captivation

If a man were unsure of his insides
how could he truly just drift away?
"Just grab something?"
The wild stain of the spinning wheel
again and again, it's all what we want-
(or something) miles of the intimate illusions
of eternity, perplexities, cubicles, cuticles...

I appreciate your ambition, but is
any conversation quite that improvable?

Captivation's charming convulsions:
("I'm sorry, but I seem not to care.")
no native love of fire
no cynical salted sunlight
shy sunbasked chameleons perspiring enchantingly
high-spirited winged artichokes
have seemingly cracked the code of time
and have - in all good consciousness -
become a salty happy hour appetizer

all rationality aside, would you rather just not meet?
all those boys want to do is twirl your hair,
I assure you; you simply do not want to end up
in love with vacancy, certainly not pregnant with vacancy

Nothing, compared to the gaps
between the fingers of your outstretched hand,
silhouetting the sky, the sun, the moon,
the chandelier
those clouds are metaphorical, sugar

In darkness, death - with only raw almonds and jazz -
created time, and time - with nothing but darkness
and muffled jazz - created life (possibly out of frustration),
to muffle the muffled jazz, and salt the entirety of perception.

remembrances: girls night

      dearest friend:
ah life...you know?
it's just like one of those good sneezes!
      you know?
I mean, draw the curtains
let the brassy velvet curtains brush your face
the anxious sunshine creates a captain
      of your slipping shadow
that caramel breeze breezes your scarf
breathe...look at me, you're starved
      absolutely
phew. well this has been a mediocre turnout
with that orange camel-like odor
odd. see you next week
      john

geological seasons

over here

after the beginning of feeling

like when I think of you "hey!"

dead memories stay dead blooming

heaven is no longer hunting reason

nix the tidy teleological prism not musing

demons in the back of the freezer dreaming

unexpected season of blinging bells binging

well, I was just thinking that it's nice

poplar

how nice! the handsome devil chirps
(looking for a way out, I wonder)
little fallow fellow, following the window
do you need an extension?
we all have our deadlines
hollow business, harmonious death
tucked under a pillow, hidden alone

enough, enough
actually, enough

how are you, my nostalgic heather breeze
ripened equation, enthusiastic as a hiccup
or snow, just being snow

you peeled the rind for me
kindly, kindly, off the brie
oh! that's plastic. erase that
how tedious of thee!
erase that.
blueberries too!                 absolutely
I'm positively the opposite of snoring
poplar, if I were a tree                truly

Honeypocket

Is it wild, honeypocket?
It's something, it's been supposed
Look at the dandelion:
there is so much preparation
involved
The instant gratification
of the bluestone sky
prims the petals
and pleats the parts
alike, of the cuteboys
and the deadgirls alike

The reflection of the common contemporary accretion
is acrimonious at best, complete canorous bedizenment
The veins are all too tendrilled and unilingual

In all likelihood, the caffeine-crash is going
to knock me right out. Just say "Cimarron!"
with some zest

I'm in the corner-
Oh heavens-
We're matching.

sifting the sun into the future, perfuming the suitor, looming the future

it might be over soon
notice/cherish - the broken constellation
you've walked in my dreams
now what?

"red lips"
hrm.
slender embrace
merrily, away

sunup!
I watched her, while drinking tea
riding her bicycle into the sea
it made me sad, and want a pretzel

I threw a stone into her window
but it was my window
and it was actually just a pebble anyway

what's it like, to be someone else?
"it's like drinking whiskey,
when you were expecting tea."
I see.
how do you know?
"have you never done acid?"
I have't, no,

lipstick, today?
smiles
I can make whatever promises
becomes diaphanous

nice is innumerable
kind is green, bright but not too bright
smears are just smears,
smudges and smears

is there beauty in brokenness
or just beauty, and brokenness
here, let me stop the rain for you
I'll see you tomorrow

