Jack Frost Singing Folsom Prison Blues
I believe that the soul
of anything is lost in
steam; vapors representing
the vespers.
& so any liquid (& what are
we but 90% water) cooling
is slowly dying,
& winter the least
notorious of serial killers.
The Modern Bard
The man was built of
screens, & each one
told a different story.
Today he stands upon
the throne of jackals,
all devouring one another,
& he is king who
throws down the lambs
for the beats to break.
Tomorrow he will turn
the last supper on its
head, & we will laugh
& watch his daring
escape.
When he dies, he will
be taken apart,
recycled, & rebuilt
into his son
(the one with the ear
horn from birth),
who will tell his
stories every night
like the evening news.
“Tonight’s Dinner Will Be An Arm And A Leg”
The Beard brothers
were not as vain as the
rest of us, & truly saw
into the natures of
humans, which were
the same as beasts,
so when we stuff them
into our mouths,
are we eating ourselves
or eating each other?
Professor Benjamin Howard Rand
As you approach, the
cat’s red collar becomes
blood stained lips, &
all the warning you need.
The Host
Breathe in,
& fold into yourself,
your eyes being
pierced by your toes.
Breathe out,
& expand into your life,
your heart belonging
to anyone & everyone who takes it.
We all breathe.
The Best Writing
I do my best writing while I’m walking.
The movement of my legs,
the drive to get my freezing ass
inside as soon as possible,
the lack of beauty in this frozen world
(but there is one there,
spectral,
haunting,
but the kind that would kill you if you
stopped and stared),
it all makes a kind of sleep inside my
skull that allows me to
solve problems,
create new ones,
and phrase the world
underneath my poet’s tongue.
I do my best writing when I’m uncomfortable.
The Beautiful Death Of Exposure
Arms raised to god,
the one tree stands,
bathed in orange light…
It stands long dead,
its only life in haunting me,
snow ridden and dying myself…
We are one body.
The Still Form At The End Of Your Bed
There is no hunger in your
soul that cannot be
cured by my cuteness.
Your burning, beautiful soul,
its cuteness in its passion,
your anger when I misbehave.
You have a certain cuteness when you sleep,
& I watch your anger & sorrow fade into dreams,
& I am there with you through the night.
You never had enough anger to deny others,
to take your negative rights in the night,
always submitting to your other(s).
You touch yourself in the night,
submitting to the pleasures you missed in the day;
you have long since gotten used to my watching.
You submitted for welfare today
as I was watching from the table,
glad to see my hunger might now be cured.
I’ve always been watching: a cat, a friend,
someone to assuage your hunger for companionship,
you poor, broken soul
Naked On An Oriental Rug
The sound of my own voice
is the best cure for an
angsty day, so that’s
why I’m calling.
Not to share something
with you, or to try
to sleep in your bed
tonight; no, just to
comfort myself in my
own larynx; and like
the shawl of a book
keeps you warm in
a new world, the rug of my dialect is
smooth on my body when
I lie on the floor, sleeping.
The Cheesehead’s Map To Heaven
“You can’t not go through
Wisconsin,” Lyle informed
Winna.
“It’s just too… big!”
Winna seemed skeptical.
“But if you’re traveling,
say,
to another town in Arizona,
if you lived there -”
“Still gotta touch Wisconsin. It’s
too important to miss.”
& so was the patriotism of
Lyle, who was born &
raised in Monroe,
& loved his state to
death, & his country too,
but his country killed him
in return.
I guess they called his bluff.
He died twice.
Once was while serving in the
Middle East, as
shrapnel threw itself
into his brain like a
child into a hug.
Lyle died that day.
Lyle’s body died many years
later, when one day the nurse
who wheeled him about his
empty house suddenly notice
he seemed more slouched than
usual.
I like to think that in the
years between the two,
Lyle’s soul had taken a
quick vacation to
Wisconsin to get to
heaven.
As the souls of his family
called him on, he’d turn
up at them with mock
disgust & proclaim
“You can’t not go through Wisconsin!”