Finals week: writing paper

the torch handle burns
the born words turn bodies
loose

like genitalia,

on the heat of this dead line-
age
on the pyre of marginalia
pubes

these
scribblings
these
body wrinkles in brains
this writhing from
wombs
towards the surface.

the moon, they yell
rains light

without the hell
we write
page by page,

pregnant rage
strips
essays of clothes.

make me know
longer tongue and
primal rose

this is
where words
weak
die for
finalelipsis...

tree
the narrowest waltz
of touch and shadow

the
sketched
flamingo
leg

splitting
vision like eggs
in two

what part of you
whites the sides

dots the eyes?

Weather one night stand or sleeping

the man rolled
over when
his sleep heard
thunder

and
between
the open screen/
waking
up

his fingers
wandered, touching

the black thunderhead
of a woman's curls

begging to be seen
!forty tornadoes on the horizon

yet his eyes/heart
like the sky
refused to open

and as though
the storm could
at any moment
become (again) a dream...

heat rose
like good mornings/i love yous
from
asphalt

crows made nests
like devils fumbling
over
organs

a nameless tulip
like a martyr
begged for
rain

a cloud and
the broad man
moved like low pressure
systems
into position

weather between
sleep/sex
wind/dance

not even the day
after knew

as he reached over
the bed to
find a warm
imprint
in the pillow

a memory/a woman

spring's
the thing

the woman
seen from great
distances

ha

the rose picks itself

up

Poems are images in neighborhoods

a baby is crying
we hear it in the
elevator shaft

one boy is ashamed
the short man takes
a photo a pee

literally the skyline
sunlight sitting on
a bunch of chairs

the pigeon truth,
psychoanalyze the
sure in yes maybe
flying

the moustache
was a yes or no question
his man was bouquet
of strangers

o crosswalk o
safe as clocks
my mother's moon
arms pull me in

besides
the gray red man
he's bald and needs a haircut
a bowl holds pho
sprouts and basil too
he throws
like a produce toupee
on the hot head of soup,
then pulls it closer
to his center of mass

his beard like moss
soaks up spoonfuls
dropping salty dew
off gray grass that
sins back in
the well of
bouillon

he begins
to think of
when
he lost his hair

(looking down, there)

mouthfuls of
age noodles
he couldn't bear
to gulp down

so he ate
The Soup of Losses
and
tosses up
pho
this
hour

memories of soup
devoured
by him and lament
besides

1.
boners
in school
neither honor
nor cruel

2.
pooping
in school
like coping
with rules

poem home

between
masturbating
and
writing sonnets on the swivel
chair (feet sweaty as a milk
glass)

i chewed
my nails

there there

it's
to ripe in rind
to write in rhyme
to grip in wind
to rip, entwine
to tip the vine
to sip on wine
to trip on line
to grope unwound
the rhyme rebound
to ripen rhyme
to quip and pine
two reams of mine
two lips, the signs
to get the mime
to quit
two timing time

i can say
i was in a canyon

rimmed
like a fish's mouth
or the bottom of a condom

i can say
i saw piano insides

hymned
like organ's tongue blue
or fingers on the pew

i can write
i am few walls

lim
ited

to nurturing,torturing
sound

image-
bound