Mayfair

     What if? What then?

Icebergs follow icebergs, Kalishnikovs. Oil deck. Teal flames

and the nylons peel off.

The stupidity of being 
never felt so right.
White clouds are precious now

outnumbered as they are.

Buttered pearl. Tinctured parrot. Fire opal

cry to me

Rebuild the masterpiece. Why be afraid?

Most days are quiet at their best

empty as Cleveland in the wind

fumes glassing from the bus’s tubes

friendly folks with sausages and wine.

You can't help hear a plaintive song

too weird for mass consumption

grow enamored

and daydream the rain

and daydream

the symmetry to be tomorrow too. 

     In. On. Allover. Forever.

Suspicious of my own desire

I take revolution with my tea

abdicate thought to a worshiping eye

swear to turn away from dirty voices

(how they talk like an addiction)

Mute the chatter Find the center Blow the fires down.

Tugboats camellias violins next.

     As evolutions move swiftly I see the broken hand pushing me outward

to the back of the line

thinking the fading

emerge and then fade,

so the emergent will fall.

But they often advance.

Every motion, like a game of chance

to influence by pretty visions

confounds control. No matter

the quality of your wonder

speak of beauty and watch the stares, alarmed,

you weirdo.

Other eyes kill.

as the camera’s casinos intimidate fortune

elements moving in key with a purpose

with no intention to serve us.

Scrape past in a smile to some extreme new yes

and the streets get treacherous
like indices racing toward a precipitous dip

on the way to obscurity and beyond

on the way to red-light eyes,

inflated lives moving in McMotion

tyrants and oligarchs, invisible waiting

glaciers like midnight

slowly sleeping their way

toward awakening valleys.

    With something approaching grace, I fall, I fall.

It's mostly repetition

for those outside extraordinary realms. Us inbetween

middle-class marsupials

ride that tremendous bridge in the sunrise

to the imperial rainbow in the open air

feeling the power of thick-again mystery

in every perplexion sent from above. Feel too

tyrants and oligarchs
invisible, waiting

glaciers like midnight, honeysuckle, and moonlight.

Oxytocin, hibscus days.

Chalk dust. Clouds of diamonds in October sunsets.

The warmth of home.

The pain of home.

A spiral staircase docks me on its genome.

Rebuild the masterpiece. Why be afraid?

     As petals of conversation

drop here and ere

laws reveal meaning

in crushed-up codes—a thicket language

the X’s, A’s and V's

of airport screens

gnashing teeth at the stress of propulsion

imitate being before silence is dream.

Mute the chatter Find the center Blow the fire down

Wherever I go I find love still consuming me.

As defensive as holy I was sure I was useless

a poet a tumor a dodo

a system to myself.

Something faster beckons

Take me take me take me.

To honeysuckle and moonlight

to oxytocin and hibiscus days

to influence by pretty visions

killing eyes mortgaging today.

     Take tonight. 1/31st of May, cool marine air

loaded like belugas

with every toxin the currents carry in

I see children, heads hemorrhaging delicious chemicals.

Primarily what applies to them is what they like.

Chalk dust. Clouds of diamonds in October sunsets

toxins carried by the currents deep within.

For example of nothing, observe

Human life as mineral deposit

something got churned out by Earth

wading through carnival fog

searching the grass for invisible coins

stuck by the arches at nine o’ rock high

broadcast honchos rising them high

to busts look like agony—

dope stare, pleading wound of mouth

ecstasy followed with shame

like old men hiding back

in their hospital gowns.

As easy as paradise, I stir the dream.

Oxytocin. Hibiscus days.

Moonbeams. Freakshow. Epiphany. Next.

There you are.

A cipher, a dodo, a dream, a system to yourself

as moths in the halo of city blue

start letting loll tongues that lick away the moon

lovely as they go

as dreams of those

who want something bad badly—

fat drugs love disaster desire destruction perfection it all.

I swore to turn away from dirty voices:

soap opera love. Curtains raging at 3 a.m.

Tugboats. Camellias. Violins. Next.

A woman you visit when the robins find Spring.

     Some nights the spotlight shines

like you're Random Miss Universe, 2010.
Others, in darkness,

you're searching the grass for invisible coins.

And the whole human shebang dusts off its lectures 
like a sitcom professing to KNOW.

The rules of this game. 
Pirates get ransom. Drug lords get paid. Civilians drop off. 
The apse of the night gets ripped by the motorcycle.

Nylon peels, butter pearls,

tugboats, hibiscus, heart attack, next.

Then Spring, the final icicle.

O nights of the youth with the world on a string,

I have no advice cuz it's all 50/50

and I live on the fringe

of sustainable things.

Burn these words quickly and then burn your own.

Today is all gone; you deserve incredible flings.

Stir the dream, easy as paradise.

See what to believe when the robins take wing.

The weather tomorrow only lasts while it lasts 
like pink sidewalks in the Spring.