Let the Words

A man on a busy street corner full of voices and rumbling machines, sits at an eloquent bandsaw with a long line of women, children, and sad little men with humorless gazes. Each person in line digs in their pockets upon reaching the man and hands him a series of cards - credit cards, debit cards, member ship cards, plastic business cards. The man at the bandsaw flips a switch and carefully cuts each card in the shape of birds, flowers, butterflies, and intricate lacing patterns. He hands them back to the owner and they smile, amused. They walk to a young boy who's furiously chewing gum standing next to a sky scraper riddled with scaffolding. Each person with their artful little cards gives the boy their card. He then leaps quickly up the scaffolding, removes the gum in his mouth and sticks the card to the glass/stainless steel building. Climbing down and reaching the ground, the young boy puts another stick of gum in his mouth and waits for the next person. * * * A woman with hair

Waiting in the rain until bones gone soggy blood like slush aching clenched fists The bar rumbles with waves of laughter, old rock songs tinkering of beer bottles ice in clear glasses saw her once, all flesh heavy breathing, in rhythm with a man, the rain slid down her cheeks and collar bones like olive oil, white teeth glowing in the twilight wide smile thanking god standing under an eave across the street, eating blueberries I witnessed the pleasures of immortality Swaying like a falling alder leaf, her eyes wander lazily trying to remember the ground a smooth wild pendulum "You know how this is young man, without a crystal moon" "I want you in the rain always singing of immortality" Metal buttons, cold wall, starchy stiff jeans pulled past soft milky thighs, rain water warmed by skin twisting, jittery excitement folding, consuming, gripping shallow drowning breaths until life is knotted loosened again, drained already forgotten Leaning now, buttocks in hands smel

Sleep's an insomniac lover reading ancient odes, fiery dirge and death, voice laden with violence, sex and honey Dreams are a repetitious chaos chanting that pulsates somberly like electricity This is a rock This is a rock in a park This is a park with a rock where green grass grows. There is a tree with a shadow near the rock in the park where the green grass grows Again. Over and over, silent images of a screaming rock. Again. Over and over. I cannot stop. Frantic replay. This is a rock that bends time and space in a park that exists only in my mind where the green grass grows and a tree casts a sad shadow to remind the light that there is always darkness, that speed is relative to its existence, that one with out the other means nothing I want to beg the rock to speak, cut the tree down, and turn green green grass that grows into ashes "I am not Moab! My father is simply my brother and my sister's only my mother when all else is dead." There is this rock in a park