Wednesday, September 24, 2008
Vendors said, no more free coupons.
First they'd consider buttons
as red as bypass surgery
face-to-face with their own credit cards.
Because conversion happens one click at a time.
Enter drop-dead menus,
free-form fields, back up on the Internet
paraded naked in the street,
hair plucked and strung across lutes
by those who occupy a higher register
in robes that are purple and soft
as fingers that pull on beards,
because conversion happens one prayer at a time.
Time is a lottery many play but few win,
an orange ticket on the driver's side
that falls from the dash
as sand funnels through ears
unable to hear the wind,
the way a camel's lips twitch
before pressing onward
past the next dozen ravines
Wednesday, September 3, 2008
Mother, father, birther sof the cosmos
shimmering light over everything
I gaze on trees
guarding night from ocean
standing at cliff's edge
where a wind chases empty words
down along the shore
waves bow and then withdraw
as so many of the living drown
and leave the dead to float
in this smoky tent of dreams
laced of cinnamon.
In my house of corrections
I can't stop from playing
a historical ballad
giants swallowing ogres
who shout Uncle.
Those idiots were full of shit.
You and I knew it. Ask any bank teller
along the estuary for his side of the story.
But what could I fix?
And was there anything
I really wanted?
any day you spend the night
we move across time zones
orbiting from living room
holding on to each other
like keys to the house,
traveling over lakes, mountains,
fought in past wars.
All my renegade heartaches