Seven Ways

There are seven ways to cradle that baby
One is slow, light and blue
One is actually two
Three us four and that is seven
The baby makes its way up and out
Of its place of rest like
There’s nothing wrong with lifelike
There’s only truth and a mind shaking
Its way up and out for all to see
And only some to ignore

written 2 hours ago

I Told Her Not To

I told her not to
Glue the map of the world
To the front of the expired calendar
December turned to its opposite side
The glue is for the grains of sand
The belly piercings to the art installation
The glue is for the girl with the wooden shoes

I told her not to
Glue the soul of her everlasting body
To the ends of her shoes
Like that
Not like that
No, I told her I’d be her
Mother and mirror
Enemy and sedative

I told her not to
But why would she listen?
Listening is false
The truth transcends voice, upsets sound
I told her to tear the atlas pages
As close to the binding
As possible, it’s better that way

I drove down that road
Went under the bridge
Over the tunnel, haloing the water
Almost every day
From 1985 to 1988
From 1996 to 1999
From some other year to some other year
I don’t know
But she wasn’t there

Next time
She’ll be there

I told her not to
Stand in her aura like that
Shaking the jewels from her memory hat
It’s a crapshoot
Sixes for signs of life in the river
Sevens for love on dry land
Eights for something long forgotten
I told her not to
She did
Bless her soul

December 19, 2006

The One Who Chose Not To Glue the World

you can run your fingers through your platinum
you can sit there like you’re too young or something
you can yearn for colder weather, a kettle drum
you can try to make film stock out of nothing
and I will be there to write it down
I will be there to nod my head in rehearsed approval
I will be there because I liked the song
the first time I heard it, in your open air market town

you can run your fingers through your platinum
you can plan on moving to another better city
you can feast on failed appendices of actions undone
you can squeak by and eke out and look smart and pretty
and I will be there to write it down
I will be there to weed it out and answer you
I will be there because I loved the film
the first time I saw it, in my old high rent hometown

you can sleep all day and shun the sun
but don’t forget to
run your fingers through
and through and through and through
something needs to go there
someone needs to feel it

March 30, 1999

All the Bones In My Body

(please don't be creeped out by this one. I wrote it 9+ years ago)

all the bones in my body
are coming back to haunt you
you didn’t think I’d want you
but you are wrong, I want you
with all the bones in my body

this bone is for breathing in
this bone is for breaking things
this bone is for causing pain
this bone is to blame

this bone is for fucking up
this bone is for feeling love
this bone is for God upon me
the bones, all of them, in my body

September 10, 1997

Blueprint Blues

melancholy in your irony
your blueprint blues have killed
all insight into why or why not
he does this thing to you

don’t worry, it’s not over
your second chance will come
you’ll have options you can cradle
in your hands, your still soft hands

you could kill him, you could love him
you could kill him and why not?
you could ease him into sadness
equal to your aforementioned blues

you could do absolutely nothing
and force his arms around you
you could clear your throat and scream
like in 1995

but dear, your blues are honest
and his are made from sugar
throw the ring into the water
I know you live near water

watch the shiny speck float freely
while your blueprint blues turn black
loved by nothing, loved by no one
loved my memories and shadows

and if this eases nothing
and if this makes you cry
then cry like tears are trains
rolling west and south and west again

there is love and there is failure
there are eyes still left unseen
there are misinterpretations
there is this and this is nothing

you are wrong to wait for nothing
I am wrong to want to kill him
he is wrong to ask for everything
I was wrong to never tell you

but that forest is the pines
and the pines will live forever
as will fragrant lilac memories
I know you live near water

but the blueprint blues keep playing
in your swaying lies your secret
back and forth and back again
in melancholy, sway back again

part of peace is what it isn’t
part of that is what you keep inside
you can sleep beside him
you can dream away the silence

you can store away the pictures
of the poses and perfect places
the past stays in parentheses
open arms and closed regrets

piles of bones and eerie fragments
moving vans and dust and dirt
hanging wreaths and tiny tears
the brightest angel shines alone

what this is not is a longing
for that moment of rescinding
all that slowly came before you
what you were silently born into

what this is then is a prayer
that your blueprint blues are just a song
that you find your lone hill pine
that the wind is swaying with you

April 20, 1997

(if you knew me back in '97, could you remind me who/what I'm writing about here. I've forgotten)

The 10800 Block

there would be quiet valley nights
I would find myself in bookstores
reading epics of shipwrecks
blessing what I had left
across the wide boulevard
my trudge would turn to glory
as my body made its way
and the ransom went unspent
as my body spilled to bed
and my dreams went unwritten

there would be those nights
now the valley is old and distant
I don’t live there anymore
the din of those places
has turned to what I have now
pre-recorded suspicions
and rain water shoes

I traded quiet valley nights
for what I’d thought would do
and it did, now I think
of running and swaying
of jumping in the waves
of leaving this city
with its porcelains and smooth cool changes
of leaving with her
and taking our chances elsewhere

October 5, 1999

Minneapolis

We don't live there anymore

(written in 1991 and 2006)