hallmarks

afternoon pages fly through my hands, and i nod off at the sentiments of
sagely predictable great men who have passed away or died beyond the ruddy glow of
memory's recall.
shame and its never ending friends fogging their glass windows again
forcefully gliding fingers over the same cheery piano refrain
and i smile slightly and tap my pencil across my cheek
until it stings a bit to let me know that i am
still awake despite the stubborn furnace blowing paces through the room
shuffling like angry senile veterans of various great industrial ages
insisting on their eternal relevance to dispassionate crowds
choking back smoke and laughter

kinds of blankets

i've got everything to be afraid of
despite reassurances to the contrary.
and guilt
for as long as i've loved.
it goes on never changing, sharing sheets
with blondes and black-haired jewish chicks
who beat the normal into us, the
busy frightened empty nests
who'll flee from them as future sons

that division of elements manifests itself in everything we see and do not see

we lack basic framework for approaching the world and differentiating

he took a breath here

what to look for and where to look for it.

a slight breeze rippled through the stiff and dry atmosphere as a door in the back cracked open and a latecomer rubbernecked to find a seat.

even upon discovering our quarry we immediately leap to conclusions based upon our past experiences

prejudices upon prejudices complex and interwoven

leapfrogging from one realization to the next our minds and mouths agape in dumb surprise

but the symbols are obscured as easily as wondering whether their images suggest themselves or simply fit our suggestions

and are lost in the process of tabulating our consciousness

vincent

i knew vincent's hands to tremble upon
the image of murder in the mirror
that intent to carve up the fresh flesh
he'd feast upon in coming weeks
easing the aching that barked in the back of his mind
and rolling groans across his stomach
with deep dreams of satisfaction and
kingly post-coital cigarette ashes spreading on
his ivory bedsheets.

he'd flatly slam the palm of his hand on
the walnut kitchencountertop when the
neighborgirl would give him lip,
looking up from cutting carrots with a chilling
smile and a voice coated in wax and ocean breezes
his idea of sexy maybe but undeniably
predatory
i'd say
i have vague notions about things he
did by the suppressed noises from the apparently
mattress-walled interior of that otherwise quiet
little one bedroom with the unkempt lawn and the beware of dog sign.
sometimes we'd hear a lot of yelling in like i guess chinese,
but then it'd get real quiet after and we just supposed his TV
didnt have auto volume adjust between channels, like ours does

dayglo

up with the bronx sun
because my stomach hurts in the
gloomy chill of hours recycled
into late single digits
and blowing smoke before alarm
clocks take off and
drag us into afternoon dances singing

Lonely would be the best way to describe us,
closely followed by Proud,
resembling bits of bygone idiots
who indulged themselves in
something to say
in self-contradiction
or petty rebellion
ejecting noise from every orifice
under
godlike quantities of metal
and steaming unglued paraphrases
in meaningless artificial wind resistant protest

i never thought of
life as just a fantasy until i
met the no one inside me
and felt her so empty:
stupid shaped sunglasses
all going on road trips
come visors down sun low while
wishing tall cups would swish melt ice
with a touch of coke syrup

divorced by definition
entails complete seperation of
ideation and intent;
willful notions of the perfect
world wherein the
sorrow is meted out
according to sin
are done away without a prayer
lost in stones carved down to resemble
faces of long gone artists identified
in the souls of higher powers