art if facts

i fooled myself to looking on creation
as something greater than distraction
it was a good trick
had me going
getting tangled
in a hedge maze made of legacies
all my artifacts in shelves and files
the things that humans
left behind for me

writing is no Titan, friend-
it's just another obstacle to
getting something else done
it comes down to a matter
of how you'd rather fritter
whither and whether you care to
leave behind an artifact
for someone else
to find
down the line

scrap paper

mountains miles deep and where am I?
dodesukaden dodesukaden
tunneling through evidence. I want to  show you
all the greatness in the solar areola
lickt erect and prickling gooseflesh
burning for the roughness of 
earthen skin. all of this is meant to
anything or trees make sounds and no one needs to
care. one way or the other I am always
hungry forest breathing thirsty city
bleeding drumbeat blistering. valleys
to the sky and where am I?
dodesukaden dodesukaden

steam

radiant alone

or so i hope

amidst the puttering and worry

i submerge in liquid crystalline

a timeless ticking

lifting me into a reverie

yawning in the eye of the storm

medium

the Hanged Man smiles at Death
beneath the World-
the Hermit takes a breath
beside the Tower-
everybody's waiting for the Chariot

I don't believe Bukowski.

I don't believe he never struggled for a word.
I don't believe it always roared
Or burned like the sun.
I believe he meant it as a challenge.
I believe he wanted to scare
Those of us who could be scared away.
I won't be.

girl on train

all dolled up in candy apple
plastic wrap accessories
blowing bubbles to stay young.
ignorant of memory
the sexless drip of readiness
leaves no room for mystery

cacophony

the figures in my head are easy to ignore
until they're not.
the clamoring begins under the rivulets of water
running down my ribs
each morning. a shouting match that no one wins
until I lift a pen.