before we begin, before we recite our lines
let us learn to appreciate the commodification
of our dreams, the phantom fires deep in our hearts
burning & yearning for coins to be spent
nevermind the discotheque, the spectacle of lights
the glitter & glamour & shimmer & glimmer
of our dreams, the phantom fires deep in our hearts
burning & churning for cash to be spent
while we sit in our seats or stand on our stage
let us sing an ode to the commercialization
of our exquisite corpses, dancing through the graveyard
burning & yearning for coins to be spent
& now we start with our songs in our throats
ignoring everything outside our cubes of comfort
turning out our dreams, our hearts, our bodies
burning & churning for cash to be spent
so let the carnival begin!
Wednesday, April 22, 2015
dive breath poor cotton
all food dive breath gaze escape
before clubs stunt the heap in splits
a treat fire bread worsted the seaside
seaside dole backs
backs doorbell constable collide gaze
buttoned draw skin weeds in on skin
axe wings gold thrift boar
before fire wrinkled fevered rented dead
with cotton scope clubs
clubs spy sunburn
sunburn crash pretty chime colour demon models in gum
fired some bomb boon toasted meat pop of run
spy a spy in run on crisp toasted the fire
before single in bars a gum-fired fire
wrinkled meat bird forking match sniffing heap
fire wrinkled rented gun hall speed name
up escape before a game dive breath
take street of slacks dressed dive breath
wool wire luck the clipped thrift scope name
stock axe into food-spooned models
stunt crisp toasted match sniffing this sunburn
single pretty pitch time escape
bear before slacks dressed gaze buttoned stone time
bread of pitch rule skin rings cotton jets this spy
street thyme in weeds in worsted rule boon
toasted up toast strawberry my mercurial speed
fair time escape pooled in time
escape double constable collide name
boar before name seaside shells bars donor
wage your war on the streets
& wear sapphires on your feet
& disassemble your beliefs
& give aid to their relief
& exhaust your chocolate treats
& let loose your funky beats
& wear opals on your feet
& retake the gentrified streets
& overthrow the richest thief
& reassemble your beliefs
& let your dreams be incomplete
& never let your friends be beat
& don’t be salty when you’re sweet
& make our wars grow obsolete
my bones
my bones are fit to crack from
the electricity coursing through my vines
& even the blackbirds will sing
past the plan of a beetle on its back
or so
the magnets in my feet tell me
but even so
the cinema behind my eyes never closes
not for all the tea in your pockets
& even then
so worthwhile if i declare myself pope
is your cherry-colored relief
even still
but wait
this extensive vocabulary that explodes
inside the caverns of our sacred hopes
setting sail
to spiral out in lavender veins
my epitaph
delightfully inscribed on your catacomb walls
so much lighter
& fewer
in words
Wednesday, April 15, 2015
shudder new round pigeons on dance of
a magician & against stepping is give into cliffs language
the clauses butterfly the frozen eye
your eye your wind & a marble
it flames in given frozen clauses with round green of poetry
abstract of stepping you of castaway warmth
a terrace & infecting mass claw your clockwork flame
in ill-advised shudders new & time & dashing up against
abstract frequencies are attempts frozen in & possibly
cinema cascading derangement but bicycle & marble freeze
stage turning distraction emboldened
swept the ill-advised when the opal stepping sees carefully
electric terrace shock ink forgettable
all tooth & claw
your season is in & tables shuts the magician’s time
& has precious & possibly for magic & a sword
but on & on with blue decided cliffs
the forgotten & nevermind its snapped butterfly
i’ve got it mass stepping knife
but easily
Kathy Kirby takes a swig from the half-full bottle of chartreuse, grimaces, wipes her mouth with the back of her hand, and hands the bottle to Geoffrey Nash. Another burst of tingly warmth blooms in her belly and runs sparkling through her veins like vines. She pops the plump silence between them with a short, sharp laugh and says, “Okay, tell me again about this Green Woman. You said you saw her last year, walking home from the ‘Ring in the Spring’ party at Chris and Andy’s, right?”
Geoffrey leans back on the steps and cracks a smile. “Yeah, that’s right.” He takes a modest sip of the piney liqueur and coughs. “Damn, this stuff is harsh! Smooth, but harsh. Like whiskey, if whiskey was made by hippie monks.”
“Shut up,” Kathy says. “You love it. And don’t change the subject. The Green Woman. You saw her last year.”
“That’s what I said.” (Continued)
