Activist reaches out to Frankenstein but nothing doing

“Poor green monster. You’ve separate women.
You lumbering Lenny. You keep the kids in.
A brainclot of a master, an anti-Mister.
Raise signs with us. Deserved.” (Disaster.)

ownership

I once protected men.
I canned them, or
replaced my long soul with flags of them.
I feared their death asea.

Tonight I am roughing through chemicals
and full of flags to shed.
That's allright. Patch on, Rosie.
Work during the war
and grow cloudlessly lovely alone.

A terrible thing swept a small town

A herd of cows, goaded by fire,
stampeded downhill in a blitz
through some open legs of street
where they exploded across people and dragged them.

Interim

The animal way of love is bitter.

It often returns me to my lovely long rope that cords up to the moon,

where my climbing is small and sad, sexless, secure;

where I do not care for a partner, and there are no ugly questions:

How can I make myself spare,

and immediately vulnerable, and just enough?

How to confess sexually, how to lay out organs

tastefully, how to patiently come into each other?

How to respectfully and lovingly narrate? How to

bring tea? How to knock so quietly all the mice in the door

relax?

the neurotic narrator's eternal hypocriticism

How to clatter onward?

How to bliss out?

Instead I fawnpatter.

Instead I spout piss.

In this story I'm going to write
protag finds Joey Lieberman
wandering in a swamp
with his conscience a-waver
and brings him back to the fold
from whence he has strayed
of the insurance industry lobby
who have posted a reward
for his safe return, and protag
takes the wages of complicity
and quits his job at the store
and goes out on the road after
happiness, but the money's gone
before he catches sight of it
and the derelict drunks
who are always standing by
to offer advice
begin to close in

A religious belief
in travel and in small
symbolic gestures
as the means of
erasure
or of effecting change.

About seven minutes
into the woods
behind the Jack Cohen-Koenig Theatre
spanning the gap between the hillside and platform
built twenty feet from the ground
between the trunks of two trees
is a twelve foot plank
which may have been put there
the platform as well
by hunters
but when I went there
I would read a book
and lie all day
watching the sun slide around in the sky
and I wish to god that I were on my way there now
instead of headed to work at the glasses store

love

hollywood is

a city of chums.

glam nails. morocco. a killed mandaddy,

a dead woman fucking

, and fame, that yellow mollified star.

foster (a love poem)

my goose, excuse me,

god bless it but your eye is up.

you are magnificent and prey; you are alert and magnificent by the bookshelves,

watching me advance

from just one side of your tall white head.