asbestos

deep inside the houses you can hear the hollow ring-ring of here-to-there things

it was every day

i clutched a frond, and from the frond came my fondness for the pond

i kept you in the spam folder

for months
and though
there are
click
other things
worth click
clicking
i can't click
convince my
click self
to click clear
it out

Poem

Never mind I'll find someone
else to plug in my hairdryer:
now plug your ears. Place

your elbow on your knee
and go somewhere else.
Follow the yellow-

throated warbler
to his nest in a tree.
Make a donation

to save our black sea.
Get interested
in your honeyed dreams.

reprise

the
open sounds
of morning
trickle
down
bricks
gradually curled
until they form
a nest
for a
home-hungry
bird.

Best Wishes

I would like a wild mountain pony.
I would like a cobbled little street to ride it on.
These are not my only wishes.
Popcorn would appear for every movie
in the theater premiering my memories
both forgotten and not, so I could live  it all again,
but this time with popcorn.
A cloud-stuffed bed for the perpetual,
fraught-with-friends summertime.
I would marvel at so much architecture
and sample every inn drunk as night.
All the damned dogs would be met with my bark.
Woof! Woof! How does it feel, fuckers?
I'd send for you to visit me by the pond.
There would always be bread
with which to feed the ducks.
Every day you wear a different plaid, flannel skirt.
I would lock myself away on the weekdays.
The fake things I sow would sprout up as real.
This discovery could land me in government.
I guess I've always wanted to win for a living.
Along with the pony, I would get four ferrets
and name them Earth, Wind, Water, and Dragon.
Dragon is my favorite of the ferret crew.
Through the center of my porch a waterfall pours.
In the back of my yard there's a well
that links to an underground river of money.
Every soul I know habits itself to a frame,
shoving for the most visible spot on the wall.
I would massage the soft, willing feet of angels,
eat soft pretzels every opportune moment,
not give a damn what’s on the television.
I'd earn accolades among my repugnant peers
and write poetry inspired by my ferrets
Earth, Wind, Water, and Dragon.
One of my poems would be about
the way they sleep so close together,
as if attempting to share a dream.
Then, at the zenith of my genius,
I'd be awarded a Fulbright.
Then I'd shoot myself outright.

The Story Was True

I tried to write a story about a swan.
I tried making it long, or allegorical, or refreshing.
I wanted it to be good as a piece of gum.
It turned out to be more of a cashew,
more of a walnut, macadamia sort of story.
It has variety, at least.
This poem is a party mix
but with no perfect punch of an opening line.
At least the story was true,
well, except for the swan part.
Everything else in the story fit,
but more loosely, like pajamas.
I tried to write a story about a swan
when I was trying to write a story
about you, and it looks like
I can't really do either, can I?