I am ready _

When you are some years their
whisky, their friends,
them.

When you are their
women
had,

Be there. Put your head down
so it creases, dog ears
on your forehead
to remind you
that gainful
is not you,
that your doors refuse
to unfold in pulp
fiction masterpieces.
You are not a thrust,
a squiggle,
an hour on a night,
a language,
a ganfaloon,
lest you see cats in their cradles.

–

tjq

She’ll bite
If the meat is,
ok,
bouncing alive.

If you can’t, well.

She’ll dig her own tunnel
five tunnelers, mice and machines
scurrying out ovals.

If pens are meant for ink,
what ink is spilled
that stains,
stains skirts, sheets, siblings.

Stamped like wax
on cotton
in sweat.

She’ll climb
if there is a cable
car.

Marking territory
with sharp shallow epidermal paths
cuticley carved
from upper blades through lower
-brates.

You are death,
She will swaddle;
You are disease,
She will swallow.

–

tjq

Rock dove!
Modern gargoyles always
planning, then
attack!

It’ll be on your shoe, or shoulder
and better likened to se
men than
blood.

If karma’s pockets
were lined with sooted paisley feathers,
lifted from the neck
ties of pink post crises men,

then I’d be in for it, (pestilence,)
a thousand reincarnations
as bird seed, at least! (winged)
which i might fly through,
in mumbai or new york. (rats!)

Eternity as bird seed,
but our souls are becoming part
smithsonian,
long sold out,

like beautiful rail cars, Replaced
by four wheeled demons and
flashing
     flashing
           flashing

four cornered boxes.

–

tjq

A silent barrow
steel in light and form.
Full of steam to be
diamonds not to be found
ground, pitched, stoke pumped, gulped
tran

snational
sentiments caryyy collective
sitory
moments striped and burned down
snfer
from hands on handles, swinging scythes
scend all these
shades of cool fragrant organic
fertilizer

Bullshit is alllllllll weeeee seeee.
Bu( )sh() is not the source of this light,

Yes, sir.

–

tjq

Eyes like ping-pong balls
uncover pulsing
cheat codes that leave mouths
smothered and sloppy
like red joe hamburger

only no joe, just the serpentine
repetition of pink on pink, pink!

These bridges now tunnels,
the tunnels bypassed and destroyed
this rubble is body peace.

Calcium fortifies buns and
bones to crush
in private war
Schindler’s
fornicators: wrestling and cussing
beds are mats, sheets ropes, and she is
always pinned, and he is always

loving it.

At the window bawdy boys
tell tall tales of tail
splayed, flayed.

Feeble temples
wretching and lurching
gassed up and gassed out.

The paternal assurance that this
still,

is love.

–

tjq

edit 5/16/07, removed:

perfect aim, unlimited ammunition:
ducks, fucking duck.

When I dream I’m married
and can’t remember her name,
it feels like walking on the lip of a crater,
or a new lover.

The lip waivers, or we do
and on faith in chemicals
we fumble on; doing the sea
star eaaating the sun while
not quite white capped salt peaks lap
gently, coolly. Re
proved

if we invert, face down, eyes wide sea
snakes wave, or beckon, or warn
astray.

Afterwards it’s rhubarb blackberry
palms pressed patiently for their sweet
sweat.

–

tjq