Pigeon Condition

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"....Either way Asshole, we’ll all coma before reaching this/is it" - Boris Iszus

The Description of your Body, shall be my Fist, which Opens, which reveals a Pigeon, untouched. & I say chomp. The better point, of Construction. A hole embedded in the Heart, firm, from overhead. But The Body was, was a body underhead—[ing] a different break in this/is a fatal interruption: Expansion as the symptom of a Famine, across The Surface of these moral irregularities. Another Sweaty Summer Vaginal Day—[?] Chicago, my Dear, I’m going to Facefuck you One Day. But Tonight: a Factory of concepts Our universal Decay, I say “these/is faces” an attempt to unify a perspective of youyou will be a dreaming of Excess dreaming in your Repetition, repetitious in Excess. Thus, Tickle me all the same in the hum of my weakest moments, as if the Photograph of us together will not lift from the Eyes, as if the sifting of this Reflection is an image of a Narrow Tunnel, my little tumtum in the Dirt, as if the Struggle to emerge was never so much a Question of Space, never so much a giving a damn, as really just the thought of this Point that reduces upon the point of The Body exists upon a single thread, a simple stuttering & in the clearing of------------------>The Emerge me/is/this Sign------------------>we eat the face that Beautiful little was, was ever was a Beautiful Bruising was & then the gaggle of feeding pigeons/is or, of Parched lips/is the Consumption of Mouths that await each Night. At night, on the Balcony, I listen to the Woman, across the Way, talking on the Phone with the Windows open & as I Fall, The EL comes roaring me back to Life & I like it that Way & I see in that Way, with her Voice momentarily Drowned from the Sound on Down, that sometimes Things aren’t so Pretty, sometimes Things really are just what they are, which is Sad which is Sad. Sadly, the rest of this deals with the motion of Men Drowning described as a looking out/in, into the Distance, to see a Body that views this Struggle with the Heart, hears “this makes me so Happy.” Happily, on Top of the Head: my Blunt arms, Arms: You avoid the Decay of just One, as being Tormented is really a Foolish Fad. Thus, to Enter, to the Point where there will be all the more/more, does not necessarily mean you’ll Rummage through, to the Object of which you perhaps, would Desire. When I press my Face closer against the Glass, you’ll See how my Sweat, Floods. Folding the Familiar Forms disclosed & then Erased. The Dichotomy was Pronounced: I’m Fucking Hard, but what else is new—[?] what other Bullshit could seep further into This Body—[?] I’d wipe away all The Bullshit surrounding me but the Paper’s running thin & I’m sick of my Hands in the Shit. Thus to learn the art of being Frugal but then awakening one day & sadly looking from Side to Side with the sheets still tucked, wondering why all The Excess is turned off. What more can I say—[?] I said, right—[?] I had searched for a New Form of The Body, one that’d resemble a Fist but when I opened my Hand eh, it was still just the same Little Bitch, still Shitting upon everything like a pigeon/shitting upon everything without regard, without the slightest Term on the Tongue for Personal space/is thus, like a Hugging from your ex/is more resembling of a Bruise but it all Bruises, bruises like a kind of Despicable Mute it, was the Butthole of Summer & The Dirty Man & the Vacant Lot & I remember my own escape, flapping my Wings happily ever, to whatever I’m after

Stubbed Toe, Torch, and Something Soothing

I’m leaving now, these things decide all together. Another kind of name for I forget. Don’t

hold it lightly, I’ll howl. I can’t say the burning will all burn out. Do you remember how the

rain hit us and we were wet and we decided to stop and just stand and get wet? It’s a

climb being seven layers deep. The blankets and the smell of evening. It keeps in

passing doing something else that is just as soothing, I suppose. This rain brought a

twenty-degree difference in temperature. Take it swimming with you. In all this

remembering I feel like someone else - pieces of things shown and heard as if they

were cut from my eyes and ears and it’s just a subtle reminder that I’m actually still me

and always have been. That is both a comfort and a curse. There is an aversion. There

is a timid know-how knock. There’s too much string. Two of the plants have all but died.

The light wants to hold me, only lightly. The lights in the apartment have all burnt out.

