This is incomplete, but I’m working on developing a style derivative of Pierre Reverdy and Frank O’Hara, or at least working on writing in that form. Frankly, I’m sick of the confessionals that seem to dominate most things right now, but I’m looking for an informed optimism and spontaneity, which the New York School seems to offer in droves.

I feel I might as well post these here since they’re works in progress, hopefully that won’t get me in trouble if a journal decides to accept some of this work.

12:41 or 10:33

the fickle dreamed of a night where they could kick tin
boxes covered in orange rust while I watched in my studio
with the window like a church, I’m thinking of a town
where I could plant a lemon tree and make it bleed
out the bitter grapefruits I deserve and I’m thinking
too much about that. as a passerby, he wasn’t much
just long hair and a stuffed jacket– he had rice
in his pockets!

              well, I just stand here and breathe
same as I always do, dogface and paper suit
making sure I don’t know anyone down there
wise as I was, I couldn’t pull apart bricks
but the electric company can, they send their men
and sure they know all the right plugs. they can get
in between our apartments and they do
because at night I hear the old woman they left
behind, banshee. this isn’t a house but I swear
there are words you can’t imagine hiding in the bars
perennially drenched and wearing corsages
looking for prom dates with men in their 30s who
mostly just want to get this over with
before the sun comes up for no reason at all
because not a bird will stay here I don’t care
what you feed him he’s gone, his eyes were black
his bones were hollow and when you find him again
he acts like you’re supposed to know how hard he works
all alone at lunch with a plateful of stuffed grape leaves
pushing back laughter, smiling and never looking up
lets put out a statement together, all men will be tolerated
on this street until the newsstand moved out and the green
coin laundry moves in.

                            tall German letters in gold of course
that make all the other buildings move back, now it’s in
the middle of the goddam road and someone’s cut the pay phone
so that they can sing into it at their leisure of course
we never owned cellphones because the batteries
intimidated us. instead we found out how to make silk
nervous and nude in a windowless room with socks on
plotting and trying to resist the swishing of our big brain
back and forth rocking it back and forth we will never go
to sleep without our glasses because we can’t read