Three PoemsBlue Blue is the Sky Above the Labor of Faders
Blue blue is the sky above the labor of sailors…
– Tristan Tzara
I am interested in things Tristan Tzara would say. I can write a
poem a day and no one is looking. I give one of them my favorite
shirt. The other I kiss and kiss with one earphone. It gives me a
power I can only describe as flakes. Some chicken falls on the
carpet. I forget. Too much computer time. There are shadows in
my head with breasts. Come see my “roof.” Trees are in the sky
and a basilica. I am interested in the things Tristan Tzara could
say. No one home. We tell each other nothing about ourselves and
go home happy. There’s no point in coffee. I was never in love
with your cat. I never come to this bar. We buy two tall-boys and
chips. She grows quiet and dances badly. I vow once again to never
return. Something pulls me to bed. People are waiting for me on
the other side. My secret is house music. I intend to become myself.
I spend all day looking at other people’s writing. Is this a blitheSample Edits
gash that was intended? I grab beer. He’s hit me in the head and I
turn around. I see Taqueria in red neon. Flying over the city
makes power. Jared lets me steer. I can’t try on clothes anymore.
Even if I know she’s not right, I think of us on a bike. I’m reading
Crowd. I can’t catch Joseph and Bella jumps on my back and this
means something. I cut up missionary pamphlets with the best of
intentions. Waiting in the morning for my hair to look right, I get
sad. My work is an obvious cloud. Every door in the cloud is
locked. Eating with the kids, I tell them nothing about my life.
Later a man named Malcom calls.
We work in a room with the blinds down. You can eat pizza all
the time. I remember swimming in the ocean with her. I pass a yellow
cable over the coffee. Two weeks and she touched me there.
Coming from the East Bay is thinking time. I won’t run into you.
Promises about feelings are turquoise. Cigarettes are tiny men, not
women. I bet you’re cold. We make-out against some graffiti.
Poems can’t be typed. Other times, I wonder what he’s like in bed.
I buy noodles at midnight. Couples on the street piss me off, then
make me happy. What’s your trick for going to sleep.
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