No face no sky

I sat there
watching parts
of a ziricote dulcimer
fall out of your open chest
knocking on the wooden floor
like it was a newspaper
unfolding on the other side
of the breakfast table
what I couldn’t understand
were the strings
where they came from
why it seemed like
they wouldn’t ever stop
coming out but they had to
there had to be an end
to this where you pick it up
put it together
and play it for me
like it never even happened



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Side effects

The whole house fucking reeks
no—I bet the entire
mountainside knows
today is harvest
like if a skunky cheesecake
grew on a plant
breathed it’s spirits
into the sky
one stalk at a time
the black hash melts
on my hands into my skin
my blood & bones
some of it was wiped away
with the honey off
my feral fingers at lunch
I feel like passing out
but I’ll write this first
it’s sticky then it’s smooth
I could roll up a ball
and smoke it, I’d rather
lay around and dream
with a body pillow
on both sides sprawled by a fan
while the cicadas light up
like fireworks—like that
thing that happens inside of me
sometimes you just gotta
wait some more
while the leaves wither
the mind wanders
quiet solitude
half way to heaven
I’ll wake up
rock hard and throbbing
knowing you’re out there




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The things I’d do 

Retrace the heart
out of the pollen dust
layering the nylon string
acoustic’s body
now it has a shadow
another version
of the same heart
on the same guitar
pressed up against my bare chest
it’s out of tune
it’s been a while
but the e isn’t
it all lines up
everywhere I’ve ever played
is right here buzzing
rushing water running through me
melting down from the mountains
coming off these old black
& bronze nylon strings
the smell of the world blossoming
thru an open window without us
getting lost in the circuitry
of focus I would go
like I did that one time I was dancing
alone with a mask on the back
of my head looking down
on everyone from above
I want to do that again but could I
run my thumb & fingers over them
in different ways, different rates
what do I remember
what can I make up
before I gotta go out
& do that thing




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It takes a belief

I almost forgot
I wanted to write
this poem
with a J hanging off
the side of my lip
I was out the door
after a cup of coffee
& before the river
evaporated cool
on the way home
you can hear the sound
of the beetles ticking
like gears that move
without touching each other
at sunset behind the hill
the oak leaves waltz
in the desperate hot wind
everything hunting
being hunted
I can count a dozen pine trees
both sugar & ponderosas
that have died & dumped
their carbon for the others
still living, still fighting off
the clock ticking, the invasion
of the weird little clicks that dot
this forest into a dry death
giving more sunlight for the others
that will someday thrive in their place
after I cut them down, burn them, &
once the beetles have had their way
with the sap that doesn’t bleed
well enough to stick around
& stay to see the moon ripen
a global hawk drone winking silently
flying toward Reno like a starlit ghost
& the bellowing cries
of a dying horse for an hour & a half at dawn
a single gunshot & it’s quiet again
a pound of oil
an ounce of flowers
an hour and a half in the crockpot
the water boils off




.

The narrator

                                                    What is waiting on
                                                 the other side
                                              for us
                                           waiting
                                        on the other side
                                     for us
                                  is it some kind of
                               scanner
                            that detects it
                          rippling
                       pushing through
                     or did you know
                  did you know already
                it would happen
              it already happened
            like a story
         that crescendos
      right before the alarm
   goes off—the alarm
goes off

We figured it out
  before you were awake
     or even born from luca
         the map is like a song
             to us we know it
                so well
                    we can see you coming
                        from a mile away in it
                           it’s not like we own you
                              but you’re compromised
                                 it’s programmed
                                     like a pattern of blocks
                                         the more you taste it
                                             the closer you come
                                                 you’re right there
                                                     on the brink again
                                                         —right there
                                                              on the brink
                                                                 again




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Las siestas

Somehow                                             I always end
                                              up here by the water
 with dirty feet
  it flashes back
                                          this other world
                                         we’re in now
looks like a dream
     it’s so consistent
                                                I know
                                                 so meet me by the lake
 somehow with dirty feet
flashback to the songbirds
                                           
     in the forest I’m awake
                                                but I was there again
           by the water
      with dirty feet
                                                     dirty toenails
                                                         I live alone
        during the day
               I’m not alone
                                                       by the lake
                                                I’ll pick the lighter up
  with my toes
I’ll take the clover honey
                                               from the cupboard
                                              I’ll keep it on the counter
      ’til it’s gone
 I’ll smoke a joint
                                               outside in the shade
                                                   it used to seem
so much more random
             than this leaking
                                                locality from both sides
                                                              what am I



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