You laughed at my stupid joke. What did you see when I heard you laugh? When I look

behind us, I see that first drop of sweat running down our legs. Both of them. It squins

when it sees me. The laughter. You tied your hair with string. Stuck between us and

forever, but that break didn’t seem to help. It broke us, finally, and I told you to do it. As if

I forced my foot to the floor, shifting just so, so as to not leave a hole. I am awkward in

this dry future, like my red desert given to. I don’t eat mushrooms anymore. I ask that

stitch to enter me, to call me names, and to patch things up, with humor. You old

bumblebee. I’ll force what passes for me to pass water on the floor and the puddle will

resemble, no be, me. That’s me, I did that. Stopping like a surprise. We’ve learned

enough to earn our scars, on the last day of last July. Like just keeps does-ing but

doesn’t mean it the way it comes out. Wood meets metal on that flower print dress. The

same is to have here. Like a brazen beauty on the bed, begging for a sandwich. It would

be easy for the fervor and the forgotten. It would all be enough if you were here, to

sequester and to punch you and to laugh. Dancing around like a dancing queen. It was

bound to happen that way. Like neighbors who were supporting us. A tongue, opinion

free, and tastes everything equally because it can’t taste anything at all. To see and

pursue that which catches the fancy and the dog barks. By means of a phone and

things that are made of paper, there’s so little paper anymore. Elements on the other

more mutilated copies. This hot need of time and. I’ll ply you perched like a glow and.

And that reminded me of the time that I couldn’t see what the light was doing to me.

Artificial Notebook

combed by, entice

TO

As two by two

they go to

someplace

what to think

they mean to

eat and drink

but that’s just

a game to play:

they want to

go someplace

to fuck.

BOX

He means

to say

he wants to

open it

but he means

to also say

that the uncertainty

is strangely nice.

PARADE

Blundering down,

the focus of the crowd

is on the kid holding the

goat by a string.

Patches of grey sky

the window,

holds the light

just so.

SELF-PORTRAIT (23)

Drunk sailor,

being

carried

home,

with hair

and feet

flapping

in the

early Nov-

ember

breeze.

BODY

Is is is it

secret

that we

want what

we don’t

have? The

body born

from some

other hole.

Comfort,

in the body,

another.

BY

By saying “by”

I am saying

that things are

connected. That

they all can be

connected by the

word by. By nature

of being in this world;

by the fission of facts

and nonsense; by the

sense that all things,

by and large, go by

names because we

named them that way.

THERE

What are you

gonna do

there?

THE DOGS OF YOURSELF

Grumpled rumpus

like a ruff-ruff

ruffian

so stolen, so

stolen like a bite

to your leg.

Dreamt of a better

dog, like a lapdog

lady felt fine with

or without it.

*

This is a yard

for dogs, this

page or all pages

waving, white

for now.

A FULL GLASS

Is not half of

anything.

HUMILIATION

Like something

you were going

to say but felt

too stupid to say it.

Like something

you were going

to do but felt

too scared to do it.

Like something

you were going

to feel but felt

too felt to feel it.

THE EDGE

All across the

freeway there

is always the

edges which

bound the whole

thing to its

solid point of

reference. And

purpose. To go,

to go straight ahead,

even if the edges

sometimes curve.

BREATH

no such

felt filth

can be

(under)

the sudden

weeks of

peeing

breathing

like being

held.

MORAL

isn’t moral.

BOOKCASE

The two I have

aren’t enough

and there’s no

more room

except on the floor

for all these volumes.

One more bookcase

would be good,

for now. But not

enough, not really

enough.

APOSTROPHE

‘

AFTER SCHOOL

Guys can’t help

themselves, and

can be shitty and

girls can’t. I learn

this all the time after

school. But girls can

be really shitty too,

just not in that way

that makes you think

that you respect them,

how shitty they can be.

SUCKER

; damn sucker

true.

PLATE(S)

All I wished

was to have

two plates

and enough

food to

fill them.

EGO

There go

the you go

the I goes

green-eyed.

OLD SONG

In here,

was also

out there

as if

out there

was here

somewhere

we used to be.

POSSIBLE CONDITIONS

The division to skydive, forget it. Is that what the other done content with whatevers? Forearms of vision. The city out the name. The tabletops whose territory is size and not the kind we usually talk about. What if I was that hole in your shoe? What if not. The sleepless pour onto people and call them awake. The light in the gauzy awake. Have you noticed all the women who always alarm us with the dead? The little sunshine above the loss. Some kind of idiot. That’s right. Why do you insist on popping your ears like they were pinatas? This is a risk. Pour the oranges in and now sleep. Put a less certain definition on it, just in case. The gate squeaks across the square. The knot could not speak appropriately so the floor was given to the rope itself. How does one verify August, as such, being as such, as such and such? How merrily attention deserves our own attention all the time and how hard that is. This is not the inward but the cause of it. The can’t do it right, so do it simply. Was it difficult to relearn learning as writing and living? Right. Places as pieces left broken on the table for the help to help out with. I think you’d enjoy an apology with me. You both bended down and picked up bullshit, why did you do that? Things like that, that become “bullshit”. I’d call BS but I can’t call anyone as my phone has so few bars. The picnic that was held in the middle of an office, for no real reason other than it being a bit hot out. Family Day, devils all. Visits have been committed. What about New York? Yeah, we’ve talked about it man, and it seems like it’s not going to happen. See you next summer. He gets up and it’s a whole another vicious victim of love and can you feel that? That’s speaking Spanish the way it’s meant to be spoken. I’ll have another Corona. I’d be more inclined to show you my photos and draw you a map. Like making categories like dictionaries. This one is complete or absolute or absolutely gibberish, go figure. I figure the last one is best left for patterns of shadow and the narrative that can be gleamed there. No great grief if fields bend behind the fence. Love it when it is lovely. Locate desire as spiral gravel. The hell with it. Dropping stitches like a treasure map. There were several versions of the story here that never made it past the bathroom. Hold forth held knit. I foresaw a new shape for knuckles. These many things cannot be let alone as alone. These are meant to be managed, conditioned as such things are things and find a way to hold them, yes, hold them somehow like a concrete bass. The idea in the frost and grass. We remember changing light as joy. It’s called splitting wood. And here is the other antler.

