Wednesday, April 30, 2014


                                          ANCIENT TEXTS & RITUALS

At night sneak around to the tallest tree in the neighborhood
hang curtains on the hole for a door
nothing happens until it breaks

It seamed like picker bushes wrapped around me
they were pulling me in then I heard that noise again
it had dead birds and a dead cat in it
there was a sewing machine and bullet holes in the rusty car doors
the coal was hard on my shoes and newspapers from 1937 only worse
something was holding me back but the door was open
there were no steps to get down there only a broken window against the wall
we were sending messages over the pipe but I couldn’t get through
I was soaked and my shirt got ripped
it was near the projects there were chalk drawings
and what looked to be a ribcage

write a poem on the back of a kite
fly it as high as you can
ask a passerby to hold the string
just a minute
you have to go to the bathroom
you’ll be right back
never come back

between the space of being here but not really here
write a poem
take off your clothes and dive in without holding your breath

write a poem
across your lover’s belly with your tongue
record this poem on your answering machine

at night wander around your backyard
with your eyes closed
randomly reaching for and kissing the dark air
the words of your next poem

will spell themselves on a oui-ja board

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