This little guy joins the canopy.
In all its fragile immediacy.
I've gone as far as I can, for I lose my way
Some days I want to make time slow down
Like the time you beat me in ping pong
Or the night the amber light of the hotel bar
Filtered through your wind swept hair
And caught the completeness of your essence
As we held hands and laughed
And listened to old jazz songs.
Time is relative like everything else,
Contingent on one’s perspective.
Blast into space and hit the hyperdrive
Or spiral around the outer cone of a black hole
And, from someone else’s vantage point,
Time seems to slow to a crawl.
I’ll never approach the speed of light
So I’ve been looking for something heavy,
An object of infinite mass
That we can circle at our leisure.
Each step will seem to take a thousand years
Each kiss will last a hundred kalpas.
But for us, it will be as before:
After maybe a minute has elapsed
Our lungs will burn and ache
And our lips will have to break
And we’ll return to a world that has long since passed:
The extinguished sun, this frozen dead earth.
Alas, the obstinate constancy of relativity.
The best parts of the Bible are the ones unwritten
Like the time Christ was cutting his nails
By the quivering light of dying candles.
Or the divine piss that pooled
Around the roots of trees
While the dawn birds chirped
And the crickets sifted in the grass.
The sweat, the spit, the holy shit,
The rhythmic reverberation of His snore.
I saw Christ Himself today on the surgical floor.
This sunken chested old lady,
Skin like closeted leather,
Colostomy for an obstructive cancer
Bulging with gray sludge and foul gas.
She shook her spindly finger at me
And pursed her cracked lips.
Her yellowed eyes caught
A glint of the morning sunrise.
Why so early young man?
I’ve just begun to freshen up.
For the first time in my life
I knew exactly what to say
But she’d already fallen back to sleep
And the words became too sacred to speak.
Don’t wait for your skin to bronze
On the beach while the arching waves
Are accelerating in to shore.
Strike fast, strike now.
Seize not the day
But the thin wisp of what is.
When it’s over you can sleep in,
Eat hot cereal doused in brown sugar
And then meticulously wash all your bowls.
Let your gravestone be not
A staid resting place for flowers
But a graffitied slab some drunk once kicked over.
Sometimes you get tired of having to defend
Yourself from a ceaseless onslaught of attack.
Get the puck and chuck it to the other end;
Catch your breath, clear the slate,
A momentary reprieve before the pressure comes back.
I want to find a lake with ice ten feet thick
Surrounded by hills studded with pines,
Away from all the things I hate:
Creases, cross checks, red lines, blue lines.
Give me a frozen void where I can just skate.
My poems have too many trees without leaves
Like I live in a suspended place
Where it’s always autumn,
Not completely dead but never in bloom.
These poems are too much
Like day after blizzard slush.
No longer a powdery snow
And the last thing to slake my thirst
Here’s a meal when you already ate.
Here’s a warm coat when the fire’s been lit.
My halfway love is an incomplete verse;
A dollar short and half a day too late.