32nd

I'll have to use a mortar shell for a hat
Just pull it from the ground and use it like that
I'll take this bayonet to cut my cake
Gangrene for frosting 'cause it's not hard to fake

I've got ribbons of bullets and some magazines
Hooray
A playground of monkey bars in every city
It's my day

Those friendly echos singing my festive song
There've been so many now that everyone's gone
Rocket streaks and rotten seas for light and sound
I'll settle for all the pretty rocks on the ground

I have six billion candles and a globe,
so I've just begun,
and I've all the breath in the world, so you know I'm
far, far, far from done

Another year to celebrate. "Let's throw a party
for a refugee"
In the company of pseudo-suns:
"Happy birthday to me
Happy birthday to me"


Sobbing Bed

I have a passing fancy to remember who she is,
and we kiss again
Seven minutes since she turned from the closed door
"Have you ever slept on a train?" she says
She cracks the fridge; she takes an apple
Her hands caught in her sleeves
She makes it all look so smooth
Looks up through a grille of lashes
Her apologetic smirk curls in the soft dark of the room
One season so far
and half a bed
One season
so far
One sobbing bed
I have a passing fancy, though I haven't said a word,
to remember who you are
Then, tilting my face and speaking hushed:
"I'll pretend that you didn't go too far.
Can I hold you?" I question aloud
I step away from the counter
The apple hits the floor
and rolls to rest at our feet
by the carpet
Her chin on my shoulder
"Did the apartment miss me?" (with a smile)
"Yes. The bed cried every night"
"And the pillow?"
"I held it close for hours,
and it shook and burned at my face
shook and burned at my face."

Charnel Hope

We're doomed

Bone ground to chalk
under gravely famished knuckles
Through a mesh, into a pot
where the whirlpool just gets faster
and is stuffed with winter storms

Fermented paste
down a row of desperate spouts
increments of siphon slaves
where sit the soldiers, barrel up,
balanced to receive the gruel

We'd like to swim in troughs this way
and chalk our faces

Residue or coremost meal
snorted up like table dust
Bread, wine, and marrow
Here's a toast for ending things
Here's a toast to toss

My golden calf can burn a bush
and spit ten thousand miles in every compass point
for seven hours
My golden calf poisons oceans,
shits plague, and pumps babies full of bent metal

Mine is a bird, mine is perfect,
mine makes day out of night, heaven out of day--
but out of heaven?
Meanwhile drifts the snow of bone
softly on perfected lands
I'll hold up your mirror
You can hold up mine
We can close our eyes together
Everything is fine

We'd swim in troughs of winter storms
and pat our faces with the powder
ground from under skinny hands;
spread out over perfect lands

"Ashes, ashes"
We'd all fall down

At Peace

He walked into her room
with one more night under his eyes
The nurse took up her trays and went away
Morning blew apart the curtains,
shoved the drapes aside
She was sunken in
into her bed,
and, wet with fever, did she smile
"Hello there, my favorite doctor
Won't you give me my morning kiss?"
she said as he approached the airless realm around her bed.
Her grin burned brightly, but it tired her to grin
She sighed. "Why must you be sad?"
"Cathy, you're fading"

By and by
she came apart,
singing through a storm of sand
In his arms
she fought for rest
Blue eyes slipped like
twin anemic angels

She shook her head at him
with one more night between her ribs
He cupped her face and held her for a while
"You and your finality"
She coughed against his neck,
and by the bed a photograph
to which he glanced without a word
"Love, why does God take the perfect ones?"
"I'm sure He has a plan for you" he replied
and tucked away the matted hair from her brow
"You know He's just a old man
waiting for his match
and I'll show him." "Would you, for me?"

By and by
she came apart
Stubborn as a soldier's song
In his arms
she closed her eyes
Never so triumphant while alive
Never so impressive while alive