automatic

take this one minute against the grain -
wait for sparks or time's dull beat.
we arent heroes in the later branches or
floating beyond this or that ring.
bring the front style realm to
find our breeches in the last intact streak.
its automatic.

here, the vinyl sided dogs of left field -

will the speaker please yield?
tracking like doughnuts on the spoken
wheel -
desperation is a flirty word -
western floors and the cracking peel.

untitled, loss and what comes next

forget all these cares: the rising seas, the dying seas - the lost grasses of california and fortunes falling down like skatepunks on the half pipe - a bag of bread tied to the belt loop and hop the back fence.
i mean it.
this world is getting tired of asking nice - thinks its high time the 7-11 closed.

scour our teeth with salt.
wait for these lenses to return.
we love a barbed wire fence - a white plastic bag whipped in the wind.
the cameras are rolling - meteorites hiss to the sea.
find the last pinkening dusk and wade across.

oh, sure, we all have to die sometime - take the last train to clarksville – and lay down in wine-soaked dust.
there are no queens - and the kingdom is a piece of junk.

i've stood at the wide open window - four a.m. - and watched venus rise with the last quarter moon.
the sun is just behind those sunburned hills.
the old woman is young and turning this way.

think of the mowed corn as well as that tinkling bell circling our house each each night - then i thought it the ghost of one of many dogs i've found and lost; - sam, who was with us for less than a week - tore the stuffing out of my stepfather's front seat.
i cant remember where he went after that - we came home to find the books unshelved, some half-eaten, and shit on the floor.

now i recall that long ride from home.
my mother opens the door – shoves sam out - puts it in drive, and we leave him to rust.
she says we're setting him free.
out the back window i watched him watch us leave, black and white dog in the center
of that road, gravel and carved through the flatland and oaks - laurel in bloom.

sometimes we find newborns, sightless, pink and doomed, alive beneath tires dumped in the arroyo - most of these tires will never be moved.
the wind kicks hard as the sharp moon slips beneath the ribs of these mountains, rising from the bay.

i'm glad for dexterity and the texture of skin - and the barn owl that floats above my head while i piss.
how she speaks in my tongue as she lands at our door.
i'd like strong water to rinse me as it clatters and glides down the slope - i want to be clean before we reach the shore.
i want to walk on my feet into the next world.

now is a good time to laugh - may 2006

is there a person in this room id hunt with?
you who have no luck

you who talk too much - saying all the wrong things.

take a look at the mirror in my pocket
you who have no sidewalk
beneath you - who have no sky
beneath you
who have no way
to see you

i am not here to tell you
"you are pretty!" "you are smart!"

neither of us is old enough for these lies
we do not know the terrain
we cannot make our horses sleep in the cool dawn

your face is not thinking clearly enough.

your sneakers are wearing down faster than your new found love can grow.
its a lie to say you dont know why and besides
the sky will tell you everything

the sand clotted feathers on the beach - do you think they grow on
trees?

your own breath is lousy with rocks and
stone and
the forest that lives behind your breast is
filled with last thoughts and deeds

say goodbye and beg for mercy
says the world that you kill

its in the air tonight.

a futile hope for jet fuel and please return the olden days of round
tables and our cheap wit.
arent we tired of our useless coils and braided words that circle the
drain clockwise or not.

whose time do we tell as well as our own?

look at your blank faces and look at the fire eating sky
which photograph will save you now?

you want to be thanked for these dead swans
what kind of mask have you earned - i'll tell you

i'll tell you

19 march 2009 2am suisun marsh

someday something's going to happen -
some pipe is going to freeze - something will bring me to my knees -
i'll fall to the ground and i won't rise.

i can watch the news to see how people die.
mostly i've tried to hide from
that thought -

the great loss of sight.
never more to see these trees,
this sky -
this ocean that climbs.
those eyes -

i look up and find
war machines circling the
divide between their world
and the next -

in the next world
we tell stories
of when the planes
ceased to fly
we forget the dark cities once
blotted the night sky -
and then -
then we still
will be born
and still die.

o! west

1

o west - o great and fine skied land of discontinuity and
when was the last time we danced this way -
tell me the times that each pine felt loved by you
and these stars over mount baldy - mount whitney
mount flagstaff - mount holbrook and
the glittering dawn over apache nation

and take this time at the hollywood pier spilt milk spilling
into the sea-
waiting now for that ocean breeze to blow
great horned owl singing on the wires
the news of that world - diablo snow capped and the
night is rich - clouds fly loosely in abandon
and repose

like this:
three deer in the road
two are standing
one is dead
two stand above, looking
at the one who is dead
the one who is dead is dead
and then
headlights come and the two bound to the side and up
the steep flank
of the cliff made of bones - and the last one knows
is the bright squeal
and listen to this:
great white bird smashed
but alive
on the side
of the road
snatched from the margin -
dies by injection.


2

what we mean is to
build an environment
and what we dont know
is the reason -
maybe its this that
makes us seem foreign

approach the elk around each bend -
the dips in the road are for you.
a raven pair circle elephant rock -
raven leans over
and liquid beats drop.


3

we're under the lip of
the western edge -
o! great western sea -
o! carver of land.
the stream you follow to get to the strand
for over a year had ended in
sand, in a sink -
now has cut a new path
to the surf

why not feel chastened by the limitless world?

too much talk of the
void -
say, 'what void?'.

so we listen to the raven -
we anticipate what follows:
we look through windows -
we read the leaves
at the bottom of
the tree.


4

a couple dozen sanderlings
fifteen willets -
two red tailed hawks describe
horizontal eights
against the bluff -
those ravens i spoke of -
a common loon.
a half dozen or more
adult pelicans plunge here
and there for food - some
are in their courtship plumes.
surf scoters pepper the swell.

elk droppings
in the road -
a kestrel kiting and the wide
bright sea -

here,
we stand on prominences.

we say:
the pacific.