Friday, October 17, 2014

Your leg resting on mine

I am awake

watching the
shadow of
blinds
stretched
elongated
deformed
spread
across
ceiling

I see an idea
in its pale
existence,
its almost-
never-there
shape,

the night is on to something,
in streaks and bleary
light, in reflections
catch the rain,

it's
moving in the
right
direction.

Wednesday, October 15, 2014

Evermore, Everlasting

is there such a thing?
                                  you grind your teeth as
                                         you fall asleep
                                         a foot under cover
                                         a foot out
or nothing?
                     I am naked beside you
                             hands under chest
                             on my stomach
                             eyes facing you
will it ever end?
                          milky way spiral big dipper
                                     sound in the night
                                     dark and restless angel
                                     of the far gone away
or is there never ever?
                                     holding a torch for you
                                                  burning at the edge
                                                  unburdened by space
                                                  untouched by time    

Tuesday, October 14, 2014

The Blue Line

watch blue line
on map move like
marker 'cross
cuts and daggers
ridges of stone,

tan/yellow/green
moves around
gray/red/blue
impassable objects,

line swings down
and takes in the
grand old mysterious
south, foggy in our
child's eye,

oh, those places we
haven't been!

that golden sun
bakes the earth
that dark, dark night
of my dreams,

what's out there, hey?

what's there left to find?

where the wheels go next
my body follows

down
down

ah, great abyss,

falling
falling

650 pages

the
collected
works
of
Tom
Pescatore
an
obscure
and
relatively
ignored
poet
who
wrote
in
the
early
21st
century.

He
published
nothing
of
merit
or
of
literary
importance
or
 relevance
and
died
unknown.

His
impact
on
American
poetry
is
still
up
for
debate
though
most
scholars
seem
to
agree
that
he
had
none.

Monday, October 13, 2014

you can never go home, but everyone goes home in October

there, a
black furred squirrel
finds the right
side of the street,
twists up for sale sign,

rain falls in drizzles

not really touching
ground,

scent of
pumpkin patches
and wet clothes

gray sky
gray cars
little girl with
gray eyes
gray memories

in a coffee cup
mimics the sky

and clouds drift
cough float heavy
above the earth

gray bodies
gray minds

there's something
reassuring in it's
bleakness

something real.

Listen, Listen

voices

from the street

invisible bodies

whisper
under half-moon
shadow
of three-pronged
tower
memorial

rustle of hands
objects
sounds on inside
of car
leather seats

door slams

engine turns

foot steps on concrete
creaking metal
door swings
car swings into gear

muted sounds
of the hallway
fading sounds
of tires crunching

now silence

for a moment

too short,
broken by roar
of plane

followed by another
and another

grumbling and shaking
the night--

This poem is finished

scroll up

dear god

my toenails are
growing too fast
too brittle
aged

not yellowed yet

I can't think of disfigurement
of any kind--

I vomited in doctors
office thinking of
throat cancer, eyes
tearing stomach raging,

it was only
tonsillitis,

cleared up with
steroids rest gatorade--

 think of growing old
skin wrinkled
eyes grayed with cataracts,
back bent
body leaning on cane
deep black and blue bruises
true bruises that reach to
bone, dying bones
old bones,

mind roams

pain pushed into
every life seeping corner,

I must remain
now
and never go

remind myself not
to lose my body
my image of it,

weeks go by and
I am different,
hair growing
knees sore,
mind slower,

what is next,
I don't know,

maybe I've already begun
to misplace it,

fuck,

I can't even think of
the word,

I scroll up but
the poems finished--

Arrow to the 'eart

Here

am
     I
       as
           a
           babe in the
                             woods
           with fog roll
           in
        as
      I
am

Here

sunk to the bone
powder
white
decay

these sounds won't cease!

jet rumble
faraway floods

Here

I
  am
        someone else
        someone lost
   am
I

ever going to see it?
through
thick
orange
dust

gawking

the sound of night
shatters the earth

floating pearls pierce
my window screen

I see myself reflected
in globe of the world

I
  am
       naked
       truth.

