We are all scientists

We are all scientists
gay and dismal
natural and social
chemists and linguists and bricklayers
We cannot afford to delineate
We must take our truths
where we can find them.

On Viewing National Velvet

Art is not a jackboot thug
with a blowtorch

Art is a kindly uncle
who shows up when we least expect
with wonderful toys
from places you've never heard of.

True Art Waits.

(Author's Note: Click here to see what I'm on about [It's not the film/book of the same name], if you're not from Denver.)

Drabble

Ellen jumped out of a fourth story window and discovered she could fly. Finally she was free! She could go where she liked. She would feel the autumn wind in her hair and eat field mice and raw fish. She didn’t have to go to a job that slowly stole bits of her soul day by day, she could do nose dives or live in a tree or just feel the salt-sting in her eyes as she followed the vast illiterate arcs of the great sea birds.

Ellen jumped off of a cliff in Bolivia and discovered she could fall.

Good car to drive after a war

(Authors Note: Guess which line I stole from a Mountain Goats song.)

We'll use our sentences
for life preservers,
After the war.
We'll use these words for kindling
these songs for insulation
these half-finished novels for rabbit snares

We'll eat our syllables
coated in
lard and cane sugar.

And we'll use this poem to build
a brand new Cadillac XLR
Elektra Blue.

Last Thursday I woke up
and was overcome by the terror of existence
Weltschmerz, I guess you would call it
just, you know the horror of freedom
and non-existence.
Anyway, I could feel my pulse slowing down
feel my cells dying
and I tried to get up out of bed
to fix myself some tea or whatever
but I couldn't move my arms and legs.
So I just lay there
staring at the ceiling
for like twelve hours.

Anyway, that's why I missed my court date
Your Honor.

No Poem Today

No poem today
I'm too sick
and tired.

(not like sick and tired of a thing,
just both sick and tired.)

I'm just going to lie on my pillow
And sleep forever
OK?

Newspaper Blackout: The Eary Years

Insomniac Newspaper Blackout Poem

Old Haiku Part Two

Anti-aircraft guns
Pop like Rice Krispies
War is Hell

Just relax, man
You won't remember this shit
When you're dead

I hate these slow songs
Eyes like lit cigarettes
Hands like spiders

Computers are killing romance
Books, checks, vinyl
Divorce papers

Our first mistake
Was teaching the robots to love.
Cold metal sheen

The swift crane
Gets the worm but not
The sunset

When the aliens came
We greeted them with open arms
And open legs

The revolution
Will be televised, but on
The Disney Channel.

Old Haiku

So I found a bunch of free-verse haiku in an old journal of mine. So here it is! Most of it is A-Softer-World-y, and some of it is awful.

We drink to stay young
Like vampires except with
gin instead of blood

The recipe didn't call for my dignity
But I put it in anyway
For a leavening agent.

They are everywhere
Cameras in the shower, bugs on the phone
Spiders in the dishsoap.

I hate this school
Drywall and halogen and
35° angles.

Every night
I still pour two vodkas
Clink clank hiss

I stare through the window
The moon is the moon is the moon
Not my heart

When I hear her name
I stare into my coffee
Two creams, one sugar

Styrofoam cups,
Non-dairy creamer,
Sweet-n-Low

More on Friday.

For the Tourists

Ian was right
Love will tear us apart
Molecule by molecule
Atom by atom
'Till all that's left
of you and me
is a love-colored stain on the pavement