I am ready _

I do… but I don’t
I Do, but, I Don’t – I DO
but.., I don’t, I DO!

; or -

I DON’T! but, I do…
I DON’T, but, I Do, I don’t,
but I DO!, I don’t?

–

tjq

oh so important,
I make a point of showing

up.

–

tjq

a bad haiku is
as good as no haiku at all
in modern sometimes

–

tjq

As i ride the L I can’t help
but think of ying and yang.

Here, you see, it’s like this:
some say there is a 1 for eveyone.

Only one in sixorsobillion
And I think, no wonder half of us end it all

and part from God.
Then I think about two or three People I know,
Happy shiny people.

so what?

It’s just that two or three is too many
I shouldn’t know that many happy shiny people.
(Ying’s with their Yang’s)

I simply don’t know enough people to make it possible.
So then I think, to myself:

it can’t be 1 for everyone, it must be
at least 100, or something like that, for everyone.

And I’m on the train still,
off to my left I see you, or her, or him
who knows, but someone, real, here, now.

And you, he, or she bats
this, curls that, lowers these and so on.

But, as you recall, I’m on the train,
so i don’t say hi. (it’s not proper,
try it sometime if you don’t believe;
packed like refried beans)

And the pickups bringing the juice spark like
aluminum and steel shavings (bright and blue hot)

Yet the 600 volts don’t trouble me, just the wheels
I can’t help but imagine that i’ve laid ten or twenty
or maybe less, again who knows, of my hundred

out on the tracks and i roll along
like these few heads now

detached

because i’m on a train and can’t say hi.

–

tjq

eleven floors above the (490)
on one of a double

four and one opposable
the end of your no sex hand
seeks spiritual explanation

o
n

my all sex chest

i think, hard, like i watch an orchestra,
(don’t worry i’m not sleeping, i swear),
how to tell her

of world wars, world savings,
long predicted, impossible to say -when-

(out from out)

I, blue, left field, nowhere plug
in and deliver
sixty one ten twenty thousand

refining my pride to

about face and her windowmirrors
already moving, a verbednoun full of arrows, -ing
while her no sex trembles as if full of it

I stand Isaac to her Ishmael;
her sanguine seas bleed clear

and i can’t help think something about the futility of milk,
honey, the glory of suicide bombers
and the allegory

of the houris

it wasn’t the all too recognizable
sickly sweet, red molasses

or the ninety percent third degree;
it wasn’t the pools or rivers; though molasses too.

he could handle the ragity Anne and Andy’s,
since they were really just
ragity Ain and Aliyy

under fire and swinging

precariously from the Sinak bridge
like family ornaments under siege
from a jealous tabby

no,

it was the grist mill in his mouth,
she pushed him over.

the millet, fresh as greed
unground, ungrindable.

–

edit 1 (01/30/07)

it wasn’t the all too recognizable sickly sweet, red molasses

or the ninety percent third degree;
it wasn’t the pools or rivers; though molasses too.

he could handle the ragity Anne and Andys;
really just ragity Ain and Aliyy

under fire and swinging precariously from the Sinak bridge

as they called to mind only family ornaments;
under feline siege and swaying gently.

no,

it was the grist mill in his mouth,
she pushed him over.

the millet, fresh as greed unground

ungrindable.

It bubbles, slowly,
as I imagine candy to just before it hardens
not the (boy oh yum) sight
but the (whose finger on a crystal rim) sound.

at the edge of the aural
experience, like rhubarb tempered
by teacane sugar.

the crystal movement
(bach’s third in e#)
to the untrained ear bears a striking
(daughter’s mother’s titter)
to that horror of grammar school horror’s
(no tongue releasing neenah foundry steel)
the witch and her nails stud
er-, skrap- ing

his(same)her
blood glances upward,
begins its ascent;
the first crescendo passes me
to pianissimo;

united as these states,
the actors (Olympians to the last)
abandon the emergency
                          brake
                    hit
              -full-
      speed
                    stop.

a crushed pepper pill cup
humbly leans against the post
it portico.and

that i’d rather stop
crosses her lip(sI) pry, cut,
jawing her to life,

just mind needs, dear, you
and…will shiver, complete the
sympathetic loss.

–

tjq

i’m licking the wrong end
so you can
just for a moment
push

aside and open,
and you say you don’t mind,
but really you’d rather

I slough off, play some pool,
find another playground,
jump off a cliff,
whatever;

just stop opening everything.

tjq