Import

"Have you yet discussed the issue of your obscene vulnerability?"
I was listening, but all I heard was the militant aggression of that dreamy invasive memory.
"There could be a serious underlying issue.
Do you want to lug that into the ground?"
This could cause some serious underlying issues.
It's time to change the subject.
"I don't mean to harp on it.
Do you miss your toyota?"
What?
"How are the kids?"
What?
"The niece and nephews."
Oh. They're fine. It's all fine. I don't miss anything.
I need to remember composure.
The distance between anxiety and comfort isn't always far, but there should always be distance, distance that should be respected and appreciated, but not idolized. I'll spend the night for sleep. I'll spend the night for sleep. I'll spend the night.
"Forget about sleep. You're still young. I may not be some parched individual, I may be some eager cliché, but I can surely see the importance of expanse and margins. Perhaps I'm an import, but I have dust here."
Surely. If I have time.

buds

In the adopted state of repeated
mortal vulnerability,
the dizziness of the nominal emptiness
finds slight bliss in the simple
existence of a question
asked in my hypothetical direction.
"I exist!"
The ease of endlessness
ends with the one-to-two-time
pleasantries as if that is all
we live for-
surrounded by giggling
inhibitions
teetering along with the
teething certainties of something.
"The concept of the muse
of the muse amuses me too."
"Yes, I agree with the lascivious
nature of nature."
"You too, have taken the
guided tour of self-expression?"
"Oh no. It's just a quick spot
to grab lunch on break."
If this effort isn't interest,
what is it? "Decency?"
I think I'll go be alone
for a while, or so.

Content and Disconnect

I

Live Oaks East of the Mississippi

The only difference being the salt jumbled in the divided atmosphere, she told me rather perfunctorily of the formulated life detached. Feeling at all, realizing my work has just been a hobby, plushed through the sympathetic aperture in a streaming search for adjectives, we’ve dredged the bridge to silent curiosities discovering wakefulness amongst other deviant childhood falsities. This town’s discordant philosophies tend to dangle spring through spring like question marks on the run. All it takes is one proper rubber band to make a smile. A rose to the moon absentmindedly lisps: “Later, I’ll be there for you. We’ll preoccupy ourselves with forgetting how to write, staining our chastised bodies with grass and sunlight. You’ll fill my lines with hieroglyphic obscurities and I’ll paint the fleshy fragrance of your chirruping dreams (pink, don’t you think?) until we both run out of pencils or simply evaporate Himalayically. How does that sound?”

The echo reverberates beyond sight.

II

Self Expression of a Dandelion

baby-

why haven’t you forgotten

my fate supposes

pre-supposes

all while dandelion crosses

dandelion.

smelt purloined,

grinningly

came to me,

isomorphic education

included. teaching the

children antitheses

aposiopesis mis-

connected and

opportunity. behind

with feeling and

life and box matches

lit, all wind repented

by dusk today

III

As Thrips

from the tip of the tip

we do not prune

frantic as a fuddled white finch

flapping its quips

boastful as winters pruning sits

taking note of every ripple ripped

The nitwit becomes the cutie and becoming

the cutie never says “What do I say?”

The hooded elders process, differentiating branches brittly

with aspirin, napkins glowing into the night.

Trailing audibly, my breath absorbs every “hey moon.”

Softly hummed bebops cover the soon to be dew

with the energy efficiency of a resonant prude.

The scheduled neighborhood blackout arrived with malice.

“Why do you say things like this?” I don’t know.

“Do you sing?” I don’t. “Do you dance?”

I don’t. “I see. That seems to make sense.”

The tender moon broke apart and fell into the sea,

steadily refracting your memories to me.

CASUAL DATING

We do not prune - we are not natural
Soft as winter pruning - it is or is not notable
If you didn't tell me to speak to you
I would speak to you, though not softly as before.

