Author: catedesens

Lovers across the way

Lovers: winking 
sly pinprick 
cigs drip from kissed lips 
holy like secret tears 
theirs or mine. 

across the way: 
me 
under awnings 
smelling 
rain. 

mangy night ripens moonless 
am sour round their domestic
obvious
how can they trust one another? 
grow memories like vines into eachother
bravery: 
ask them! ask anyone! find it! someone! 
there is someone that knows!

7:30-9am rem cycle

lava leaps where was      pattern-locked     
igneous rock                    thumbs sink into skin         
wherever it lives              my reddish soul is wet again
in rhythmic light              like fish who was released instead 
to sleep              of us     our heads 
in clouds like TV sideways              of us we make 
two-head wave like splitten tide 
the left the wings linear sweep the right 
the sink of stars, coding goodnight 
like stones in water slip from sight 
in blue mud butt to butt fetal as lima beans

fun w/ axes

delirious as thunder is 
or moles blind as earth, me too
sublime beach recede 
as thunder does 
in toxins wading, vacant blue 
to sleep in dreams, 
to wake in bruise s 
of years crumpled, fabric in loops
to unpeel this place, who will I lose? 
the future I must, 
the past I choose

spell for anger

spell for anger: 

anger, 

which is the body. preserving the first sin. registering in legacy

sin which is old, old. it closed its eyes 

(sin) 

and evolved to lose them in the dark

specializing

in the caves of the body. 

the weteyes cast down in apathy, repression. 

the anger of the back retching at bending again. strawberries

are cheap wherever you go 

but cheaper the Norther you go, actually,

divorcing further the labor of the people 

and the breathing of the people 

from profits of cancer.

gas fumes specializing 

in the caves of the body. 

who did it, then? 

did profit sin? 

yes. remember, yes, always. so cotton is the first ingredient

for the spell. A q-tip, swab under your eye: the second

ingredient is the first

tears your mom made you cry, 

when she with love let you fall. 

(you still have them, 

they are the only tears 

you’ve ever had.) 

the third ingredient

is that you cannot do this 

or anything alone. 

you need someone with you 

a friend, a tree.  

commune with them

thank them for being. 

now you are ready. 

you have with you: your baggage, yours,

your books, whether you have read them 

or you tote them, seeking the quiet, 

seeking the third

ingredient 

communion. 

spell: hold these things. 

  1. the wetkleenex 

in the cave of your pocket. 

  1. the snot, or the tears, 

the wetorganic you are. 

  1. the hand. 

(or the branch, or the leaf- 

trees are people too.) 

spell: hold them. 

the first sin 

is subjugation. 

of labor, land, of birth, water… 

humans are free

but working for survival is not choice. 

neither is cancer

of lung, addiction of soul, gutreaction to capitalism, 

depression. 

spell: to undo the unchoosing, subjugation,

choose. 

follow the thought you are, and choose it. 

name it, examine it. this takes time. 

especially at first. 

your mind is not used to being followed. 

there: at last: you are the anger. 

the spell for anger is to be angry

cleverly. say these words:

who in our life subjugates

how might we kill them? 

(they too will be born again.) 

fuck Baseball

red smear, green light 

within eyes, a kelpy drift 

downward, where breath confides 

soft, pooled, like low tide 

jellyfish, touch that splits time

two paths: symmetric as coincidence. 

time wrinkle, your place

fold me, on your lips 

patient hunger of apricot pits, we agree. 

fuck baseball

not talking to cute girls at parties

cheeks make ripe like rosehips. red bitten strawberry like the singing of lips, sleep dropping from hours

her guitar as our leader. the berries mounded

in a cut crystal dish, and the new moon cat-napping where no one can see her.

this dappled party the night that I met her among figures that shifted like fish among shadows.

long ago. now lost her face buried

a wish in a fountain.

how I got kicked out of a nice place

for the baby coughed.
for the bearded man hugged his baby tight,
he already considered me lost.
 
for I maintained secrets under my bed
for my secret mooing troop of pee jars insisted
 
            that
                    “you do not fit in here.”
                     now you’re getting it, Father Beards.
 
for I ruckused on your carpets
for your chubby monster threatens tears.
 
for now the bulb lamps cough
forsaking subtlety, in unison. for Beards is a sensitive
for nerves he tripped when he spoke.
 
                   “this doesn’t work.” he gentled.
                   “but I have no other ventures.”
 
lie. for nada. for I have hands
for trying on & drying lies like dried leaves, for make wallpaper for walls,
for dim head-houses are made home by pinup paper plans.
 
for fall is here, Beards, I’m out of pee.
for so I’m out
so I can stare out identityless windows at another familyless street.
for so at last we agree.