they are reviewing,

and I know that,

I know that.

Like the plants and the streaks of light, and the biting movie reviews,

I am invasive, too.

tidal waves, and reruns

bear down on me, as I bear down on them.

and on the bacteria that has always been with me, and I am

submerged , and a glowing certain shade of green as we approach that point of the bridge,

with me until the end, with me on that bridge,

with me when I cant write, or think

and with me as something rattles away in the other room,

the cat tower,

probably,

a tiger,

most likely,

A pharaoh walking,

trembling ,

certainly,

tenaciously,,,,,

Gargoyles and the crows look down on you, the audience too.

lightning at their backs even

lightning across their faces,  even,

and I find that you don’t smile….odd.

and when you you don’t smile,, now were even.

and you’ll certainly need more magnets,

more jazz,

more lightning.

You’ll need to unsubscribe from all your other mailing lists,

to even come close to the colors that make up the horizon,

to come close to singularity,

to block out the solar flares,

This is no spare change situation, this is maximum velocity.

This is not letting the wraiths and foxes wrap you up in their wispy trails, 

and slipping the unspoken spare change out of your pocket,

this is not saying too much,

this was from October, and now here we are,

talking yet again about spare change//

Admit to yourself, and the wraiths and the foxes and whatever agency it is they report to

that you did indeed lose the board game and all then pieces to it, as well.

admire the wraiths and

kill the foxes,

You’ll need more magnets for that. 

you’ll walk the gallows for that, 

you’ll need more metal than I currently have available, at the very least.

you’ll also need extra game pieces, which I do not possess,

in this meta, in this climate,

Last October,

all that theater, all that jumping around,

Last October,

all those obstacles, and specters abound, 

and all the game pieces which I do not posses.

only to slightly widen the canyons and to brighten your smile and mine… slightly.

update nothing,

without the instructions, I lost those too.

  leave all the smudges and handprints on the mirror, too.

what’s written smeared on the mirror that is.

 Please just leave enough room to see your smile, and mine.

become a phantasm, please.

The audience will tell you if they think you’ll need more magnets, which you will.

They will tell you if your saying too much,

to slow down and

to fly further….

Just like the crows and those gargoyles,

just the auditors in the audience,

They’ll tell you what to do with the rest of your magnets,

and who you’ll need to saw in half,

and what price to charge for admission.

Not if your a phantasm they cant, 

not if your a pharmacist they cant,

not from behind the glass they cant,

not with the lighting across your face they cant,

not without remembering where they left off last October, they cant.

Least of all actually seeing the shadows,

and stepping over tripwires and open mic nights,

and feeling the glow of the pewter, sitting on the table in front of you,

in terms of net- neutrality, behind a screen,

sitting on the table in front of you,

silver at best.

Laughter at it’s finest.

Silver being so good at being second best,

lost and found by a wandering shepherd, a second time,

a silver time,

a second chance.

Laughter at it’s fucking finest.

fire me into the sun,

careening, spiraling,

ostensibly a rocket,

flailing and forging,

ostensibly a rocket

Hand delivered into yet another mouth,

light years, lifetimes, later,

…many months later,

a perfect delivery into another vacuum,

a swan dive,

without any swans present.

I can choose to swim back, with dust all over my shoulders

or sail back or stay adrift even,

or stay aflame, with dust all over my shoulders,

all over the kitchen floor,

the choices, the curses, the swans, all positing my position (s)

while stars streak around us, and I struggle to find out which puzzle pieces go where,

hands full of sapphires,

or bluegrass,

the sentence will stop short, I will be stop shor…

My eyes wont be able to lock onto anything,

except you,

despite you, despite my ears and my arteries,

despite everything ,

despite the missing puzzle pieces and the utter lack of sapphires.

My eyes wont be able to lock onto anything, we are not trained that way.

except for what’s stored in the lock box,

and I shield my eyes from the sun and from everything else,

best that I can at least.

the baritones tell me, in deep, stretching voices, ” we are not trained that way”

my eyes, your eyes, meet at the bottom of the hill,

I’m falling from our sun, to the bottom of the hill,

rolling with you, without you,

well meet at the bottom of our hill,

despite the utter lack of sapphires.

Watching perfect signs,

warning signs

sing perfect songs,

along perfect lines,

among perfect right angles and a waning moon

laid out on the couch, the cross.

among us, between us.

that hollow moon // a string of lights,

a canyon, a purple sunset;

I catch the light between my eyes,

tucked between the light already in my eyes

let me go

let me go

let me glow

the light in my eyes, too.

Look closely in the bushes, you’ll find more than an organ donor card in there,

looming politely, you graceful apparition,

over my keen shoulders and I know your keen, complicated smile is behind me,

breathing succinctly, a bereaved vacation for those lips,

over my shoulder, en route, en masse.

Look closely in the bushes , you’ll find more than my teeth in there;

all the way

out there,

with you,

over there.

and there was silence,

and then there were the pit vipers.

