To the Sound of Rain and Smell of Burning Plastic
Ten Poems on Sobriety

‘The weekends’

I am the hardest to love.

the weekends pour
their

endless chatter sour
over
ice

I want to be moved.
.
.
( will choose to die over it).

‘11:12:21:11’

yesterday, we met in the garden.

sketch me
someone
beautiful— say i

not too long in future
did you meet my quaint demand

he was quite the model of delight
all that matter— lacking sight

return him,
no use
to me
is he
who cannot see in shadows
who cannot stumble crooked

who cannot be concerned with being art less
themselves

that they never learnt to sketch:

‘everything’

starts slow
strange and wanting
thing

starts to grow
a listless glut cut wristless

starts to growl
starts to race
starts to glow in color
moving fast
moving faster
etc…
fast chaotic wanting thing

starts to slow
a strange and wanton thing
leaks

from your own eyes.

‘Mis’

Spent supper at Aaron’s again
He became, as always, very political
Still we sat, us all, in
awkward agreement — me thinking,

is it so hard? to admit smallness
in exchange for all this?

‘phases of love’

we are
the snap of magnets
[beige— blue—]
crass, unbent,
[,first days of june]
the Slap
of magnets

( Elohim: take my total love]

: like wrath
of madness

‘Sunday’
Sunday, where will I find you?
, when do you come calling?
Sunday, do not leave me.
you are my most prized

Beginning.

‘Climbing back on the wagon and breaking my nails’

And if I am to live without you
I will do you to excess manic distressed
& sweating

Waking up to words I have no recall
of writing.

Tributes to Dada
the Bhagavad Gita

Live Without Me — TRY

youest you
I cannot seem to scrape you from myself.

‘Staring out a window, presumably in white’

Never been much of a diarist
Never process through word itself
Ironic, I know

It’s just
when each day ends
I’m left with only color

I don’t expect that to change too soon.

‘granite 2 face’

it began as a list of all the ways the last two years have both gone wrong
but instead became this.
too tired to ink it all out.

confinement, the great one #hathtag come.

it began as a two-particle molecule
but instead became all this.

‘The end’

take me back
still further
when ceiling
was sky dogs
were our large nannies
knowing there was plenty of time
to learn the things we’d need to learn
to prosper
to succeed
take me back. in truth,
i cannot recall a moment of happiness.
now, looking up,
only trim-work.

this is the end
this is the pull
take me back,
heavy curtain over mind

this life is unsustainable.

my choice— always is,
always will be,
cleanliness.

I want to be moved
.
.
( will choose to die over it ).