Mule Rising

the lake bed is drying

the fire is rising

the cracks in the ceiling won't mend

I can see through the starlight

the moonrise is past time

and the mule has been dipping his head

but the lioness purrs

like a murmur of birds

when you can't tell which way's the end

so we park in the field

where the whiporwills wheel

and the sunlight is nobodies friend

oh bright spokes of fire

burn out before liars

a thousand to one, but the one always wins

and your mystery satin

your fine dress and hat pins

can't cover up none of your sin

forestry service lookout tower falling in the wind.

i used to circle dreamers;

read their dying wishes

out loud and fall beside them

crying.

i looked like chalk and paper

sidewalks and lasted for nights;

fell and fought with the best

when i felt like it.

i scrabbled words and dictionary

meanings, left my lungs tied to

two trees and watched the bees

honeycomb my spine.

it was desperate and sad

and everything i felt was

swallowed by indefinite

indefatigable silence.

...but this didn't last forever.

nothing ever does. not because

forever is a long time, but

because, forever is impossible.

choreographed graphing paper napkin

i spend my mornings killing

flies, my evening watching

the skies turn starlight through this

thin veil of atmosphere. 6,800 feet

in the air feels like watching them back

home St. Francois mountains;

sky-stained humidity-shimmers

and dog-fight planes. despite this light

pollution leaking business park,

you hide on the dark side

of a building and the milky way

leaps out from behind the trees!

today the jet trails stay all day

the sky a reflection of the blue i feel

diving directly into the pine blight peaks

it's really nothing, just like Buddha.

it's nothing, really.

Instructions for ignoring instructions

darkness on the edge of the night drive tunnel

tunnel stardust back into our being

being split grass seeds and milk money wrist watches

watch as it all flows away and on to the first light

light the way for black fringes of cold leather jackets

jackets brough back from the depth of two eyes

eyes that see starlight as porchswings and porchswings as starlings

starlings bursting toward the sea change

change change change change change change

change nothing, feel nothing, change everything, feel nothing

nothing changes nothing, nothing ever does.

does nothing, eat starling, pray light, bathe naked, feel foolish,

embrace your own stupidity and run off with your mistress mysterious.

television's television dinner sinner

by summertime all the pockets were frayed
and displayed like an open wallet
pictures of empty festering nothings
were haunched over laptops breaking
their nails on every keystroke

berta, my secretary at the time
took to riding her bike every day
to the donut shop down on 4th
and kretzel, she would bring us back
a large box of assorted pastries,
but never failed to drop them,
or eat them, or give them away
before returning to the office,
with sticky hands and face,
sweat trickling down her meaty thighs
and nothing to show for it, but
a suttle stench that followed her around
until evening, when we locked the doors
and went home to our television's
television dinners

toothbrush decay

put on your blind shoes and step
on the cracks, rest your hand on the back
pages of some tennesee williams 50 cent novel
carress it's spine and ask it, 'why are you so sad?'

i'm sure you'll get an answer somewhere in there.

grandma grable gets a stable.

finger puppets in the porchlight
swinging wild berry glands of off beat
oft forgotten long lost shoulder wounds
hip replacement latter ladder saints
you better forget everything i've told you and remember nothing of what you've seen here today this long list of mediocrity is no better than a lisp on a short stick walking the dog in august misty heat of two ton town wrecking balls
clumsy afternoons where you watch spiders build traps of litmus paper
stuck to the inside of your long lost cowboy boots of childhood