Tagged: the Sky

More On the Sun

I think it can see
how fragile we are
There’s a newly paved road
on the old road
Over and over. The sun
a twitching
of blind spots
The sun itself
is a blind spot
What lights there?
We change lanes
mostly guessing
No wonder our Earth
has its face
to the sun
like it does, at all times
pacing around it
Maybe the sun
was born
with some disease
that requires watching
An impulse control
issue. Look at us, driving
places. Honking
like geese
in such
well-meaning light
What must we look like
to them, up there?
The irritable
The spitting
Our lives an array
of outbursts
The chaos
of joy
falling softly
on some other planet. Pink
and blue murmurs
Gold standards. Our boxes
for looking directly
at the sun?

Crosswalk Balloon

a balloon bounces
across a red light
on the rocks
not popping

the cars go, they too
on their balloons
on the rocks
not popping

each day, I feel
another day
coming

not like these balloons
which could go
any minute

I wonder if somewhere
out in space

there’s a street
our planets bobble across
not popping

and if
the light
will ever change?

No Such Thing as People

I have seen the chest of sky
at her deepest breath

A black sky draped like cloth
over a table I am under

The stars are glistening – they
are juices inside of melons

peaches, bad people. There is
no such thing as bad people

Just good people eating
the same things over and over

ignoring the plates of strange
misshapen people

that become our soil. See the
children in the soil

Watch them touch the sky
on a mountain of dirt

Gas Station Rose

walking out of a Shell station, a man
pulls a rose so fast from behind his back

that it startles the woman he’s with
causing her to jump back

the rose is skinny, erect, the way
it’s wrapped in tight plastic

i guess it’s the type of rose you get
at a convenience store gas station

the type a man does not intend
on buying, but does do anyway, to go

with his liter coke and bag of chips
maybe the rose is for his feelings

a small gesture for showing up. none
of us intend on feeling the way we do

do we? one moment so beautiful and
hot-blooded among fuel-pumps

we could explode and keep exploding
if only she’d flick her cigarette

the next so certain that there isn’t
a moon. there’s a hole in the ice

i could swim through

Concession Speech at Recycling Bin

wondering what to do
with life, as if
it has just shown up

as if it were
this plasticy thing
in my hand
at the recycling bin
with the trash can
there next to it

maybe I’ll just be grateful
for a closeness
to my dreams
as I am for the sun’s
beaches, as I am

for the sky
and some women
I never talk to

Columbus, Texas

I was unaware of the spaces you had claimed

And now when I close my eyes to drink
my lips stay dry and I am the desert
I itch and swirl like all of its sand
and am almost recognizable
at the posts of dehydrated soldiers
who see me and swear they just seen
Kat from The Parish flicking her skirt
with eyes hollowed out to the ocean
I remember your rooftop dressed
in awnings and icicles and how
far away it is, too far away to be shade
and these ripped up t-shirts
tied to my feet are burning through your smell

The stars behind your head are sitting on my chest