m./ poetry /
mountain descent hand holding
hiking hand over suburban blacksite cell
towers cul-de-sacs I fear obsess a mountain
lion sage stalking you arrest anxiety point behind at
housecat herds following pouncing mountain rocks
lizards path but never mice as they chutter at soaring
hawks crows I vision mountaintop ark arrival release
energy light split atoms multiplied two-by-two
exploding expanding we are the flood! weapons of mass
construction gifting blue sky mushroom cloud
compassion karma where I soar winds thermals transformed
a kite chasing crows hawks you holding guiding
string how high is our love! reaching great drone distances visiting
merciless love on helpless suburbans civilians we
occupy master planned roads parks schools with whispers
of affirmations notifications your friend requests
a friend! saints and sinners rejoice! I ask if I am
asleep you proclaim you’re klonopin sleepwalk
awake! wound dressing cat herder healers shepperds
suburban stewards we disarm armies release souls
spirits in apparition rainbows! they course the liberated
sky heavens in hues processions of every color and we
rest and multiply! and all is grace.
ii.shit
regardless of any distrust of old wive's tales you believe this the seeds greedy children swallow while gorging on watermelon indeed attach undigested to the lining of their little large intestines. abundantly fertilized by a greedy child's shit seeds crawl through little bodies as vines vines that support little large fruit little greedy pregnant children feel not as a physical presence but a little loss or emptiness. it is in this same manner you also know by which war grows in mature greedy men women bodies. to grow war not watermelons liberally consume television natural resources corporate funding all manner of useless little large expensive things. the suffering of others most profitable of fertilizers you must never forget is preferred over even the most decadent shits overflowing toilet bowls in the homes of the most fabulously wealthy. simply plant your seed plug your nose avert your eyes.
*************
a conversation concerning why skeleton sam – 3 years dead – left his grave
or
let us make lists together
listen: skeleton sam with his skeleton hands rose up out of graveyard suburbia.
oh don't ask how.
but if you must know he pushed up with skeleton hands on coffin lid towards heaven yes towards heaven or where heaven was supposed to be.
the dirt you ask?
yes, six feet is quite a lot he simply swam that skeleton sam up like from the bottom of a pool up dirt rocks gravel to grass tickled living lawn with skeleton toes plucked spider web strings strung from rib to rib as if to say:
“yes. yes, that is it!”
the musical note? I do not know which but we can't let this stop us instead ask me why oh please do.
he was awoken by spinning spiders that spin spider skull webs in skeleton sam's empty bowl head.
listen: the spiders with their webs catch memories of things that can fill a house and this made skeleton sam lonely.
yes. yes it is sad.
so skeleton sam with his skeleton hands through skeleton mouth scooped spider skull clean rolled skull spider webs into two balls the size of prophet eyes stuck them into skull eye sockets looked disappointed down into headstone dirt hole coffin and said:
“I can see that I have nothing”
how did he speak? with the clicking of teeth the same skeleton teeth with which he chewed a skeleton handful of grass he greedily grabbed as he walked to the house where he last lived.
I certainly will not italicize 'lived' make distinctions between life and death instead let me exaggerate the way that he walked that beautiful way he lifted each slow skeleton knee.
now skeleton sam with his skeleton hand knocked politely twice woke his widowed wife who ran cried hid as he collected his things put on his favorite sweater yes the sweater on the skeleton is symbolic -wouldn't you be symbolic if you were a sweater? - and with his clicking skeleton teeth he said:
“if you don't mind me, I'll be needing these”
he took the keys to her small SUV flipped down second row seats made a pile of his favorite things:
memory foam pillow dirty magazines flat screen t.v. thinly sliced pickles paris postcards cigar box movie stubs pewter cowboy plastic indian sheepskin slippers laptop.
and he shut the hatch door closed looked excited down to see his golden retriever skeleton sam with his skeleton hand stroked woofy's dog head reopened hatch SUV door for the dog to hop in drove back happy as can be to his graveyard hole pulled right through the front gate accelerated down the gravel lane picked up speed in a devilish turn skeleton sam drove right over his headstone parked the monument car at the head of his grave tossed his things into the six foot hole lifted his favorite sweater stuffed his dirty magazines into empty rib cage chest cavity - yes, this too is symbolic - hopped happily down onto his earthly possession hill snapped for woofy who jumped playfully after.
and there our skeleton sam spent his afterlife in life-like luxury but this doesn't please you.
perhaps you want him to take a road trip instead woofy wind wafting his face in open car window yes americans love the road.
or maybe he will return to his house seduce his widow wife how romantic.
but you needn't be told this you know the feeling but not the words this isn't the same.
feel the spiders crawling in your skull you've been told this is a brain but it is spiders spider thoughts that spin spider webs around memories and desires and things now do you understand?
we have shared the visions of our suburban skeleton prophet sam we collect them.
