Monday, December 02, 2013

Untitled 2 (Written in 1995)

"Simplicity without simpleness," I think,
then: "Simplicity without boredom
is more of the pared-down moon
than we are

Satori, I mean
in the breath of stars are
the magic peaches of jazz
and honest laughter"

At Frank's on Thursday night we drink Pyramid Ale
and condescend to each other in simple language
hardware store employees feeling the slap of "loser"
and humming with George's homegrown

Head-down loss and lostness
shrugging the pain back into the gentle valley
you left in my mattress

it's already a year
since I lived in a ghosthouse
with your furniture
and all my stars died

Yellow rose blossoms
and a faint bloodstain
in the cotton blur of sheets

Cathartic always sounds like "lethargic"
my cocoon now a Chinese finger trap:
the toilet paper rolling
toward the end of my life

Tired, poor and confused
I buy a new pair of shoes
do a Fall dance to the end of things ripe 
and sweet with chin juice

Lone trumpet pinches
the ass of my typewriter thoughts
and sends me stumbling bumbling

into your time with nothing
but a shadow full
of rocks and 
some broken beer bottles

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