All Dogs Should Go Home For Now

Contents:

• sometimes i write a poem for you and you may not want it
• what are you doing with that iceberg?
• battleships and retroactive lovemaking.
• french expression
• another mighty exact counterpart: disparate (sometimes i am saying goodbye)
• a divide across the ocean: somewhere over there someplace ended absent
• physically, with a sense of refuge.
• an ode to a typical existence
  (unfinished tale)
• 32
• crushed underneath remarkable florists
• a crash into …
• and a mile more to go
• all the dogs should go home for now

 

---

sometimes i write a poem for you and you may not want it

sometimes it is necessary
it ended on a monday sometime after
the world had ended on sunday,
but tuesday had not been written yet.

somewhere there is a gap,
it is found inside that place you were born.

like Haiti on a friday afternoon,
things that are paradoxical can coexist:

in time,
in mind,
in days.

after the world ended on sunday.
motivations that have come out,
birthplace of a lexicon,
distinguished.

with notations written in gibberish,
they still call
over the brainwaves of our telephones,
inside of the ontological cave
and a piercing truncated highway.

in 2006 several roads were covered by suburban lawns
and i found a way to see those wonderful things again
and those things that are sad.

 

things that are sad.

---

what are you doing with that iceberg?

 

i hate that there is nothing i can do for you.
i hate that there is something under my bed
i can’t get rid of it
i hate moments when there is nothing
more to say.
i hate sometimes
i hate the idea of being complacent,
when i am complacent and when you are complacent.
i hate having to talk to you
when i hate talking

i hate your expectation that i should like art

walking around this place
with you
takes up too much time
that i could use hating something
that you have done and searching
to hate the things that you have yet to do to me

and i should be going home
since i have to wake up early
in the morning
to begin to understand what i don’t hate.

---

battleships and retroactive lovemaking.
(made effective as of a date prior to enactment, promulgation, or imposition)

 

i felt you walk across that water
over there
it looks somewhat like a puddle that the dog pissed in
yesterday as we walked
into a sliding glass door on your porch.
and i felt you as you passed through this life
and i felt your patience as you fought your war

open seas and under the stairs
even your male-factor eventually wins
sometimes the eventual destruction
of everything
is what i am asking for
and i can’t understand why
you ignore my conjuring
at night when i telephone
you to tell that i am sleeping.

whereas the neighbor is drunk
while she makes love
while her lover exists

a room separated by a wall of approximately six inches thick from ten years ago.

i telephone you but you ignore that i am sleeping.

 

 

 

 

---

french expression

 

the puddle forming around my feet

i tried to think of something diplomatic to say to her as she raised her fist.
sometimes and occasionally a cloud will formulate constructions,
feasible accommodations, fictitious inventions within the limits of Babel.

 

not everyone can live in suburbia
without constructing a tower
and her space became sacred on that day the water leaked beneath the sink.

 

---

another mighty exact counterpart: disparate (sometimes i am saying goodbye)
over time
and time over again
to the other place outside of this one
to there and here

i selfishly explain that there is outside placed into
concentrated over there.

we figured we might as well
and throw away your psychiatric analysis or trade it in
for something that works

such as sleeping

in a bed.  eternally.
sacred moments drive
and your heart felt good and sore
and your mind became clouded

as mice ran around your bare feet
as you stood at the edge of the continent
staring into the ocean waves

and i fixated my eyes on the horizon
as the sun rose out of the water
and through my hands.

we can’t resist
observing those moments when we really disconnected.

i think i left before that flying aluminum coffin winked at me and caught my eye.
i didn’t say goodbye, but i meant to, and now i am covered in a plastic grass.

 

---

a divide across the ocean: somewhere over there someplace ended absent

 

it’s 2:36 in the morning and you dropped your telephone in the toilet
and in japan you would be translated
that was 2:36 of morning, your telephone of the washroom was dropped.

it’s 2:36 in the morning, nothing has occurred to me

across the water is a hallucination traversing commodities
and in japan you would be translated

 

crossing the water, there is a hallucination which crosses the article of trade

 

but the only ones who would be laughing,
are hellos
and mentioned comebacks are discussed
songs without meaning are sung

and my hands are slipped away, disappeared.

2:36 in the morning?

 

nobody has happened to be in place.
i have received, accepted and redefined

that you have been translated into oblivion,
became yourself into indiscernible oblivious disguises
and you still try to call from your bathroom telephone booth
as if i wouldn’t perceive.

i’m already under the water, crossing the ocean and holding my breath as the

letter ink washes from my pocket.

