shaving can be the most dangerous event of the day
as the raven of idea takes wing
and disappears
as subways going nowhere
pull your people underground
as the priest climbs the cross
and the cross
climbs the faithful
and topples upon the rest
as the cow collides with the moon
think twice
think twice
as your eyes fill with age
and stare from the mirror
and see nothing
remarkable
as armies assemble
on the lawns of
distant newspapers
as the cat shits in the dog’s dish
and the rose coughs up the sun
as the door slams shut
think twice
think twice
as silence descends like a shackle
around the throat of your song
as water is sucked into stone
and stone becomes your heart
as trees close their eyes
and curl
back to seed
as your hands create nothing but shadows
think twice
think twice
as television herds America into a tiny room
and turns on the gas
as comedians vomit cue-cards
and the laugh-track laughs
as cartoon characters are elevated
to cultural seats of power
as zero plus zero equals 99.9% of the population
plus you
think twice
think twice
as the light changes from red
to green
to red again
as all birds become caged
and assume human faces
as the morning yawns like a meat-eating plant
and extends its arms
and calls your name
as the snake rises from the sink
as the amputee turns a cartwheel
as cities burn
as the shoelace breaks
as you drag the razor
over the utter
impossibility
of your reflection
think twice my friend
think twice
then get on with it
animal pain
I don’t think I’ve ever
seen anyone in that kind of
pain before. Animal pain,
the kind that turns you
inside out, sets you howling,
makes the mind go numb, stumble.
He sat there in his chair,
howling, pulling hair. Then he
fell quiet; didn’t make a sound for
the next three days. Quiet,
like the dead. After that, he moved
to the floor; laid down.
In time, I crawled
over him.
the collective expression
digression of skin under hand
and over bone, this flying notion of time
is only noise, a bat tangled blind in the bed sheets, a cat
curled in dream in the kitchen sink, and the shock of sudden
water
where there was no water before. And when I press
my fingers to your breast, palm,
and feel the pulse,
this, too
is a hummingbird snared in a loom spinning flesh from bone,
and bone from flesh–and the wheel
turns, and unfurls its colors, and drunk with our fear
we scream and take our pleasures here.
Originally published:
Issue Thirty-Three
October 2004