Thirty Things

the form of an old form

HAPPENS

The things

that do, happen

quickly, or

not at all.

TO BE

And or not

or feeling not

well or weeding

out the bad

that’s being.

ECHO

He said “lightning,

and the thunder.”

He said “lightning,

and the thunder.”

TIME

Is what happens to you,

when you count, counting

to keep track. or not

counting at all, you’ve lost

count to begin with.

FAKE KITCHEN

The plant leaves

on the floor, the flour

and crust of something

the coffee stains, stained

the almost white counter,

barely a counter, barely

a kitchen. There is both

jam and jelly, still. There are

times for both.

THE MIRROR

Says too many things

that are true.

A MAN THINKS

To be better

to be better

to be better batter

to be a better batter

to be a better batter,

like butter.

FRESH

The awful crush of

flesh found managed

but it’s new to you still.

*

The reason behind

the reason is that you

didn’t want to go anyway.

*

Who is unhappiness?

and we wail in waiting

like we’re in love.

PHOTO

These always

keep, keeping

me looking drunk

and out of style

and fucked.

ONE NIGHT

Across another

and another, left

the pee steps,

the further ones

and further out

the rains, the mess, the drain.

WORDS

They are

what we are

not that we are

what we were to say would be

to burn.

SUMMER

Right now, I’m sick

and later this thing

swings the swigs to

no one in particular.

SOAP

The dirty

ones

use it.

COLOR

The kind that

came through

the window,

tonight,

as bright as

white.

DISTANCE

This is what

we create

for ourselves.

*

The move, the

merrier movement

we danced as if we

didn’t have anything

better to do but be

so far away.

*

Faded faces

as a memory

token and taken

to bed each night.

AS IT RAINS

We sit, and think

about thinking being

like raining

and how they haven’t

come up with

a rain jacket

for thinking.

JAIL

I’ve never been,

but I hear

it isn’t nice.

WATER MUSIC

The leaking, like

letting things go.

PARTY

The say, what

little of what is

left

at the end of the

night is

our lives like

left in a heap

on the couch.

Something to

be cleaned up

tomorrow.

AWAY

Turning away,

or what’s in

from the out of

today, and the

away to be away.

SOUND

Sing me a song,

the one about how you

lost your legs in the war

and had to swim back.

I always liked that one.

TYPE

I type this as if

I were playing

a piano. I type

as if this were

my job. The type

of job that doesn’t

pay enough, but

you love, and I love

music. That’s the type

of love I love.

HERE

Here is there

where the

you is.

SAYING

Yes, that’s what

I was saying,

saying all along.

*

There are other

things to say,

simply that

you treat others as cacti,

or that I care about

you what do you say

now?

*

“I know. I made that part up.”

THREE

Isn’t company

stupid, it’s

a coward.

STILL NEWS

Until tomorrow.

SOMETHING

You did it,

but didn’t

believe it,

and you felt the same

way over the past decade.

*

You should see this flower.

You haven’t been

yourself.

*

There are things

that tell you

you should do

something about

some things.

CHANGE

Some things

just never

change.

do they?

LAUGHING

When something

this funny

happens in the air

there is only one

thing to do about it.

AS YOU COME

You teach kids

to read; honey, I’ve been

so better off with you

and I want you to know

it isn’t

an Alice

or a weathered, withered Beatrice.

The seeing comes like

something felt in the deep

folds of my older flesh.

The place where there is

no more anymore.

*

Hanging on until

Fall, I’ll recall the

times of the summer

spent fresh and full

and fulfilled.

*

And how I

speak to you

over rather

people versus

landing in

jail. Hands down

she sleeps beside

herself

and, it’s cheaper

after she’s

woken up.