My Relationships with the Arts [May 31st | 134/365]

I'm a little bit in love with Schoenberg
like wanting to fuck a windy day I see out the window
leaves and branches flailing in harmony
the occasional cloud rhythmically screaming across the sky
like I want to buy Pynchon a cup of coffee
and ask him if he likes it rough

The 88th Thing to Do with a Lobster and a Slightly Soiled Pair of Lederhosen [May 31st | 133/365]

A man will call, he will tell you he's a lobster, but don't believe him. Nevertheless, tell him that you're wearing lederhosen and when he asks you about the barely perceptible stain marks tell him that they're just crustacean eggs and definitely not the viscera of the last man who crossed you. He will ask if crustaceans lay eggs and tell him you don't know, you're too busy eviscerating people who ask inconvenient questions to keep track of the procreation methods of the various subphyla, something he'll say he understands. He'll tell you that the money is where it supposed to be and all the trawling reports too. Tell him he's a good lobster and that he can lick your lederhosen clean. He'll say that he doesn't think lobsters have tongues. That's when you know he's a traitor and that there are men outside who'll break down your door three seconds hence. Hoist up your hosen and leap out the bathroom window. Run, as fast and as far as your leatherclad thighs can take you.

Regrets Flap Their Wings [May 30th | 132/365]

sensibility crushes idiot improvisation
under drive and force
sweeping all poor decisions
into the quiet river

diving after flying objects
is a matter of
muscle memory not thought
consciousness is a hindrance

then suddenly you threw
paragraph after paragraph of
contract law at me
like birds swooping in

there is a breath
to me like stops
and starts like being
beating like a wing

You Are Where the Trees Have Yet to Lose a Leaf [May 28th | 131/365]

Hold on to my elbow
I will keep my arm close to the body

I will get you across the river
All the way to school

Spring Tanka [May 28th | 130/365]

In this weather I
can't tell the difference between
the road and the sky.
Even the violet seems
not to have color or roots.

Relations with the See [May 27th | 129/365]

he pretended the insult
was a joke but
the apology was ebbing
and flowing like tides

whistling like the bird
perched outside the window
startled the humans inside
unused to beastly noises

you watch his hands
while he touches you
and he angles away
when your body approaches

the cardinal sits eating
the offering in silence
we watch expectantly waiting
to hear doctrinal pronouncements

Making the Tendentious Real [May 25th | 128/365]

a hole into another
universe passed over me
like a plane traveling
across the Atlantic Ocean

his story is simple
it is always simple
the world is what
makes the events complicated

I will sculpt your
shadow out of clay
I will hew your
iris out of granite

he said he would
rather the musicians stopped
paying attention to themselves
and focused on you

Haiku [May 21st | 127/365]

Jet trails pink against
a blue sky fading to white.
The birds are soundless.

Sickly Menageries Seen Boldly [May 19th | 126/365]

the delectable comestibles you
have selected most carefully
sate my hunger joyously
at a journey's conclusion

the lamentable is imaginary
when simply ambling away
as if measuring borderlines
marks a serious distinction

red splattered ink bleeding
prettily unto the evening
paper under the settee
in the patterned study

meeting on cold beaches
calls for building castles
so that lastly we
can banish calendar discordance

Entropy Doesn't Work Mysteriously [May 18th | 125/365]

you hid the true
image by drawing out
the lines making it
look like an error

if we remind me
often enough I might
forget because all information
must submit to entropy

signatures are very hard
to forge but easy
peasy to fake because
few people compare rigorously

I thought that if
I focused on all
the good the bad
would drown from exhaustion

Daydreams Are the Realer [May 17th | 124/365]

picture a great factory
waiting for a time
to start production again
of its outdated product

the spires that invite
descriptive terms of flight
and halls that suggest
size beyond human comprehension

the silence inside feels
like it has weight
and it presses down
with purely mental force

a bird has interrupted
your imagining with song
or so you think
you are not sure

Orienting the Senses [May 16th | 123/365]

The bark and scream of the bird beneath my window cleaves the air setting pressure upon fragile tactility threatening to collapse into floating nothing

The sky through my page-shaped window is aged frightful and unwavering in hue and emotion blue as the memories my brain is unable to bear on my consciousness

Minds Failing in Sync [May 15th | 122/365]

you asked me about the last day
I would ever forget
I never even knew there could be
a final forgetting
I thought the erasure of memory
was forever
that nothing could remain of us
but the lie

Reactions of a Disbeliever [May 13th | 121/365]

no I'm pretty sure
this isn't a long
lost parable of Jesus
he didn't barbecue pork

John Wesley Harding didn't
buy you a sandwich
no matter what this
credit card receipt says

you realize your story
only makes sense if
Che Guevara really was
a twelve foot reptile

the headwaters' chemical composition
tells you little about
how a river tastes
upon meeting the sea

Eternal City [May 12th | 120/365]

The Thirteenth Rome is being founded one tent at a time under the majestic sweep of a highway overpass
We glimpse it as we drive by but do not comprehend the sight of the Empire demanding its existence back

Impressions of the Crowd [May 12th | 119/365]

Beneath platinum hair
An iron face regarding
With a look alien and impersonal
Bending towards an openness
Emphatic of suggestion

Noting discolorations of surface
Without tone or hue
The mark of picture upon idea
Heading towards the sounds
Of a universe of justice and love

Sleep privies the unlikely dreamer
Wakefulness the alert
There is no need for imagery
On your bare walls
Only a disassociative mind

Satisfying Yet Essentially Considerate [May 10th | 118/365]

crawling out of ashcans
and spreading like floral
centerpieces across a table
between uncomfortably extrovert guests

the pressure to be
expresses itself as sounds
pushing through air towards
ears open by necessity

a martini must be
what cleaning solvent tastes
like to the floor
said the expressive poet

exploding like raucous shrubs
riotously expanding across gardens
setting color against contrast
slipping between the senses

Division of the Faculties [May 9th | 117/365]

our trust we do
not put in poets
their highly contentious arguments
and charged public language

it is strange to
stare at yourself in
the mirror as you
sit on the toilet

all the words lie
flat on the page
one dimensional vectors on
two dimensional wood pulp

and thus he was
out of the pool
of his own vomit
pulled by gentle minds

Slicing Categories [May 8th | 116/365]

The dew glosses the blossoms
Swinging below the scrawls
Written in the windowmist

The letters abruptly wither
On the pane

Tanka [May 7th | 115/365]

A spider reflects
in a pool as it's walking
along a broken
branch that was broken last night
off a tree by heavy winds.

Spring Haiku [May 6th | 114/365]

The glow of the moon,
faint through clouds threatening rain,
keeps me company.

Next in the Progression [May 5th | 113/365]

it wasn't the sun
that made me panic
but the glowing stain
I couldn't see through

the only way to
avoid falling into this
hated dance is to
know its steps unthinkingly

the republic of those
who know they're right
lies unseen asleep down
in the hollow Earth

the sun arrives dancing
rising from the poles
I see a sun
darken our exposed eyes

Alloy [May 1st | 112/365]

I touched the skin gently
Where it looked the most angry
Hinting most at disappearance

Your metals aren't poisonous enough

Nothing's nothing anymore
There's always an imprint
A memory to cherish or hate

It is too soft to leave a trace

Calm the forge and let your tools fade
Heat will only create a glow
The rigid shall not bend for you

Accept the shape it grows into

City Darkness Humans [April 30th | 111/365]

empty sky stars
house open window
silence shadow fence

running man garden
shout cry grimace
flowing liquid wet

head eyes stillness
thoughts mood knowledge
moon fear terror