methods actualized:

the pause after sipping hot liquid

passed decades, tracking up a face
lined, littered, out to dry
hands, accustomed to rent
and the charms and soils lapping against her breast

and another pause, between lifting the glass
finding it emptied,

but only after turning it up completely,
accepting the last trace of liquid,
and placing it on the table,

hoping to remember not to pick it up again

every day
her mouth was full of thursdays
that clung
to her side,

they looked
like the sack
that regret shoved
under her bed

after she found
a morning in bed with the man
who smelled like
a jar full of vanilla beans

too many somethings adding up to nine a.m. saturday morning equal
the violent stereo of gasoline power
that serves as an ugly reminder of where i wake

america mine

i open eyes as the government funded cuntknuckles of retirees
clamp down against the fierce vibrations of controlled explosions

making it means something more than is given to the subtle repose inflicted by gravity's kiss
only through eyes that have seen differently
through the confusion of smoke
does a blessing issue forth
not from my god
for such simple things
i only need the hands of yesterday
and the sweet nine o'clock lust of tonight
but hands on stainless steel
even cold against skin smooth as necessary knew when i came against you
and against against again
so fuckmuch doesn't fulfill tonight
another night to shame find fine signs in mirrors
delight as i laugh aloud
and turn towards bed
(catch myself in momentstop
keep the tears above the lips of my eyes
admire the thin beauty of my turning torso
and smile less than i did for you)

...and hyphenated says,
quite explicitly without regard for boundaries,
that this time and space,
inhabited mostly by sometimes,
always and almost,
is a certain place
where walking finds feet necessary only where
belief has been caught and tethered
to the angered, jealous caul of want

 ~

I've lifted rocks
pulled and caught to work these thin muscles in motion
that can carry
til bones remember the tautness of skin
and find a place to lay for a rest
...if only for a spell
(still, i find i must eat)

I laid these rocks in shallow waters
that were as deep as i'd once forgotten,
(when i sat at tables, elbows propped,
leaning back in chairs)
waters that even Jesus found would wet his robe
(much to the embarrassment of particular dinner guests)
the covering of my rocks came mirthfully
with a reply,
but without my voice,
and i keep forgetting my ears,
that message of rhyme and circumstance,
(believe you me, only a fool holds that a brook does as much as babble)
...again...the message that flows within the space of an instant,
that instant in which the  inflammation of the sun
can be caught and shone back
into the skies with a vengeance that is solely for waters
that are carried over slow old granite to possess...
that message is lost to me

 ~

I doubt i could comprehend such a thing anyway,
what with the encumbering of clothing
and the need for eyes to follow feet,
my feet (which do indeed need eyes)
to carry the bits and pieces,
the joints and ligaments
which i place carefully...here...and there
til i find that i do not question mirrors,
til these things do make me,
only then am i walking across the water
on these specific rocks that my small hands,
the hands that veins have betrayed, have placed
but these gray wordy stones keep finding solace under this water...
and my feet are wet.