Poetry Archives Bio
May 6, 2007
5:00 AM
three oh two a.m air...
To Paul Shepherd

three oh two a.m. air
awakens in me
a catalogue
of memories imminent

morning spiderwebs
cock roaches on the bookshelves
sand
sun

decades of sex
in the head
pain
and innocence

stirring my coffee
with my haircomb
(for poetic
effect

i remember
the dune
the door
seret kahol'

and the touchtaste
of underage sex
attempts
oh  the games we played

conglutinating night and day
into one
i stand next to myself
on the railing

captain of the desert
ruler of the underworld
of the secrets of sperm
and pockets

i stand naked
arms outstretched
greeting the city
with my desire

knowing where to hide
and where to look
i pass dune after dune
to a makeshift tent

through stories of objects
handmade bongs
bullets  condoms
and sand

my heart beats in my head
and when i look
inside there is nothing
the people are gone

their illicit sex is gone
so i continue past the malls
past the parking lots
their apocalyptic decrepitude

liberating me
propelling me
towards the beach
and the powerplant

i collect an audience and expose myself
trying to get others to appreciate the
fallacy
of my body

with utter disregard
for public and private space
i collect old phone cards
remembering into the future

where cars
ends of time
and broken telephones
rule the caste of secondrate lovers

in a clean new office
holding my tongue by the reins
i write two columns
prediction and predilection

i pay my bills and my dues
i negotiate time
a task tantamount to peeling
the skin of the eye

the summer wind
gets me high
where is the time
when i could find books of interest in the sand

or watch another child
burn a book in the bushes
turning leaf after leaf
page after page on fire

the entire book is on fire
but each page is on fire individually
turning and turning
every word burns

my father slowly tears out
a photograph of a tiger
out of the photo album
he finds in the street

i have a book about space
in english
before i can speak english
before i can write english

before thinking
dreaming
jerking off
in english

still knowing the right words
still knowing the causative difference
between then
and when

not knowing my place
but knowing each
note
on the pendulum

the streets and cities
countries and languages
and the parts of the tongue
responsible for good taste

i towers of babel
erect inside my head
talking through metal cans
and pigtailed girls

a change of shoes
and a hope to grow up
in the present regime
not needing to change clothes

the poet wakes up
rubs denial out of his eyes
angrily consumes his breakfast
bargains with the shower and toilet

gets depressed on the way to work
sits down at his
desk
and accepts his fate

in plato's cave
they say
the umbra and penumbra
bear equal weight

the poet grinds
the crying stone
the cars pass
the boys play soccer

there will be
a furtive meeting
in the bushes
behind the school

after class
what is salacious must exit
what is innocent must enter
there will be hills

and sand
and reprimands
and hot lunch
at home

and the mind knows
but the heart
of the mystery
suspects nothing