Poems, “Just Some Things You Say”, “dead”, “sat. morning”

Just Some Things You Say

No more poems
about girls
who don’t wear underwear
or waiting for a bus
that won’t ever come
or winter.
All day I thought
of a direct ride
to somewhere
other than here
I imagined
everlasting spring
and long-legged
deep-lunged girls
taking the stairs
slowly
all the way past
purple clouds
spilling up
forever.
I slept on a bed
of every book
I’ve ever read
shredded down
softer than heather
with my record player
at less than
arm’s length
and the radiator
chanting

dead

probably not by machine gun
most likely nothing thermo nuclear
light will just blink out, ordinary
a vinyl record ending
the automatic arm
returning to its plastic tab
probably not going to Heaven
probably not going to Hell
life is a weird rumor
somebody somewhere started
blue sky fatal
salt sea brutal
green fields
bisecting lifetimes of brick walls
there’s a chance
my fossil will be mistaken
for something else
when opening seashells
check for IEDs
and pearls

Saturday morning

While you slept
I was very still
this other room
another world
and while you dreamt
I wrote sideways
with shaking hands
music like demolition
and a slow headache
Waiting from 7 to 1
for you to almost-wake
eyes like hummingbirds blink
and then I’ll start
the ritual of coffee
and the worship
of bacon and eggs
Amen.
The gold and green
crushing through
our brick wall home
when you call my name
I’ll leave my desk
and come back to bed
setting the blankets
on fire

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