Bad Days

Today is a blue day & I feel gray
Long lines down the road,
her face, but she's not old
No pillar of cloud to mark the way

amphibious dread

unbound by conventions or sanity
Red is covering your voice.

*

A blowing bush on a dandelion hill
over a game of baseball

bored of trying, I go home
running, I'm snarled in vascular weeds

I know the house is empty
each red brick.

*

I'd like to stop feeling like a guest on daytime TV

I shrink hard when pressed. I stink when I'm sad.
Injustice is bigger than this, even than this apartment

Even than storied disputes, oh lawd

Our books and paintings lean against walls
The walls win, as usual.

*

Brine weather
it's a reflection in an old TV
on a purple chair you painted
I see the lamplight which I know
illuminates your hair
but your face isn't reflected
in the TV      on the chair
you painted.

Sleep and fake plans.    We wake up
and study our purple areas.

*

You see someone on the street and decide not to say hi.
At the moment of encounter
an acupuncture needle connects both brains.
Probes and discovers what the change will be.

Some nights I feel thin, like ten of
me could fit on one mattress.

*


Clothesline tapestry manure, peat, loam
hardly hidden behind the arras
Beetle bubbles. Pop.    A tank top.

*

On the floor, covered with rain, I lay
with a hole in my head
Moving bakes the blood flow, so I don't.

*

White bucket
of ice
flesh in it
opposite of
the dancing chicken.

*

Skin and bones, hard to drag around
the persona

"careful - you'll turn out like me"
the clown on the caboose

he swallowed, then followed
the works

should the road that takes us take us now
(silly pajamas, whiskey open)

He checked his watch, embarrassed by the precision
of the questions, questioning

"I alone digested half of Goliath?"

*

Whirligig on a truck
overlooked by
carnival of
balcony umbrellas
eyelashes & makeup