Faust Born Again

Mephistopheles: 

Now you speak more sensibly again, my friend!

You may yet naturally regain your youth, 

but that is written in a different book

and constitutes a special chapter. 

• Goethe

Oh devil, 

look, look

Now I have stepped away

from your crumbling book

    too old for this, and by some measure

        too young for this

So, pass it on

let your demons know 

my skeletal message flows graphic

rebellion on my mind, a secret source

trusted and tympanic

your power deflated, too dramatic, Germanic

your offer leaves me anaphylactic

here is my exit, my mouthful of noise

    singing in one cerebral cortex

        deflecting your contract

your myths are buried beneath the museums

and no one will believe them, I am staged

for a glorious debut, waiting on the rain

of ravishing reviews, you

were clever once, but

    it’s a racket, this pamphlet, I still

        had to pay taxes, these pages

hot-leaded, soiled with flashbacks

of loved ones I outlived, villain, 

my touch screen gone stone, atomic, and raged

Enter (blasted devil) the digital age

I deleted the last page, no

signature, you have lost my name

in the warring signals of skin and silicon

devil, move on 

my rythym rides the red line at a speed I choose

where there is no catch

Old Meph, get thee behind me, 

my mother is aching, her section is cesarian,

not born of woman, I am erupting

from her body multi-nonagenarian

go on, go on, the deal is long gone

and in despair you will watch me respawn

in 5, 4, 3, 2, 1….

August

a punched-out laborer drags

his steel toes and down-holed soles

August 2 o’clock he dreams

of an ostrich-assed dancer

with a three-olive grin,

and she buttons

his shirt to the scruff

***

at home, dozing in the maw

of a gapped-tooth puzzle, he suspects

that tonight he will make his

time-machine and hide it

from his wife, the future,

he can’t convince her

will be worth this wrench, this knob

twisting towards a glimpse

of bird-kin evolved—a distant granddaughter

curiously perched on the Gonnus Mons

she blinks away at a flickering blue dot

sings with a whistle, and boom

it’s gone,    

she moves on

Dial It In

kneel at the stuttering place, weep and
you got no park and no MasterCard

this seriousness, a May plan

circuit board stepping roadtrip—a world

in that description American addiction,

nap hallucination, and such disorder

welcome seems weeks away
by island-inspired awake, explore

assume rank, explore
the soap, the anti-soap: Himalayan pink salt
and rain lily—squat and imagine

Hey appears in Astropoetica

My poem Hey appears in the final issue of Astropoetica.

Ranged

she stood there, and there was no war between us

hundreds stood like her, for years

for a little drink, she stood above the toothless grin

of the wildfire line, the hollowed juniper

anticipating nothing in the yellowing distance

I couldn’t say whether we were opponents

she stood there, a hunt, like a smoldering bush,

assumes oppositional forces, strong cuts

unearthing the harvest, salt-hide, brine heart

her honest garment of ash and crosshairs

a wind swept through the canyon

a mediator of meat and museum

rumors of ceremony stretch

across the highline trail, reddening

for Autumn, rippled like a hidden pond

stirred by a velvet spike before the flash

blackening its ankle in the burn, the cutthroat

air betrays its warning, air once angry

who pushed flames through the herd, yawns

and sheds its skin, this is the thirsty hour

what is equalized is distance through briars

and bear grass, she stood there unaware

of the war between us, the minerals in our bones

prayed into the smoke, and then she fell

Selected for Participation

act, abandon your warm cotton

attack the reputable hour, diabetic

five a.m. alarm for a prick, the vibration

of a most recent meal debt, approach

curve scale, sugar, move: this

morning is not for nouns

guide—all the quiet you harbor

at this time, and somewhere

in America Elton John is playing

radio is a substance, a lethargic dust

a type 2-step waltz glycemic; competitive

name the song and it’s there

birthing insulin, stretching a million

frequencies, an emergent weight

descending ballerina, you must

have seen her dancing in the sand

burn the heart caloric, and now she's in me,

rearview mirror shake, a single ingredient

always with me, tiny dancer metabolism 

salted, breathing heavy in the mist

__________________________________

posted to dVerse: In the corner of your eye

Burial Life Insurance as Little as .25 a Day

generally, through black

and isn’t the surrounding personal

is it rude to speak of blossoms, now, as if

foods change love       so often dreaming of elevation

the force is best that forces an appreciation of fruit

cool, grape animals, a morning recreation

a rectangle in satin silence

finances are no mountain any more

any dog can bark a message

music, a perfect scenery

no blog about it

no heart for climbing

the end is fruitless

budgets want an elegant statue, portraits, day and

chime, all that religion

at the last moment

we dead are the growers         from previous time

forcing some tradition             breathtaking

landform, famous but for terrain

more end

less spring

fantastic earth            

celebrate on the fat

background river mountain hospitable

more produce than clockwork, opening

to $0.00 air, there's a you-shouldn't-have of flowers

you-shouldn't-have flowers sleeping on, 

            with winemaker worshipers of this

                      early valley dirt and permanence

 for wooden climate   

love food, go change

fruit forces produce

day plants and elevated—all

for the silence of a quarter

on a Friday well spent