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.

Clicking on the login button over

and over again,

I cant cultivate this madness, I cant cultivate these fruits or any other.

Relentless and motivated, I’ll take this turn a bit wider than the rest,

I stole that bird and all that came with it!

The pages are loading and the roots and your my virulence is spreading//

A buzzing, a ticking and a dial tone ( all walk into a bar)

echo throughout the cave, and so do you now,

warmer now, burning especially bright,

You can tread lightly now, especially now.

Stepping over primordial spiders, and fighting you way through other vicarious intersections,

….but there’s not much use for titles anymore, or musing or even museums for that matter.

My raindancer,

my still, begging flame,

my tour guide for god’s sake!

This crime is beyond the museum glass,

My crime is there, beyond the barely- there glass.

Beyond barely- there you and beyond barely-there me,

Splayed out for the rest of the barely-there treacherous world,

out of reach, tucked in between canyons, in between theater seats.

Barely out of reach,

just barely.

You couldn’t conjure up a happier ending than this one, though.

You couldn’t CAPITALIZE on a poem like that one, though,

You cant fight through these columns and these margins, Augustus Caesar.

No one could,

especially not you

especially not me,

especially not the bird,,,,

Take a look around, we’ve arrived in Rome, baby!

You cant pack your bags if you don’t know what’s in them,

If you’ve never even seen inside of them,

or even looked under the sheet,

or asked me if I brought anything,

or if it’s even breathing.

Whatever you brought with you is especially loud, and especially bright.

you’ve seen my medals,

and you’ve got my attention,

especially now,

Sandwiched between many trees,

Built like a fortress on top of  fertile soil, and

                                   Below a crescent moon.

Amidst a crescendo of croissants, lining the sky,

                                                                       lining the display cases, that are flickering.

           All that  sticky glaze, and showmanship is drying out now, under those dying lights.

 backed by a wind that is decaying too, with static hands around it’s neck.

                               It still tastes of honey, though.

somehow, it still tastes of honey.

The dilapidated swimming pool  serves as a soft landing;

                                               A soft opening,

                                                             A plot hole.

A cavernous cadaver, marked with algae and stillness.

The floor on which the elevators  stops and the doors open,

And no one exits,

But I press the buttons to close the doors anyways,

tap tap tap tapping

| >< || >< || >< || >< || >< |

Nothing closes, and I am left  temporarily catching leaves,

and   the seasons along with it .

                                       and a cold along with it,

                                                                             the cold along with it,

all of your unsubscribed emails along with it.

Rocks skipped from the hands of children,

                         Rocks skipped right into the closet.

That collect at the bottom of this pool and so many others, 

and  one day they will be diamonds.

and  one day there will be diamonds.

  There will be blood, and toy cars just like them,

                                                  I just want the doors to close.

                                                    I don’t want to be typecast anymore.

Overlooking this sepia-colored catchall is everything autumn,

                                                                     everything human

                                                                        enduring  artificially.

This sea of shiftlessness,

                    of breaking waves, indolence  and corrosive epitaphs,

                    and festival banners, don’t forget the festival banners.

Crawling with discarded camera reels and whitewashed for sale signs.

                                                                                For sale, forever ago.

                     Having fallen from the sky,

  even these angels are rudimentary,  almost binary in motion.

                     nothing has been updated,

                                                     not the store hours or the out of order signs.

You still get the same channels , too.

                    you’ll need a ladder, too.

             Silver is still the preferred method of payment, but no one remembers exactly how much.

                      We still haven’t run out of titles or catchphrases or places to hide, either.

                                       But you now you have a water tower or a satellite dish, or something else entirely,

Something made of metal, ( Not silver)

            and its not me  or you,  (Not silver)

but its crushing everything, even us.

                                      especially us,

                                                         but not silver.

It at least offers some relief from the sun, though.

It is imbued with your smile, though,

                                                          and some relief from the sun.

Crushing everything below it, everything it fell on top of,

                          Dividing the oceans, and the shattered glass.

        Don’t attempt to clean the mirror, the signatures  smudges have been there far too long, 

                                    –and also, it’s broken.

Both of our names  were written here,

                  this was no bathroom stall,

This was a compendium, 

an arrival,

        an ovation,

and  we had arrived like the proverbial trail of toilet paper stuck to a shoe. 

                  We followed the chemtrails,

                 We followed the monuments, 

                   I followed you into your inbox and  you let me breathe in there under the bright lights for awhile,

                                                                                                                                              forever ago.

Lost in a desert , if you will.

or to even marvel at the thought for a second, sidewinder.

On any occasion, for context,

some commentary:

Merely a mountaintop, closer than you think.

Merely a countertop, off in the distance.

Really only missing is the the stovetop and desktop,

and a table and chairs.

