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Imagine a beach where the waves fold into curls of
damaged brightness and white houses Impressionistic swirls of daybreak through window screens. Noise pooled
in the divots of My mother washing lake-water off her hands with tap water. Cold and distant
as herself on My dreams begin in an overgrown field in Indiana fireflies spark in staccato
flashes. Then a diamond as big as a car. Noise shot from a finite point. The sky steers the earth. A hand emerges
from the noise then Raindrops hit our skin, undid the old photographs in their bellies on
the cool sand. A gull Something justifying about this beach, this lie, this hunger of gulls
making strong Our footsteps trailed behind us then pushed their signatures out. It’s almost as if I’m in a place not quite a place, heaven almost. When
you turn on a lamp Imagine Chicago. The same ejaculating fountain in the same arc and the
birds all hung with The crayon picture you drew of the two men carrying so many rifles up
the hill they could The EL rattles pans from cheep studios. Go back to the beach. No don’t.
Rivers keep Dear Reader. One night when I was still becoming a man, the moon threw
down its white and since then I’ve been shocked. So I tried to forget. To float away. A hiss of dark liquid and I’d join
the sky. Two lawn chairs so close they’re kissing. Traveling cross-country I imagined
the old Volvo In the heart of man is how he disappears, holds himself to fault and
faults, and loves the A Cheetos bag flung against my leg outside the Arby’s and I sat down
right there and The lake has layers of cold. Hook a leach through its head. My Bears
jacket is flimsy. Half of The way an indoor pool opens like an orchid does with wavy blue light
on the ceiling. Easy. The woman in the sphere with the six cycles. Easy. In the library is a book called The Third Treasury of the Familiar
and nowhere in that book will In the courtyard of my friend’s apartment in Hollywood while reading
a book light fell on In an abandoned Sears parking lot I found a note, it read, I wish
you were here but I’m glad you’re So I mistook the child by weight for the phonebook. So I left the cat on “Nap” all day. The cup of coffee (is)
a
bomb If there are faces in the clouds they’re cold and far away. Tonight I stare into my blue eyes, at my ratty T-shirt, my uncut haircut,
into the moving of Minnesota. Trees sound their alarms. I have dreams where I’m in a moving
relief, the A dog vomiting up red letters by a dead bush. No one understands a single
night of their life A crane lifts a blue box into the blue sky. Rain makes holy static on
a lake. I had a long Head trauma and the smell of caged crickets in a bait shop. I’m beginning to take the correct number of drags from my cigarette before
I bend its body For in the abdomen of a lightning bug is an old man who occasionally
drops his lantern. but does not leave the world, not quite. Night volleyball games in summer.
You and me in Wasp paranoia in campground restrooms. A wasp looks like an old woman
pulling a black Pressing wet handfuls of sand through my fingers, storm Clouds pulling
apart in their tongue The ocean looked like us all, heaved together in a dark beyond thought.
Look at me on How do you write about failure at all?
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1.
Nobody will untie you. As the train falls over each rail and you’re jarred
to sleep. When and wake on the same train. Hold on. Stop the poem. We were both wearing white. The parade went by, pinwheels on fire. It
was easy The noise from the parade rose forever. 2. The idea scared the shit out of me. That quite possibly the world, which
I had heretofore might be real. My white sheet looked clear. The Floridians brought juice and pills to
reduce the fever. When I was sleeping the moonless blue ocean broke off rocks. When I was sleeping Beads of sweat on my forehead with small anchors in them. 3. James, me, the Greek girl with mayonnaised hair and her strangely tranquil
lap dog. Pay I nursed my 7:00 AM beer and we watched 4. Your eyes were blue like a Siberian Husky’s — Frank, that is a Siberian
Husky. Oh, but 5. If you’re in Toledo clap your hands, in Houston, in San Diego and clap
your heart 6. Half my family is from the South. It’s rumored we bleed in the shape
of Mississippi. I hear the echo rolling across the fields and down to the river. A noise,
a cloud of blood
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If there was music in your life, on that beach, if the
wind worked the sand into loops before When I came home I expected to see snow, for things to be covered, for
my age the passing Baby trains cry in the distance. Goldenrod bent to forward slashes. Sparrows thrown like handfuls of mud
from one power Dick slow dancing with your right hand again? I’ll give you another option in a black cloak with a sickle, with a pension
for chess who fogs The plane high above its cold comets tail. It could be the first plane.
Leaves blown into large The old brown dog in the industrial lot howls along with the sirens from
a distant police car You’ll have children and they’ll seem too heavy even at birth to carry
the weight of birth. Leaning closer and closer what is foreign I’d think someone had shot the stars As if you were moving into the past leaves un-pile across the yard, back-flip
through the air Frost weighing down the blades of grass. A giant American flag over an outlet mall. Reflected on my glasses, images of things starving and cold, high tension
wires hiss and Who would love you if they knew that only something more refined remembers? Sirens sound on this half of the city but nobody will turn out the lights
in the other, though We stood in the center of my room, each light from the small mirror ball
was a ring of The way months halo around a baby’s brain and darken the edges until
twenty years later she A few old trailers sunk into the sides of hills. It’s not easy to believe the world is real. A significant relationship
problem: can’t commit Strange the silence without the roar of cars and trains and planes, mating
and fighting cats Won’t I look funny then, won’t I be difficult to rob, to stab? Sometimes
when I’m sleeping I Imagine a beach, someplace in your memory hazy enough for meaning, blurred
enough to Leaning closer and closer But you have something to do We were sixteen and pulled off on Southport Road because our song came
on. It comes on Every time I think of that scene more appears, one more shadow of a raindrop
on the dash, One day, and this hurts to talk about, while waling through the long
practice field to high And I opened. And for the first time I knew I’d never be myself again. When we pulled off the road to kiss when our song came on, the sun was
pulled under the The windshield began to fog, I put my mouth to yours to move it into
the shape of what I In the great big book they keep somewhere up there and write it all down
in shorthand the That night in the car I lost the world. ******* Many years have passed since that night. And I’ve learned a rhythm to
my days. That waking God help me and forgive me. I was there and I wasn’t there. Forgive me
I was there and I Forgive the movement and the co-pilot and the flying. Forgive who turned
up the volume of of white seeds came down over the polished hoods of new Mercedes by Central
Park. I that when I pray I whisper, so no one but You can hear me, for at times
when I lace my for another world, another life.
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