The nitwit becomes the cutie and becoming
The cutie never says "What do I say?"
Differentiate the branches brittly with aspirin
Their napkins glowing quite brightly at night

Trailing, audibly thanking the server like: "Hey moon..."
Softly humming music now covering the soon to be dew
Their energy efficiency always reminding the prude
And the forgotten scheduled neighborhood blackout was untimely

But reminded me: I've never seen the scarf. I called:
"Hey, cooper-" "Hey! I finished the scarf."
So we sweetly ate the innocent, scheduled sandwiches, casually.

suresure

tending beauty - and beauty itself
appreciating not the goal-
not the conformity
accepting beauty to dinner
excepting uninformed phonetics
expecting sureties of nothing
except surely, itself - oft repeated
(pseudoarchaities - posed to loft
purpose lost)
expecting my own country
loaned or lost
nothing is beauty
    except itself
nor humanizing
    despite itself
meaning: when she smiles
beauty says "so," and "so?"

CONFESSION:

I thought your love had left
or worse, your love had gone
and I do not want to live-
not amongst this loss
accounted for, resolved, and
    echoing -
the future and past wound
    tight -
something seeming suspended, heavily-
    yet

Perhaps not proper perceived
    have I made it all about me?
What if the love: never a lover
    was once there here a bed
bricked in the bedroom it framed
    I couldn't yet see a name
I turned the cover into a wall
    then turned the wall into a tomb.

Perhaps the bird was just a bird
It could have been that winter was here
Perhaps it could have been spring
and I am simply a bird
    seemingly doing my thing
I am simply a bird

Perhaps that sound, that obvious blur
    mightn't have even been mine.
Ignoring the people just pointing at mine.
What is this love - this new land
This strange beast yawning
    divine or damned
Spiraling-

fawning us in - circular eyes
    around again - pleasant as privacy
sucking us in - seeming so gentle
    to last at all - keeping things even
and sucking us in - looking around
    around again - circular skies
a love a bird - sucking us in
    feeling around - feeling complacent
Where have you gone?

What is that, wind?
Speaking so gently,
    perhaps it was wind.
Floating the bird
    soothing the love
Speaking the season
    conceding the bird
Becoming the state
    yawning the blur.
I think it was her.

BYWATER

(have you) seen the red grit, paper, television, salting sound

bobbling through the everywhere

like a bubblethin grenade I've become

a sly, tried soundless sigh

numb, but it's okay

if you can distinguish an orange

from an orange, calm a catamaran

float an apple for not being an orange

and quiet the proper situation

sometimes you're a hero

sometimes you're a wave

of peppers

(you)

abandoned strand of Christmas lights

gracing the post-winter pre-spring

transitioning trees, graciously

gathering drinks

skulking through

skulking black bushes

becoming one with wrought iron

you said what you love

below the daymoon

lying in the dirt burning

sand

burning like citrus

I want to spend time with you.

"The daytime birds are still singing

and my face is so red."

but it's okay

NUMBING OF THE EAR, TIMELESSLY

disguised with inundation
hands of a mason's youngest son
across the crepuscular evening
thinking of you, soft as none

streetlights stilting, lighting sidewalks
(commonplace, not cobblestone)
shadows and headlights catching
twirly maplepods, competence, fastness

tattered greenmoon pearlights
as in, theatrics. smaller than innocence
a pistol: antique and unloaded
harmlessly painting a picture of none

still. "ain't comin' back."
malignant peace treatises
some remember, some forget

"NOTHING BAD IS GOING TO HAPPEN, AND I DON'T FEEL STRESSED AT ALL."

spread thin with millions of eaglets
eager and earnest and so young
with cheap tickets to hemingway
readings. shrapnel included and easily
sweetened faces on faces shouting "friction!"
"these days"
whoever to be cared for
followed, with care
confronted with being cared for
following with care
sweetened
how much honey required
for momentum to hover
the hump and cover the
speed bump? I only ask
because sunlight reminded.
seizures of sunlight
through breezes through branches sweetened
I think I can see your sorrow
and sweeten it
and in this, this is how we met
to have never heard of love
rather than gnawing through
expectations of life and life
I kind of how I like it I feel
as if I could with no memory of before
nothing ever ends/this never ends/because I'm so young