The desert ultimately needs nothing,

similar in scope to the frozen moon, in the frozen sky, in this frozen desert, in our frozen kitchen.

With a dozen needs, for a dozen days, and a dozen eggs, even in a dozen kitchens

We are frozen, and so is the night

I for one am always on board with frozen pizza,

and so is the night...

To get me interested in the desert, and in the mountains,

or any other ingredients for that matter,

I’ll need to bring the magnetism, an the red pepper flakes.

Like any good guest, I’ll carry it with me,

with your good graces under my bent elbow,

My other hand is empty, but my pockets are full to bursting.

( I can’t be empty, because I am frozen)

Waiting for your hand, that is instead full to bursting, with jawbreakers or heat-seekers or both.

This is my cross to bear,

This is my desert to cross.

Turning away from the widening gyre,

Taking my flinger off the space bar,

Here I come again!

Functionally or not,

Frozen or not.

Spinning away, reluctantly, repentantly,

veering upwards and out of the stadium,

magnetic or not,

mnemonic or not.

To conclude, and in context this time:

I hope this brightens your smile, sidewinder.

I hope this lights up something, as it passes through your blind spot, and careens headlong into traffic,

into pieces, into absolutely nothing, and sand.

Swimming upstream, just to make sure your salmon shirt is clean,

swimming upstream, to ensure your first in line to see the newest nature documentary,

your the only one in line, in this stream, among the other salmons,

the other demons,

in those lines, that is.

Getting dressed with the scorpions,

getting dressed up just like the scorpions,

when you finally wake up, that is.

when the light is brightest, that is.

finally waking the dead, when you wake up that is.

In the garage, with the dryer that is perpetually buzzing,

in the garage, with the trashcan that is perpetually full,

in the garage, still standing with those same scorpions, perpetually.

You’ll still fall asleep before the laundry is done,

one more song will turn into so many more songs but you wont finish any of them,

You wont be around for any of them,

and you wont sing any of them.

The demons here that are here, now,

the demons that are here, also.

Devouring light and contrast,

paying full price to witness

a solar eclipse,

a matinee,

a slaughter.

They will then turn to your dreams,

then turn their demon teeth and their demon eyes towards your loved ones.

They never had to stand in the garage among the scorpions,

sweating before work….

sweating ahead of the silence.

They never even had to swim upstream, or even climb the demonic stairs that never were mentioned, demonically,

the demonic demons that are gone, now, canonically.

your not so wild now,

infused with copper,

insulated ,

“and I was hugged so closely by the fiberglass”

inundated, by applause now…especially after that one,

“They ate it up”

“I ate it up”

Confused by both sleep and by streetlights, and by the applause too.

Coming up for air out of your hole,

to marvel at the sun,

to marvel, no more,

Code enforcement knows what you removed before you removed it,

once loved, now cited.

but still loved.

You have your badge and so do they///

death knows what you have done, and it whispers it about it after the game

You have your badge and so do they///

Go back in your hole,

under the bleachers,

Take your essays

and your touchdown passes, and

save it to your desktop,

files and c0des

files and c0des

fires and c0des

That is probably your best bet,

to save it,

“so you can eat it up “

“So I can eat it up”

unless you can get that fire going,,,,

unless, they eat it up,

Your manuscript, that is.

You’re manuscript, that is.

With the cupboard  wide open,

the spirits can wander in and out, and get caught in cobwebs not swept up since March.

With your mouth wide open, 

You are  just able to reach the dishes,

if only if you  could stretch out your arms a little further,

but you’re no martyr.

Knock away the crumbs and  some additional cobwebs on the top shelf,

write your name in cursive in the pensive layer of  dust,

an editorial,  to say the least.

When you do, you just might feel the wind from the wings of bats, and birds and  of dragons,

                    as for the dragons, you’ll feel their fire, too.

                                                        you’ll feel my fire, too.

 When you do, write your name again, and again.

step out of the kitchen

and climb to the top of the lighthouse,

lean over the balcony, just out of reach from the knives  and the leftovers,

                                                  and from the crowded cupboards,

                                                 and the growing gardens.

Step closer to the television and get lost in exclusivity,

                    You’ll know what it feels like to be a diamond, in this moment,

in this cafeteria, you’ll surely be lost.

          Away from the microwave, you’ll miss the heat,

          you’ll  surely end up  missing the microwaves, too.

and the spirits, even though they disappeared without a trace  at the very  beginning,,,

You’ll miss the forests that you wandered away from

                                                 and the buckets that you used to bring  water up from the well,

                    That water your carried  is colder than those spirits,

You spilled the water , and that was  honestly the best case scenario.

Go back to that well and look down into nothing,

                       retrace your steps and find nothing,

                 Look down at your feet and find nothing,

I hope you’ll turn the brightness down soon, its a little too much for me right now,

                                                                      nothing

is definitely  a little too much for me right now, anyways.