 

---

physically, with a sense of refuge.

disreputable gallows fall and a soft sound begins.
i try to climb that tree only to be stopped halfway
and a barking squirrel tosses nuts atop my head
i have memories about you in the driver’s seat at 56 miles per hour
sunlight exposed through your hair dangling out of the rooftop
breaching opera spans formidable opposition to facilitate a ship

sinking into the ocean

her mind wraps around a telephone pole at 56 miles per hour
crushing,
her skull is infused and drenched with memories of me
sasquatch leap from trees to carry away her ghostly shape
and snow covers the absence of the body beside her

a cruise ship submerges to the bottom of an ocean
on some resort coast, drunken vacation passengers are lost
a mile out in the dark sea
at hand, with no triangulations.

and i find myself standing beneath that tree wondering how to set aside what is left in the wake of your occurrence, realizing that i am left without any contact.

or trace.

 

---

an ode to a typical existence
(unfinished tale)

 

compile your so precious reconciliations
and go to sleep on the pillow

bricolage

 

eulogies became implicit
masochistic dogs ground the earth trailed upon

reckoning with an operation preserves
solitary surgical confiscation
of the most essential organs of the body.

no longer can i hear her name being called in the woodland
of tall pines and
the thunder is deafening when standing over the hole
in the ground that was
left behind when there was a robbery.

 

---

32
in the last year

dioramas have been constructed
erected in rooms
to close to get a good look at.
and we grew up, finding ourselves as adults once again
rode the bus
flew in planes and made plans for tattoos
burned down the house
remade the house
bought new appliances
found your name in a 12 year old electronic posting
watched you sleep, held your head
wanted to sleep in your life
moved out on a thanksgiving
fell asleep for three weeks and missed the birth of Jesus
took another plane home, wincing at what i said
watched them walk away,
dispersed into new lands
saw her wash away the world
walked away,
the sun shone to my side.

in the last year
went to the store,
bought McIntosh apples
watched them rot in a monumentalizing action
paid my rent late
saw my last fleeting moment
ran around in the rain
threw a baseball to you at midnight
rode in a cab as you fell asleep drunk
walked you home
got some rocks from Texas in the mail
looked into eyes that I never could before
feel asleep on the plane
flew over your house, over the water and into a mountain
rolled down a hill
locked my keys in the car
and met you for the first time
mowed the lawn with an old machine
planted flowers in old soil that never grew
left my apartment
and drove north in a pickup on the first sunny day
you wore red boots, I wore a sweater.

 

---

crushed underneath remarkable florists

 

and hollow ends transferred kissing water shaped breath
and peepholes appeared portside revealing moments not yet described
and you followed the equinox, oh that celestial event
and destruction never quite reaches an unexpected potential

 

while i sit in the sun that sears my flesh, feral canines invade psychological
entrances into the supermarket and i feel crushed under the opulent floral
display embellishing a lonely island located somewhere near Fiji.

 

---

a crash into …

potential claims the heart and i crash into

sore, waking hellos are said and i crash on the lawn

crash, crashed, crashing     rolling.
rolls rolled into

glistening my head and floating up, crashing

leaning into
on, to there…something

and i am not awake when i see you,
as if i had left my car on your lawn
when we shared that moment.

 

---

and a mile more to go

 

wistful listening, un-joined ambitions and an earthquake.

 

i am trying to conjure decided upon hippopotamus rituals
and there is more than enough to go around with your listening inside that
block caused by interruptions.

and what should i say when the situation is turned around.

 

he becomes submitted to it
she becomes a hundred miles out to sea

and the day is backwards only going forward within seconds
and a time machine cannot be relied upon for this situation
and I write to you anonymously from across the street
and you never saw that i was just ten feet away folding my clothes in the laundromat
and a song keeps me connected to universal synchronicities being mapped out inside a tree

trunk with a cat, one mule and six moles.

 

glistening interactions rumble through the ground that you walked on
you were just two years old, i was five
separated by four-hundred and sixty-six miles.

and now i am one-thousand six-hundred and three miles from that ground.
you are only four miles away from me.

 

---

all the dogs should go home for now

exquisitely
resting sparrow outlying
has driven itself into your heart
noticing free expressions written
on the side of that bridge

there was a thunderstorm last week.

and i go to it in the middle of the night
to shine a flashlight
illuminating words i forgot to mention

i filled my mouth with the water from a faucet in your kitchen.

and all the dogs should go home for now.

the rain came down so hard
clothes were drenched and sad
sleeping late to break up the day
back and forth and halfway there

i am persuaded by people rushing, rushed into and forthcoming.
of cruelest intentions derivative,
we speak only into an insensible compassion.

and all the dogs should come home for dinner.