The Incipient Indefinite

introduced to Erasure by erasure
a fairy godfather most divine
young and trim and brash and flaming
in nineteen eighty nine
I young guinea pig spook-in-training
wild and grim-inclined
who knows what could have happened
if he hadn't seen the signs



we can't stand
and we can't wait
we can't get enough
of what we can't anticipate
but if we can't get stuck
then we can't be late
for our own expiration date



slate skies and water basalt angled spat
arced in triumphant parabola back
to trickling brief rills down rock faces and drains
— here liquid is rare, barely a brief stain
this high desert's most sacred odor is rain
the river flows through us and all life sustains



as declined the spirits
so arose new light's pall
a beggar looked round
the long banquet hall
revealed drunkards and louts
— fine noble ministers
who were all passed out
shaking her head
the thief gathered her loot
as the President snored loudly
and pissed in his boots

Heating Up

Lidya Grey forced a siesta on me
she was simply too much
three days of endless puppy love
walkies, four legs and such
including the tail she's got five limbs
add a curious snoofer for six
that's my favorite single-digit integer
so I guess she's pretty perfect



we put them on their pedestals
groom and feed them well
tell them they're the best of us
and when they fail it's hell
no slip-ups for the lionized
your laurels are not for sleep
flit about your sun, Icarus
among us wretched is where you'll weep



bring your adders to my breast
I'll suckle them with my blood
every creature deserves a life
— even a human one
full of murder and rape and spite
brief thrills at death and pain
that is what they'd have us believe:
Holy Fathers and their big brains



vibrate an angel's feather on harp
some things I've seen are in the dark
like memories from another life
of drive-thru lovers lost to time
bus-stop afternoons remain
while thirty years of abuse changed
constant turmoil boils skin-deep
— but it's just my flexibility

Relent with Ruth

lick Death with a scourging whip
no matter how quietly she may drift
her bones will bring a clatter
she says what it takes to get her fix
so blood is dripping down her gown
so go all the wails and moans
into emerald tatters —



down the gulch there's an old swingset
doesn't seem to have been ever even used once yet
there it stands pristine and old
surrounded by cholla and creosote
walking round the hillside it cuts
see the red chains, white seats blue struts
a peaceful place for quail and ducks



a simple twist a flip of the gel
turns out the place isn't so bad
nothing at all like any other hell
good light and the walls are thick and sturdy
six by five might make you thirty
but either way clean it and it won't be dirty




In hush and still air a thought dark cracks
spills into my eyes
a dawn of grit and heat — sun's high blast
fair witless stand witness my demise
these singularities and simple facts
lonesome dancing's all there is
it is no heaven but this is bliss
time marches on as hearts react



you can polish all you want
but you can't shine a mine
polluting mother earth
is murdering the divine



at the end of the hallway, the agora at the lift
concrete block tenement has its own unique taste
blind schedule relentless to interstitial lives lived
latchkey apartments, condos, small spaces
jam-packed in airtight, unlikely to drift

Springs and Fountains

shame for things I've never done
darkens each and every morn
—fountaining!
seems wellspring's not dry
much to my shame and my surprise
as I dry my dreary eyes
and strap on in for another ride



combinatorics and human hearts:
coy mathematics performed in the dark
some find connections some fall apart
some are renditioned some never budge
location weighs more than knowledge



Presuppose complexity
everything leading to you and me
math, genetics, history
and always the tyrant biology
Assume a life led seeking out
finding truths, removing doubt
I'll assume the same of you
now what on earth are we to do?



unlocked some old algorithms
I had entombed within
got me a passel of new tricks
she brings a vibrant new life's rhythm
a Lydia Grey who likes to chew sticks
as I scrape off old skin



poets wake with the dawn
poets stay up until everyone's gone
poets wander the smallest hours
looking at bugs and staring at flowers
a poet spends every moment of life
singing of truths in the sun and the night
Why Muses choose them? They are alive.



pest control arrived a bit late, it should have been fine
but the echoes were over, they'd spilled all the wine.
that wasn't fresh paint it was blood-fed red lines
an ant waved their antennae at the end of a spine
the irony was they were the same size as mine

Oh Lydia Oh Lydia

poetry is exploration wandering
as if we're lost
finding what twigs and duff we can
specifically accost



She wished she could restrain Elaine for the oncoming train...




she cried no tears as she bid them adieu
all her traumas went away
there go the memories black and blue
one fine clear sunny late March day
her last words "it's just a flu!"
Her friends now all say "what a shame."



like balls on words to sing-along
four runners lean and tall and strong
without turning a single head
they run in single file except
for when cars pass they fan out behind
like an avalanche coming down an incline



propagandize to take out what's left of the middle
entertain them like faeries on tin whistles
— then prepare the Intercontinental Missiles
they haven't got any room left to wiggle
Malthusian erections are easy riddles
but solutions at this point aren't so simple



'Liar' is trending in 'Politics', Minister!
...what, have they figured us out?
laughter ensues in smoke-filled rooms
while some spin yarns defamatory
our leaders are plotting our downfall, it seems
there's no need for Q or the Illuminati
we've got predatory global companies

Clay Houses

in the pool she caught a gleam
a liquid transparency of silver cream
washing over the walls and yard
streams erased her disregard
slow breaths and spinning to begin
escaping the prisoners she held within



Covering roughly zed to omega
a sea one cannot breach
one can always part the oceans
but nothing can't (for now)
a love poem to a set or string
would be a cold dark vacuum thing
Infinity won't sing a lullaby
look to the light and sing



cold, deadly, and black
sink into the pressure til every bone you have cracks
biscuit shaped holes stream blood from your flanks
imps they surround you, their black dead eyes blank
there glowing beneath you a massive mantle it pulsates
— Kraken's hungry beak awaits



authors choose they freedom wise
stare into my feral eyes
watch I swivel my two ears!
read and witness, look and see
that I just write the songs I hear
there is no separation left
my Muse and I are truly cleft
we're just ballooning with the breeze
tossing out our poetry

Cumpleaños Lagarta Grande

If anything is awesome which isn't a whale
it would probably be a well-written tale
to be awesome requires a behemoth status
or to have a particularly refined substratum
but my poetry's flirty, pretentious and grand
the best medium for it is on wind and in sand



happiness remained elusive
in those neverending mists
the delerium of days inclusive
of raving howling fits
now emerged from that cocoon suspended
each breath of air and my heart lifts



My mind sometimes wanders
to memories of fear
most intimate violence
the shedding of a tear
as my scales grow ever thicker
with the wear of many years



The Pantanal is where mi papa is from
el es un caimano viejo
it extends all the way up into Brasil
al Noroeste del garganta el diablo
¿now what do you want a stone up there for?
¡mi padre solo comer los pescados!