Elevators

Freight elevators
Drive slow, sluggish, surging
Up, so that wasn't the problem
Strained looks into digital lenses
Friends of mine notice the difference

Rayguns and metal legs
Kick in doors and dazzle
The night sky, the river lights

There is no order
In the disarmed city
Disorder, old, incapacitated

Hotel elevators
Are smooth like silk
On a baby baby seal

Actualization, mortification
Case study in apples vs. oranges
Lemons in the dirty city of Brea
Mangoes in Los Angeles
Blueberries in Olmstead County
That's enough for now
Hunger is relative

Then the photographer leans in
There's a vision there, somewhere
Close-ups show blemishes
Panorama City is the nexus of the Valley
News to me

Pod elevators, blue and white devils
Had enough of them

She showed me the pictures
Of house by the ocean
I would live there in a heartbeat
Thumping between each wave's crash and spill
I'd change the curtains

I love her pictures
Love her in elevators
Cameras in elevators
She flashes a smile
From across a living room
And I'm in it again

June 13-14, 2007

Visible

I want to feel my hand
On something stark and soft
I want to cure my pain
Break my back in half

Sullen, soldiering on
Soldier, shrugging at dawn
Rain covers the sun
I sleep until it's over

The arch pulled me up
I bent, then I broke
I got back up in California
I'm invisible, then I'm seen

Bought the new car
Easy as nothing
It won't kill me
Keeps me stronger

I want to run outside
Don't want to say a word
I say too much as it is
I leave, I look away, I love

June 12, 2007

Under The Rug

I've had to sweep the narratives
Under the rug that isn't there
(sold it, didn't want it, want a new one)
I tell familiar stories
Can't say I'm wrong but I'm bored
They could be bitter
Go in new directions
Cross the unwalked intersections
These aren't the stories I write
They're the ones I tell, I sell
Under pressure, no paper, no tiny keys
Just a mouth and a heart and eyes that seem
Too red when I wear orange

May 28, 2007

1985, 1987, 2005, 2007

In that drive, 1200 miles
of which I remember 35
I'm sure there's a story
I believe there's a way
To get from the turnpike
To the prairie
To the foothills, to the grave
To whatever it is you call
The house on the top of the hill
Above the too-small garages
Neither of which is mine

I remember the Minneapolis flood of '87
The south side streets got the worst of it
I drove there to check things out
While my parents were packing
Boxes for Asia
I was listening to "In My Tribe"
Driving slowly through the water
I know I live near water

In the end there had better be
More than music and perjury
More than changing our minds
At the least convenient times

Only I can make it there
A small climb up a waterfall
Dry in summer, dead in fall
Lush in winter, winter's all
Summer works its body for

June 10, 2007