Aurora Borealis

Winter time finds me,

with the onset of the cold,

wanting only to flee

this town

and drive five or six hours north

to a latitude of higher geomagnetic activity

where the Aurora will shine green and red and brilliant.

Where we will take pictures with your Holga

and cross our fingers that they turn out.

Far away from the town-glow

the terrible side effect of strip malls

that follows you for 5o or 60 miles,

and 20 some odd years,

until you are far away in the dark.

The trick is catching it.

Calculating that exact moment

the perfect latitude

the right moon cycle

the juncture when that storm of space dust

will burn brilliantly overhead.

Find someone on your exact same wavelength

and try to freeze time

with a picture.

Exhibitions

you and me kid

right back where we belong

between the wars

with 

miro

dali 

chagall

with oblong heads

and geometric bodies

filled to the brim with primary colors 

and political agendas

tired lonely pissed

and that sculpture looks like wood

from far away

but if left outside 

wood would rot

so we both know its not. 

10/28

I heard a wild crash two blocks to my right.

They had knocked a piece of the sky loose

during construction.

It was blue and serene

except for the one shard dangling

over the clock tower. 

It is the oldest building around here;

The only one with a clock.

I guess I was the only person to hear.

Or just the only one to stop. 

Word Riot

Keep an eye on the poetry section of  www.wordriot.org

"Quandaries" and "Underground" will be showing up in one of their future publications.

Moustache and a Trumpet

I listen to the universe
and suddenly I am a
history in rust
thrown back to
long wintry
drives
through Ontario
buying donuts
at our last chance to use
US currency
forgetting gas is
measured in liters
up here
where the air is thinner
and my heart beats quicker
just remembering you
and I
doing
making
saying
thinking

Learning Commons

the uppers and the downers got
in a fight inside my head
thought someone was breaking in the house
and the imagined creaks and
bangs of robbery
interrupted the self-induced
orgasm I was
just
almost
I should really lock the door.
Popping pills to stay awake
long enough to work out
all the work
Smoking bowls to fall asleep
long enough to wake up
and work
Self-destructing for success
earning degrees
measuring degrees
of sanity
walking cold bricks home
alone
thoughts racing
waking thin lines between
taking meth head as a compliment
thinking and writing
prolifically
interrupted
"the time is now 11:30 and the library will be closing in 30 minutes
if you wish to remain please move to the learning commons on the second floor"

Sarabande

in some fundamental way
this cello captures
everything that is sad
and beautiful in the world

the hard rain of gray days
the solemnity of funerals
the joy of weddings
the complexity of solitude

with every reverberation of the strings
i remember dark days of
childhood and wonderful ones as well
and i feel peaceful
listening
but inadequate.

skeletons

6. 15. 2008

Your hands and feet...

I like the bony places

where I can see your 

fragile framework.

Every interlocking part

that makes you -simply. 

Layers after 

that make you 

strong

smart

handsome

remarkable-  remarkably. 

Against all odds

against all expectations.

I like the thick skull 

that anchors your black hair

the deviated septum

that makes you snore

loudly

then quieter 

when I kick you. 

Color Wheel

November 14, 2007

I miss your blue cashmere coat

Your black Honda CRX

Our white bird house

The yellow dollhouse doorbell

Your moments of pink compassion

That seem to have been replaced

by this sea-green depth between us.

boiled eggs

I am realizing a great many things these days

like the 

should have dealt with this differently feelings

of unsophistication 

that accompany

the filling of voids with 

drunken desperate fucks

on late lonely Saturday nights

and hazy early Sunday mornings

rife with ulterior motives

and hiding true feelings

with a thin veil of 

Cool Hand Luke indifference

slipping through the floor boards

when the warden ain't lookin'

the "i don't want anything serious" lies 

told when one knows they have 

failed

and been cast aside

thrown away

the unwanted 

wanting so much

having no idea what we really want 

at all

wishing we could eat 50 boiled eggs 

to prove our worth

ain't nobody can eat 50 eggs.

sanity

I want that right-brained brilliance

that accompanies mental illness.

That invisible inner-cerebral muse

whispering a poetic genius.

I want that megalomania -

The imagined greatness

born of melancholy

raised by decades

and immortalized in anthologies.

The sexual deviancy in the past

that haunts and whispers

"write

write

write

and be brilliant."

Late Nights (a haiku)

It is scary how

little it actually

has to do with love.

April 24

It is daily now that I am struck by the beauty of the world surrounding me.
I have skipped classes for dread of going indoors.
I have seen bees soar above my head in a mating dance
that is intricate and violent
passionate and dangerous.
I have felt the love of the sun on my shoulders until it was seared in.
Only the sting at night to remind me of its warmth in the day.