ONE OF FIVE, ONE BEFORE, GENERALITY, TANGENT

dancing on broken branches
(but I don't dance)
it didn't adapt-
or, adopt-
onus unknown, I
usually lose myself
(or at least, occasionally)
what I'm saying is
I wasn't very me
we weren't very we
people say passion
probably don't know

(don't lone alone
or together-
see that fruit?
completely confident)

comely pineapple
slow train below
segmented stop sign
sporting caffeine
with some shopping
(groceries, mostly)
wet, without rain
still without sun
green enough
still mostly gray

she seemed so plain
face heavily powdered
purchased- 
no, puckered - lips
perhaps she secretly sniffs cocaine
eyes heavily powdered
too thick to see into
freely forgotten, possibly a shame

people say apostrophe
people say slash
people sit on couches
and chairs and
watch television in pairs
and fall in love or
maybe just lust and
lay on couches and 
toss and tumble then
fight and fuss and
sit on couches watching
television with hate,
indifference, and maybe
not even lust and confused
feelings of necessity

making dinner
for a friend

SELF EXPRESSION OF A DANDELION

baby-
why haven't you forgotten?
my fate supposes
pre-supposes
all while dandelion crosses
dandelion.
smelt purloined,
grinningly;
came to me,
isomorphic education
included. teaching the
children antitheses
aposiopesis mis-
connected and op-
portunity. behind
with feeling and 
life and box matches
lit, all wind repented
by dusk today

COURTNEY BARNETT - DEPRESTON

You said we should look out further, I guess it wouldn't hurt us. We don't have to be around all these coffee shops. Now we've got that percolator, never made a latte greater. I'm saving twenty three dollars a week.

We drove to a house in Preston, we see police arresting a man with his hand in a bag. How's that for first impressions? This place seems depressing. It's a "California bungalow in a cul-de-sac."

It's got a lovely garden, a garage for two cars to park in ("or a lot of room for storage if you've just got one"). And it's going pretty cheap you say? "Well it's a deceased estate...aren't the pressed metal ceilings great?"

Then I see the handrails in the shower, a collection of those canisters for coffee, tea and flour, and a photo of a young man in a van in Vietnam.

And I can't think of floorboards anymore, whether the front room faces south or north, and I wonder what she bought it for.

(If you've got a spare half a million, you should knock it down and start rebuilding.)

LUNCH BREAK

preface

I'm working in this restaurant

if you can believe that.

half of my human interaction involves

(both) literal and metaphorical

lunch breaks.

1

on a lunch break, all are equal:

little totters, venerable veins a-walking,

suits with heels and hair grease,

overalls with those flat orange pencils

(are they sharpened the same way?)

and car grease, I presume. a minority

have humanity, their eyes like flint

being flinted reflecting something like

sanctity, and they see how things work.

2

now, how can this be made poetic?

3

I've got this friend

who has this boyfriend

who has this gun.

now I think being shot

could be something,

but not a good way to die.

also, I've got this date!

Auroras

by Joanna Klink
[it's magic]

It began in a foyer of evenings
The evenings left traces of glass in the trees
A book and a footpath we followed
Under throat-pipes of birds

We moved through a room of leaves
Thin streams of silver buried under our eyes
A field of white clover buried under our eyes
Or a river we stopped at to watch
The wind cross it, recross it

Room into room you paused
Where once on a stoop we leaned back
Talking late into daylight
The morning trees shook off twilight
Opening and closing our eyes auroras

Beyond groves and flora we followed a road
Dotted with polished brown bottles,
Scoured furrows, a wood emptied of trees

It was enough to hollow us out
The evenings left grasses half-wild at our feet
Branches with spaces for winds

The earth changes
The way we speak to each other has changed
As for a long while we stood in a hall full of exits
Listening for a landscape beyond us

