i was a wait

was i a knocked off head?
am i detuned radio?
am i misaligned spine?

you have to hit a disagreement
bust through the cobweb holds
unfold the angel wings
all the shit that brings to the surface
you understand as a friable preface

jump upwards from a standing pause
hit the ceiling scrabble claws
i will be a cat in the heart of flaws
boxed between two possibilities
rocking like a whisper between quantum states
he stares at the world, his pupil dilates
becoming the thing he most hates
until you decide to drop the weights

i was a wait
in a weighting room
in a deteriorating womb
in a lacerating tomb
a constipating loom
cat’s cradle
a static label
scattered through the periodic table

dust across a surface

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pivot all

some residual
notion of individual
that seems pivotal
and rooted in damage
routes through damage
and distorts

aiming slightly ahead
of the salmon of knowledge
to nail the truth in the mirror
i don’t want to be an ashtray
i don’t want to be a camera
i don’t need to be an echo chamber

if you keep surrendering
then you lose things to fight for
a back against the wall
which has been painted
with a warning

like gutter run off
like standing water souring
like a choked river
dammed in feeling damned
with a self built cage

time turn the corner or the page

tired bones

bone tired
i am a fractured thought
i am a horizontal line
i am a moment in time
bookended by cats
thinking of a blanket
thinking of a wife
poring through a book
watching a tv show
thinking about politics
wondering about writing something
on pause
energy conservation
and no conversation

british drama

watching British drama
admiring the casting
and the interesting faces
and the familiar places
not a visage with all traces erased
age doesn’t leave us fazed
loss of youth does not mean you’re dazed
the planes of the face
the crow’s foot lines
the life it describes
it is something different

135

sometimes you wish you could do what you feel is right
but of course, money is tight
i see this guy outside 711
and he’s polite enough, asking for a dollar
i have rent money in my pocket and no change
it is kind of strange
but i’m thinking, if you’re around
after i get my money order i might be able to help
and as if the thought were a hook
he’s there when i cross the road
half a mile up
he says he needs three
which i can spare, though he tries to hustle for five
it’s fine, we’re all trying to survive

working class aspirations

working class aspirations
come with qualifications
the things you can be
and the things you can see
for yourself are locked into compromise
you see with realistic eyes
do something practical
put away childish things
deal in the actual and the factual
and work with what brings
in the money
you cannot be an artist, or funny
you cannot be a writer, a singer, an actor
you were born in a place and you are anchored back there

cored

take the apple and cut to the core
eat the meat throw it to the floor
and under your feet, because you need it no more
trample it into the dirt

a child beneath an apple tree
a dropping leaf, the words set free
i am the shadow that fell me
travelled back in time to see

these ghost come from the other room
whitenoise channels in the womb
shuttle back and forth; a loom
dismissal can be an easy tomb