Sometimes I care so much that it hurts
it overwhelms me
and makes me helpless.
Sometimes I want the relief and refuge of indifference.
The burdenless beauty of self-centeredness.
If only I could pretend that the world was a centrifuge spinning endlessly around me.
That I was the eye of the storm - everyone else an inconsequential raindrop.

It must never hurt to be self-centered.
To never feel the ache of empathy,
the incurable sadness of mourning for another's pain,

the hard sting of beauty

the inadequacy of words.

vegetarianism

I hated it when my mama would pan-fry hamburgers

the smell would crawl up the stairs and settle into

every fiber of my carpet and clothing.

You have woven yourself into my life

every photo and ticket stub

you have crawled up my legs and settled into my mind.

You sneer out from every poster on my walls

every blanket on my bed

every intersection

every movie theater

and restaurant

and i want to hate you

like the greasy smell of

dead frying meat.

flight

I almost cried when i realized

that airplanes held no more

magic for me.

A strategic combination of

fuel and speed and

aerodynamics.

No longer the alchemy of people

in the sky

where they don't belong.

July 10 2008

That is when I love you most

early A. M. drives on expressways

coffee and cigarettes

the bright sun over our left shoulder

windows down

fast breeze

There is no more linger 

about us

no more intense "stay with me"

no more late night swims

no more house to ourselves

no more family gatherings

I want to empty our change purse

and count what is left

for us.

Natural History

7/9/2008

i was too scared to walk

into that room

the scale model of the womb

red lights

heart beat

umbilical cord

The origin of every notion of comfort

i went halfway around the world

to wander through museums

pretending that i came looking for

great masters of art

hearing instead

school groups

running and yelling

nearly knocking over the collected centuries 

not understanding

"Please Do  Not Touch"

i went looking 

and found grown-up

ideas of "Please Do Not Touch"

grown-up feelings of guilt

i went looking for me

instead i found you

                         everywhere.

Underground

6/29/2008

you sit google-eyed 

on a bench

wanting only to tell the black woman 

who just got off the train 

that you like her bag.

A tall, gray man once said 

"the heart never fits its wanting"

does yours?

you want for nothing

i want to be you

roaming the underworld

with a rolling suitcase and 

a bunch of grapes

no wants in my heart

five teeth in my mouth

500 voices in my head

a smile on my face

bonfire

June 20, 2008

The intestines of the fire
are a scale model of the
Grand Canyon
Red Rock
We sit around and discuss art -
"are you a fauvist?"
"i'm an I-don't-know-vist"

How many debates
revolutionary whispers
circle the flames
like the ash flakes of the
burning cardboard
some float up and
away
some stay still and
burn
burn hot.

bricks

March 31 2008

      I wanted to push those bricks back together

                          cement their fissures

      repair the erosion of time

            use a steam roller to

seal them in  a moment

            somewhere before they'd

learned of pain and division.

editor

I am the new poetry editor for next year's edition of Sphere, the journal that just published my poem.

A meditation on a friend

April 4, 2008

You express wonder like a child.

      It invades you and sets up 

camp in your face.

                     Glowing outside

                                  from within.

Your eyes spread

          and your crystal blue irises

sparkle. Your pupils reflect 

the object of your adoration.

I want to be that object.

           I want to cause that 

magical reaction in someone.

           Make my image the one upside

down, frowning back at 

me. In those wonder pools

            Black-hole pupils bending 

the space time between 

body and soul. 

New Artists

So the chair of the English department here at OU has nominated me to represent the English department on the Arts for Ohio committee.

Tomorrow morning (at 8 a.m. sweet Jesus) is my first committee meeting.

Basically we review a bunch of proposals from people who want their art programs funded.

Some are really cool. 

So far I've learned about 3 awesome artists that may get to have their work exhibited here next year. The three that I found most interesting  are Laylah Ali, Michael Minelli, and Stephen Talasnik. All very different. Michael Minelli was actually commissioned by the Wexner center at OSU in 2006; he did a piece called "Shiny" for them. 

It could be really interesting to have input into what events come to the university. 

Butterfly photos

Photos I took in October at home. 

Quandaries

I was recently published in the Ohio University undergraduate literary journal Sphere.

This is the poem, in the magazine it appears  on page 81: 

Quandaries

What if God is the fizz in my ear every time

I take a sip of soda;

        The consequence of sugar and acid

      The curse of narrow Eustachian tubes.

 What if we got on a train and left.

       Toronto      India       Anywhere

What if you wore a grey suit 

and I danced a two-step.

      What if we talked?

What if we stopped pretending?

In Chicago       Hershey

                                    Any day now.