NASHVILLE MEMORY

  baby
what does that even mean
sweet mango tea,        tart
sweat

blackberry leaves
hibiscus,  for   show
papaya,    for sound
rose hips,       etc

but it is blood
what    a     wonder
thinned  with water
tea       leaves

like cucumber, how?
like    wintery    leaves
brittle shells bouncing
like       roundabouts

indeed a wonder
most people are absolutely
terrified    of   roundabouts
in      the    south

poetry is what makes me
interesting. it's inside you waiting
for me  ,  may I use it, or have it?
why      is     your     ring

so unfocused? reminds
of looking for a single
sock  (when its not on
your                     foot)

    Fox!
nearly      dead
with the cutest
fidgets

ever seen with a beer.
this is a good way to
get to know a person
and                 oneself

what is it about poetry?
this is why I  need you.

It's the easiest thing in the world, if you let it be. And the hipsters outside the coffeeshop and the hipsters outside the university across from the coffeeshop, across from the university. It was all too easy. I just got tea, and this is just a memory. I'm writing this now, but it happened five years ago. Except nothing happened, except the memory. There was a Katie and a Nikki, me, coffee and tea, bagels most likely, perfectly colored and summered and lengthened green grass, everything seemed to be wood oriented (wooden chairs, wooden tables, wooden stairs, wooden buildings) on the coffeeshop side and concrete type material (but the academic type) on the university side, populated by flocks of hipsters and a girl with some brass (a horn). What they don't seem to know is that there have been hipsters since there have been hips. There can only be one person in the world doing something truly new at any moment, and that moment can last any amount of  time.

LEFTOVERS

lips in the valley - glazed with the dust
with the antique woodpecker
with the leftover pie crust
there is soda in the fridge
for the kids
I was falling apart with you
I had to
this is your bait
catching light
clinically, not casually
some kind of lust
"gimme the message"
lost memories like
lingering pile of snow
smoked black, just
like a little mountain
that's not my tree
walking backwards against winter
sticky feelers dark
fake shadows
can everyone be used
in some way or another?
like
"blah, blah, blah"
again, what if I have to choose?
catching thoughts not thought
"may I ask you a question,
or two?"
you have an ambiguous grace
an accidental will of your own
as they say
you've lied before
but are you a community, or alone?
I wish you were we, nonetheless
boy, wouldn't that be!

To Seem

Becoming less addicted
Like watching people park
Slicky snowflaked ticket
Sparkles optimistic sparks

More important to seem
Sometimes, a few times a year
Fluky "goodbye, whatchamacallits"
Merely to be civilized

More important to seem
As in, seeming can be doing
If you can't quite do, I mean
Beatitudes seem nice

The Commandments can't correct
Christian stuck puzzled
Seem to forget
Not very like love

Some take longer to smile
And some have bangs
Just as sad as leaving
Someone you don't feel

Sad leaving - which is not strange
The truly personal question
Arranged appropriately with lullaby
And surprise! it's human!

Again - strange - for me
As a male, completely
To have bangs, I think
How many have been wrong

When thinking of me
- as in, the other person
With which they were
Meant to be - I wonder

Whizzles seem scanty
Ancient and pleasant, up there

The Weather

Why do people talk about the weather?
Elderly folk, with their elderly shirts
Unintentionally tucked into their underwear, together
Who doesn't like a good window, for dessert?

It's kind of eerie, looking into your own
Would it be easier if she knew my intent?
The text of my texts can only sketch my tone
That only time can only supplement

Cheers! to "hello's" (and) insufferable obsessions
Why do I care why people talk about the weather?
Being nettled by needless transgressions
"Yes, hi. I would like to inquire about not becoming mushy leather?"

Think about me, and let me know what you think about me
Some people just stand there with their bodies
And some people just stand there with their minds

happiness

I ate the chocolate
yes, I want the wine
forgive me for leaving the dryer on
it was noise to me
chinatown
vanity
purity
"don't forget the asparagus, honey"
sure, sweetie
six hundred more years