the stone of the statue is peeling away
under the boredom of time’s soft trot.
the here of where is more a question
yet unasked, more a when than an answer

our families call this world a forest
but i see four corners and an exit sign.
rotting in the open mirror, i am convinced
of my beauty as a function of its decay

wherefore art thou idiot romeo, come
bring useless aid of your body and your love.
these banal delights have banal ends
let us die here and now not where or when

flee toward the flickering sign, leap
thru exit's threshold into thine granite eternity
of an affordable memorial statue, Made in USA
proclaiming, here rests (face and name eroded)

hey

did you see that
that man staring at me
what's his problem
some people. can't mind their own

do you think that
he saw something
(maybe anything?
where there's nothing)
what's he trying to prove
who's he think he is
(or isn't or i am) anyhow

(i live in a box
with a bunch of maggots
feeding on the filth
of a rotting bone)

they push and they stare
and they don't know a damn thing
(about the box or the filth or the bone)

first run's over.
i'm pennies now
price can't be printed
or figured out

my selfhood is the only cost
on the line (not in the bill)

externalized by God's kind Hand
unpaid with His good Will

no.

He makes many
i'm less than few
my soul is forfeit
when overdue

distance water sacrifice

slit open the stream
and step with bare mind and foot
into the current
onto the altar
ankles wet, spirit glistening
God yawns through the years.
your animal body is anointed
by a drop of sleep spit
from the mouth of a bored or holy ghost
You Are New
every moment
and at each point
like a stream sullied and cut open
by the vagrant stride of man

conditional

if
is a hook
to hang iron dread on
or pull thread unwoven
when
is a window for staring through blank
or keeping dull warmth in
then
is a lie against time's dispassion,
the sparkle of the bright illusion.
so is, so isn't:
if i can -
when i do -
then i will be -
: my empty claims to power