graveflowers

grave flowers wait silently seeminglyfor

nothing, not to say that they are fornothing,

not to say that they are not doing just whatthey

are meant to be doing (humanperspective),

with questions: they are life for thedead

or a reminder of life for the living (whichseems

somewhat unnecessary when doinganything

but looking at them) or a gift of life for thedead

(which seems superstitious and belowmoderns)

they areunusually

like and unlike pills - whose wait, at least, is farmore

active. they are found, rattled, swishedswallowed,

dropped on a variety of floors that wouldsurely

envy make grave flowers which leadsto

bouncing burrowing ricocheting scootingsliding

etc often into andor under unknownsurfaces -

which here - as well as random(?)colors -

though by different design, reminds mespecifically

of graveflowers

NOTE FROM ST. FRANCIS

by Joseph Ceravolo

In the world today
there is
no world so attached as I am
to worlds.
All our hairyness
all our coarseness.
There is no texture in this
warmth I feel about
the creatures today.
We are gunning for extinction.
The sky is still bright
and all the animals running
for prehistoric sounds
believable in the passionate night.

Conversation

she calls me Alaska
she doesn't know what she's talking about
she calls me Tennessee
I am from Tennessee
she calls me a star
...What?
Not that kind. Like in space -
...she doesn't know what she's talking about
- infinitely isolated -
there are millions of stars in a glance of space
- eternally undiscovered.
Exactly.
You don't know anything.
She doesn't know what she's talking about.

reverberating

the knocking on my door
is mercilessly faster than
the pulse I hear - or feel -
through my new blue earplugs
molding my ear holes but
I'm convinced that it is
my pulse - I can't hear
which is the worse worry
the ceaseless red rapping
on my reverberating wooden
door or a white lightning
pulse rate hiccuping from
my heart - if I steal the sleep
from either, I'll never wake up

unfathomable love

unfathomable love

like

a

struggling, perfect

tree

at

the depths of the ocean

filtering

salt

pierced through

layers

upon

layers of earth by

unfathomable

light

Reality, Regardless of Red Wet Rabbit Lipstick

it can take its dirt and swim in it
running in the winter is just as real
as swimming in the summer is just
as real as swimming in dirt and


running like a red wet rabbit in water
what no one understands is simply that
no one understands! easy. reality
or - splashing it with dirt - is helpful


ketchup doesn't eat French fries
(has it ever been seen?) dry,
weary eyes, watching clocks,
trying to take time on vacation


reality is what you make reality
regardless of red wet rabbit
vacations, reality is applied red
lipstick, but more secretive


repetitious usage of the word
"reality" is practically absurd

Memories of the Morning, New Jersey

The young girl in a note to me "You're so sweet
you're a girl." We both knew it was a complement.


The man opened the door for me
but I continued to the second door,
which I always use and I hoped
that he did not take it personally.


Before all of this
I was at my brother's two story home
It must have been Thanksgiving
and it was Morning
He called his wife downstairs
and invited her outside to see the
wild deer and horses running together
Two or three of the deer were completely
spring green and healthy, and one horse was
an indescribable red and it was vibrant
I see this from inside of the house
looking out of the window,
like a movie.


My last memory being at the supermarket
where I spent nearly a week's wages
and wearing my faded canary yellow New
Jersey shirt ('Casa Comida' in green,
'Mexican Restaurant
Wall, N.J.'
in black and supporting a colorful
parrot of red, orange, and blue, all
Mexican colors, but with NJ style)
The man with round, black sunglasses
in the next aisle, closer to the door,
asked if I was from Jersey, then asked if 
I had just visited, then said I should go
and that it was nothing like that
reality TV show. His wife agreed,
said something, and then they left.
My cashier said something about it
(NJ) being a giant landfill, but I think
that was meant to be perceived
as a joke. But I did not really 
perceive it as anything at all.


As far as the note, I cannot remember
what kind of note it was, or what the
meaning of it was, only the end. Whether
it was hand-written, or typed, or long or short,
all I remember is "You're so sweet
you're a girl." And we were both very happy.

The Wripples of My Pants, Universe, Subconscious, Bed

The wrinkles in my pants
are the endless ripples of the universe


bending with time and force
but never releasing my subconscious


wonders what is happening and
I myself shatter returning to the bed

Plastics & the Hierarchy of Acceptable Sleepy Sounds

I don't see why - after four silent years -
the brittle black plastic of my unplugged
and unused television croaks for attention;
there is no wind in you. The window rattles,
teaching reason and the hierarchy
of acceptable sleepy sounds to the
television and its pointlessly popping plastic.

Sight

It's a shame that your mood is dependent on someone
else. By dependent, we mean "ruined by the sight of,"
and by someone we mean your boyfriend. It's a shame,
and it only makes sense to you. He hasn't a clue.