city lights

To T., L.C., & M.P.

like ripe fruit
fall from the clothesline

it will take you more
than trainfare to get
where you're going

girls girl themselves
poets poet themselves

at night in a pill
or in day on the street
who are you kidding

station to station
the poet moves
hair makes him younger
beige pants businesslike

to that which plugs in
wears on
takes off (under the right

the artist changes
his name and builds
a city of light
where no one will know

penpal and pencil
pocket pussy media player
and the yellow boxfish

modernism is dead
postmodernism pretends to have lived

ink is dead (pens be tray

time is dead
money is dead

love of course
(but who dare say

if you want to know me
i will declare citizenship
to the grass

take you to a field
of radiant RGB green

if you want to know me
i will domino you
into the grass

and go into you
like the song of the locomotive

if you want to know me
you will drink my
raw pulsating

iambic dimeter
from the full bodied tip
of my nib

and then
i'll talk to you

what will i say
to you
you say

beard is to pussy as
sandpaper to butter

chair is to doggy style
as hemingway is to all


train is to me as you
are to me

unleaded or pure
the lesson is clear

1. buy low  sell lower
    no one will make a
    better or more
    graceful mockery
    of you

2. fling
    your genitals in
    the air and keep
    them there for
    a while

3. dedicate a poem
    to the penis  if you
    don't have one
    you're shit out of luck
    come and suck mine

4. time is a function
    of desire and decay
    directly proportional

5. if woman is
    the nigger
    of the world  man
    better go
    iron some shirts

6. greatness is bought
    with timespace
    if you do not control timespace
    then you are worse
    than not great

7. there is nothing
    else to know
    that is not written
    in telephone

for they count syllables in ja pa n
and all i do is

call moments  they
tell me they missed

me and thus we
part on sad but

amicable terms

there is no end
but at the end of the line

wash your clothes
suck some sunrays through a straw

keep emptying your glass

(lest buddha
should find it full

and above else
be happy