Pivoting to me ; confiding in me.

Comfortable with me and I can get comfortable with them, too.

Even sharing a room, and even a root beer on a warm-blooded day,

catching up as snakes tend to do.

Sitting with arcing currents, our feet propped up on dusty beanbags,

crouching just behind the trashcans, and coiled up at my feet.

catching up as currents tend to do.

I can arch my back like them,

like the currents that buzz past my head,

like further fastballs,

whizzing by, walking through the fire.

and there goes the third one.

I love the new but am head over heels for what is old, too,

and I can run through those walls, ( I’ve done it before)

and I can jump over those turnstiles ( I’ve done it before)

and there goes the third one.

No matter how my heels feel, I’ll fall heels first,

not quite a nosedive,

\\\ feet first, about you, lets talk in the kitchen,

a nosebleed alone with you in the kitchen,

for you, in the kitchen.

I didn’t need a chair, or a choir

and you didn’t need to feel the cold air rush across your legs, but you did anyways,

it rushes by us and through us, we are like screen doors, or rivers.

and the wind easily howls through all of us.

The wreath up so high, higher than any outstretched hands can reach,

and the howling, belligerent winds, or rivers.

This is our waterloo, this is our rockets-red-glare, the great pyramids at Giza.

This is our wreath, up high, on a pedestal.

A crown jewel, a chance at knighthood, extra condiments at no additional charge.

A standing ovation, from a pedestal.

There are only lesser metals for now, and the other precious gems just out of reach, and we know the

pearls are deep under the currents.

There are more doors and other pedestals, and countless oysters that are

worth far more than our wreath up high, but not by much.

I can see shining between the waves, between the crack in the door,

at least someone knows the value

at least someone isn’t rambling,

at least someone isn’t hiding.

I’ll try to decipher which instruments are making which sounds, and you can figure out where the predators are camouflaged.

I’ll just end up tripping over the instruments and the predators to in the dark room in which they are stored or ( camouflaged )

( and I’m half asleep_)

In the dark room in which they are played, when they are played
( and I’m half asleep_)

distilled, in various installments, blended into madness, into darkness.

Ill try to decipher the wall paper and decode the color of the paint before I climb the mountain,

It only took one coat, that I can tell.

Ascending into madness, into darkness,

(and finding where exactly to put my feet)

( I’m still trying to find where I put my feet)

There it hangs, like a star, in every way, above me, better than me.

( camouflaged)

Except its artificial and not glowing, but its a star in every other way.

and still away from me, our of reach with or without the chair.

(enraged, and still half asleep_)

Laughing at me, as only a wreath can laugh in the middle of the night,

except its not laughing , and its still not glowing , but its laughing in every other way.

I was able to get it down, however.

Down from the towers, descending from where I ascended to, originally,

organically,

( I’m still trying to find where I put my feet)

These weren’t the towers I was meant to scale or siege.

I’ll remember those towers, and how I truly know nothing about them.

and I can climb back into bed, of my high horse,

off of my pedestal,

into waters I know and look for stars that I am familiar with.

The cold air still rushing across my legs, and face,

making screen doors out of us, all of us.

and I can still hear the instruments, because I have sidestepped them, for now.

stepped around them like they were merely sleeping, eyes squinted, holding my breath, for now.

still rambling, still breathing, for now.

We can revisit the wreath and it’s place in the sun tomorrow,

with or without a chair, with or without the sun,

with or without the camouflage.

sprung from the waxy lava of a volcano,

crawling slowly

shoulder to shoulder with the thunder,

and on the back of the tender lightning,

notated in so many perilous essays,

and tailing so many perilous meteors,

and you, and more and more forest fires.

There you were, perilous you.

dragged out of the flames , born from them

Bright because of them.

Kicking and screaming with some of the other receipts, some of the other drafts,

and more and more forest fires,

kicking and screaming with them.

The tape is stuck here, so too is the narrator.

The tape is stuck here, so too is this narrator.

You were careful not to miss the turnout, the scenic overlook,

the mystery novel,

or the sequel.

In the ring you are nothing, on this mountain you are nothing,

you’ll miss the cues from your corner, and the calls that come from above , too.

The beginning of which was spoken word,

The crescendo of which was instrumental.

The middle part was mostly water, mostly,

We can head back down the mountain now, wheezing and wiping soot off of our shoulders,

rescued and recused all in the same paragraph!

All on the same mountaintop!

Chased by those familiar growling dogs from my dreams,

down that bleeding mountain.

They don’t burn quite as brightly as you,

or the forest fires even,

or move quite as quickly as the meteor.

We are lost in the weeds and in the clovers and our own dreams,

carving up this new road ; these new passions,

these new weeds, those new lenses.

We are wrapped up in the chase, warped by this chase now.

We are this chase now, incarnate and so fourth,

We are this chase now,, dog costumes or not.