I Didn’t Know You Were So Spiritual
the house please take it
out of it’s misery that’s what’s
done to animals we don’t understand
as if our money was water was
nothing we couldn’t do without but
paint it with the things we use
to dress salads and watch
just what types of things eat
The House, Please
tensions were running high and by
that I mean we were all in the
mood to set the atmosphere
on fire an explosive atmosphere
like dirt you spit from
your mouth in a cloud at
your neighbor you look like
space being taken up by matter
and man do you look good
doing it and my face is like a
tree is what happens at midnight
when you forget how cold your
toes can get
War
You are the conductor of a huge orchestra
it is opening night everyone sounds like
the rush of the sea you tap your baton
against the podium nobody moves
everyone continues to talk you decide to
start and everything is all wrong the tubas
sound like the trombones the trumpets like
the oboes the violins the saxophones
the cellos like birds chirping the drums cry
like babies the flutes a piano and you you
yell and emit the sound of a siren and all
the noises together produce such a
magnificent melody and it’s opening night
and the sea the sea is applauding for
you and you're helplessly confused
Uprooted
I walk outside, and a squirrel jumps down from the tree by my house, somehow carrying a pistol. It drops the pistol at my feet, and nudges me against the leg with its nose, then runs up the gutter of my house. I look at the pistol for a few moments before I bend down and pick it up. A family of white mice jumps out from under my porch, dragging a Kevlar bulletproof vest behind them. They leave it on top of my feet, and all point their noses up at me, twitching for a moment before scampering off, each in its own direction. I put the vest on, pistol in hand, and forgot what I had gone outside for, anyway. A few birds in the tree by my house open their beaks, and loud sirens emit from their depths. I hit the deck, not knowing what exactly to expect, but feeling somewhat prepared.
Offended
In a split-instant, everything stops moving. The train blowing it’s horn, the car turning abruptly, the squirrel hopping onto the tree, the woman and the woman spinning hand in hand, the deer bounding out of the forest, the lion close at it’s heels, owls hanging upside down, the baby flying through the air, the explosion, and me, unable to breathe, without the slightest idea of what was going on—the deafening, constant noises of that moment.
Extended
In the middle of the night, in a dark house somewhere, without windows, covered in thick, grey vines, I call out but can’t hear my own voice. Is there anybody there. Is there anybody there. I know I’m saying this, from years of calling-out experience, but all of a sudden I’m unsure. I could have just as easily been saying is the rainy bud either or is the rent I bought in air. I continue to holler, hearing nothing of what I’m saying, and the more I consider these other options, the less surprising it is that nobody answers. And I wonder whether I’m hopelessly lost when I cry I stare in the butter, the hair.
Chestnuts
I encounter more and more lunatics with each passing day. Ones that tell me about the rapture, ones that tell me about the end of the world, others that tell me business propositions, and others that tell me about their favorite ice cream flavors. They come in all shapes and sizes, but they all have one thing in common. They all look like people I’ve known, or people I’ve encountered before. I know this is a trick. Disguised, every last one of them. How do you address a lunatic? Leave me alone, lunatic. How’s life, lunatic. I’ve missed you, lunatic. I think theses things, but I can’t bring myself to say them.
