I wrote these two poems in the summer of 2001.
***** "Things That Shoot Up" heroine addicts, weeds; skyrockets, fireworks, bombs bursting in air, oh-oh say can you see all the things shooting up? billions of lasers climbing, shot from the billions of fingers in the great wide open nothingness? like the rain dreams of upside-down androids; a computer-generated chaos that just can't stop organizing itself. no floating feathers, or gentle bobbing ships on waves that elbow each other in jest in the ribs. just ! BLAM! BWAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA! ribboning cyclones, a barber snipping himself to the piling end, the cocaine sniff that lasts a whole gracious slicing lifetime, the weed-infested field plucked and plucked by children with A.D.D. forever, BWAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA! but the clincher is BWAAAAAAAA! BWAAAAAAAA! BWAAAAAAAA-HA-HA-HAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA! ***** Um. What just happened? One more poem now. Or whatever these things are. ***** "What the Bar Looks Like After Ten Drinks" Bodies advancing and retreating bobbing and swiveling amongst globes of gaseous gold and planes of cloudy black. Multifarious human-made objects discarded in eerily recurrent complex patterns: rectangles re- ceding, circles mushrooming in unharvested rows a silent rainfall of heartbeats a rolling murmur in the shape of a giant cube cosmic calculus. ***** Okay, I lied. One more. From that same era. ***** "On Time" Today, by its very length, weighs twice as much as yesterday. Each breath (another debt to pay) metes away the seconds slipping slowly, slower, up the hill to blink (finally) my sleep away; to resume, too willingly, the morning, scrrraping across my back, and I am stuck between the doubled day and its Siamese twin yesterday. ***** Apparently, I was on some kind of mysticism/perception/experience kick back then.