of a dharma I don't know of, a dharma, I don't know.

Is it the content of this conversation
or the act of having it
that brings our minds down darkened streets.
again?

Again.

The same words we return to. The same prophets.
The same inkling that we both, you and me, the world and I,
this whole goddamned grocery store !

have felt that tremble.

It doesn't matter who we are reading,
or where we travel to, abuse and get abused,
or who we walk beside
that remind us
this street is one way.

as long as we stay reminded
as long as our midnight walks are guided
as long as our shameful fears confided.

uncertain in the truth.
truth in the uncertain.

Friend of my friend,

you are as close to a headache as a splinter has ever come.

Please stop reading us your poetry.

_ _ _ _, please.

Flooded, or The rain has come to wash away our dusty footprints.

Bathed in rain water, christened if you will, all my belongings learn to float.

This is the end of all the things that used to make noise, those things that made me shiver.

Yet its quieter than I expected.

I used to dream of boys in blue. Fleets arriving for some other siren's call. Their lights drawn as they crashed down the staircase, mouths pouting. I always knew I would be running toward them.

asking, sorry, begging,

"no no no, please wait, they are almost finished. don't you understand? can't you see what we are doing?"

but now. its over.

with two inches we can hope for nothing more.

and it was to the tune of a different blue.

how strange,

no sirens, just quiet pitter patter.

If anyone ever objects, let this be remembered

in the bathroom

of a dormitory

she took you in her mouth

I always felt that was strange

not that you were getting head,

you and her, I mean.

we all need to be devoured from time to time,

to have that part of us returned to a womb, especially one that doesn't resemble our mothers

A wet sharp graveyard smelling of alcohol

a place to bury strange nights

or strange hers

I guess there was a time when you too

were unpredictable.

Tissue Suicide

Every time I feel the slight trickle

of liquid down my nose

I shudder and hope

that it is blood instead of mucus.

Disgusted, I wipe away

another failed aneurysm.

My brain has yet to burst.

Happy Birthday

There was time when you didn't exist.

This world was pretty much the same

except you had nothing to do with it.

Now here you are, tearing through

forests with your gnashing jaws

and building a metropolis from the rubble

on the side of suburban streets.

I want to help you celebrate

these everyday accomplishments.

I think that people underestimate

how much courage it takes to wake

up every morning and brush one's teeth

instead of jamming the end of one's

Oral-B Triumph Professional Care 9400

Power Toothbrush

into one's eyeball

and letting the rotating head scramble one's brain.

I want to help you celebrate.

I will drink with you

vile, nasty liquor that we choke down

to prove that we are immune to the element

of water.

I will plug into the outlets with you, our ancient

instruments, and amplify the motions of our gestures.

Our crooning will wake neighbors and summon up

the forgotten lords because we are in control of the element

of fire.

I will clean with you, at the end of the night,

and pick up the merriment we bought.

We will carry the trash outside

and and drop it in its safe place.

We will look up towards the silent sky

and think about what occupies the spaces.

We will feel the wind whip around our faces

as it circles us with time in its palm

because we understand the element of air.

A Wake

They didn't say anything,
just stood and stared
as I floated.

I turned my back, trying to find
the horizon between the slanted
sunlight and the white brick dome.

Inch by inch, I crawled through
frozen water. Beneath the sheen
dark bodies swam and dove

towards the infinite floor.
My legs were numb and my hands
locked firm

onto the gaping flesh
of my sides. I remembered the song
my grandmother used to sing me

when the winds were strong.
"Take the branch and take the bones,
take the fur and bring it home

When the stars fall down to earth
When the moon reveals its birth
We roam, we roam, we roam."

Hear Say

"They say Eskimos push their old out on frozen blocks

out into freezing oceans

with nothing but a coat"

"They say the rest of the village stands on the shore

if you can even call it that.

The shore."

"They say no one says a word

not even children,

not even their children."

"They say everyone stands quiet

that deep frozen quiet

humming along to that tundra wind."

its all over

There's something about the way she says goodbye
that feels as if she's already gone.
I want to make her happy so I'll lie
about what it is that we've become.

Ridged

Twice I put my hand out,
let my wrist rest on the oak rail.

Rain fell in doses
splaying cosmic betrayal onto my palms.
I stared at the world reflected into half-domes
and saw rifles pointed at my life lines.

Remember when you told me
that suffering was the by-product
of growth,
as we stood at the window
saluting the parade of firetrucks?

There are stretch marks underneath your eyes.
There are masks stretched tightly around your arms;
a bandit's bicep.
There are days when you manage shake souls
as well as hands.
There are two letters in your name
that don't belong.

Twice I put my hand out,
turning my knuckles upward
into mountains.

Forty Nine Times: a Grieving Process.

Bright Red, Golden Yellow

He lives in Blue night while the lanterns introduce Red.

He creates Red.

Yellow like her skin, Red like her bruises

Its not that he creates Red.

He controls Red.

In Blue, Truth comes out.

In Red, both past and future.

Blue like the broken old man.

Blue like cold old legs.

Red as the powder of a miscarriage.

Blue as the laughter of the society of men.

A song about dogs:

"it ends in horn playing

when the inevitable enters one's home

all you can do

is play the horn frivolously!"

and so he drowns in Red.

with his son in Blue standing over the pool where the long cloth falls

it spreads over the surface

then slowly sinks.

Mariott Moments

[MARIOTT LOGO]

[MARIOTT MOMENTS BROUGHT TO YOU BY BRIDGEWATER MARIOT]

Jerry Linedale : Hi, my name is Jerry Linedale. I am part of the Mariott Family.

{cut}

Jerry Linedale : I'm short order cook in the kitchen here at the Bridgewater Mariott.

{cut}

Jerry Linedale : I cook all the food on the late night menu....except paninis! [beat] So don't you go a orderin one when I'm around [laughs]

{cut}

Jerry Linedale :I just graduated. Now I only have to stay in the kitchen. I used to have to deliver the food too!

{cut}

Jerry Linedale : To pass the time I would write songs about the meals I prepared. When I arrived at the room I would sing them to the guest before handing them their food.

{cut}

Jerry Linedale : One time I wrote a six minute song.

{cut}

Ronny Gordon, Associate Manager: Jerry is {break in the tape} exceptional

{cut}

Jerry Linedale : You would be hardpressed to find a better grilled cheese sandwhicher in Somerset County.

{cut}

Ronny Gordon, Associate Manager: That's im- {break in tape} quotas need filling.

{cut}

Jerry Linedale : Sometimes guests walk the sanwhiches back to me. They say "Here Jerry, you have it, have it so that you know what it is lik- {break in tape}

{cut}

Ronny Gordon, Associate Manager: statistically night shifts receive less complain- {break in tape} guests are exhausted. [smile]

{cut}

Jerry Linedale: -ike. If thats not satisfaction I don't know what is.

{cut}

Ronny Gordon, Associate Manager: We are dedicated to satisfaction.

{Cut}

[MARIOT MOMENTS BROUGHT TO YOU BY BRIDGEWATER MARIOTT]

[MARIOTT LOGO]

What We Talk About

When we are by ourselves
in order to make sense of the smashed up
glassware still on the kitchen floor
Our voice rises with our excitement
realizations and revelations
I am free of it.
You are free of it.

Someone will clean up the baby carrots
under the table
We're all filled with it.

When no one is listening
soft melodies inside our cracked lips
remember sunlight through the branches
of the city's freeways

Do you know how the boardwalk held us all
above the frozen bathwater?
Our heads heavy with our words
Our laughter crashing on the wood.

Behind us the West Coast
burned eternal
inside rolling hillside
windows