Sunday, October 12, 2014

CRYING OUT!

our CHILD is with ME

SINKing in my GUT

he is words and phrases

IDEAs personified

a last HOPE for manKIND

I can carry him
into the future

wretch and bleed

SPIT HIM OUT

he will crawl on
concrete islands
listen to ivory bones

I can learn without HIM

I am a shuttle
carrying light
to its destination

BLEAR-ing out
unspoken stars

what will it look like
on the HORIZON?

my death--

what will be seen
and unseen--

tell me,

I am choking

tears seek floor
from tired eyes

I have walked too FAR

there is me
with nothing left
ahead,

I watch ALL THIS
EXISTENCE
and
CRY out!

it is morning
only morning
blue sky BLUE SKY

a child GROWing
ALONE

GRAY eyes
vibrating VISIONS

we are thoughts
thrown before us
stretching deep into the
past

DO YOU
REMEMBER
MILKY WAY?

how we got here?

my stomach erupts
puss piss blood guts goo

crawl from me!

take that STEP

be BORN

screaming into GREAT ABYSS

it is LIFE! KNOW!

IT
IS
LIFE!

But I can't

soon there'll be
morning light,

I listen to
trailers in the distance
ground highway pavement
to dust,

my hands slowed
and cold I type by
open window
violet sky,

flickering light
of desk lamp bleeds
into space and dies
out,

window creaks,
chains clamp,
engines drone,

I turn my sight
toward the bed,

my unrolled sleeping bag is
draped over mattress top,

I should be thinking
of sleep.

Friday, October 10, 2014

Star Guide

black marble galaxies,
swirling opal beams
of light, drop like
eggs onto my eyes,

I am a bleeding star

there is oneness with
the universe out there,

what if the dates and numbers
repeating throughout my life
were a premonition, were a ticking
clock predicting the moment of my
death,

what if I am God and I'm all alone?

the numbers in my head are
simple math, a writing on the wall
I left for myself a warning at end of time,
universal death,

I've all but forgotten
my omnipotence...

my fingers are gone,
just darkness now and staring into nothing

a dream

a dream

from which I'll never wake--

Thursday, October 9, 2014

I guess there was no camera on that street light

No mail will come today.

                                   Wind rustles the trees

blows through leaning sunflowers.

                                   A mourning dove coos.

Sun rises only to be obscured by clouds.

                                   Air tastes like fallen leaves

and last nights showers.

Someone stole my banana

Things vanish from
lacquered desks
in fluorescent lit offices
hanging above street
corners all coated
in innocuous cement
secretly radiating cancerous
green cells radiation
poisoning us slowly
awkwardly un-noticeably
taking us closer to our
own unassailable demise.

Monday, October 6, 2014

Players

and there you are

under street lights,
roving lights,

helicopter blades
of chiaroscuro
whip by windowpanes,

gaps growing larger

reach an apex,
pass by face and
shrinking

only to grow again,

your face obscured
in shadows
and golden rays

there's the beginning of
sweat on my brow
building on my glasses
frame,

I've been too alive
for too long,

but, there are things coming to,
get us only you can see,

I search for you hand
far away, far far, far away,
knowing I'll never catch it,

street light strains
under imperceptible
screams shakes and shatters
throwing sparks that cough about
our haloed heads,

then the scene goes blank
soon the audience will cheer,

you say I can stop holding
my breath.

I find that hard to believe.

Wednesday, October 1, 2014

Dream Agent

Your house was
made of legos
purple, white,
pink and yellow,
alternating colors
white facade, spotted
with pink, yellow,
purple drapes and roof,

Now I'm on the Hudson
talking to the man you
warned me about,
but I'm not me, see? I'm
someone else, a hired gun,
my target is unknown.

I am deep undercover.

We are talking and both
light cigarettes, the air is
cool and moist with rain,

we shake hands, and
I tell him, "I'm not
who you think I am..."

the door opens and I
ease my way in silently,
cats sleep in all corners
there seems to be a man
on the couch under them,
I know him somehow, but
focus on the cats,
I must not wake them,
If I do I'll never
find the target.

we are in a bar now,
sitting face to face
mid conversation,

I know I don't look how
I'm supposed to, I can see
myself from the outside in
and I've done terrible things.

"It's all over now," I say, "it's
time to retire."

As we stand, your eyes searching
both sets of mine, I feel a strange
weightlessness and reach behind
my overcoat,

blood, blood, without pain
it is flowing and I fall
coming to a rest on the hardwood
floor, I watch the thick redness
of the floor thinking,

"yes, yes, I'd like to retire here..."