National Poetry Month!

The first week of poetry. More to follow...

April 1

How many revolving
painful
situations
drummed up from
an arbitrary heart of glass,
How many unimportant
leaps
of anger
drudged up from an ashtray
how many more azaleas and
fuschias; the flowers of my childhood,
closing up and eating all but
happiness.

April 2

Waking from anxiety to the mental purr
of half written poetry,
ideas that were profound in the silence of night
but were lost to the mind of waking morning.

And what was lost?
just neurons firing a random sequence,
neurons lacking the sense of an ego.

April 3

A poetic mind cannot be kept,
it is a crater dug out in the ordinary,
a crater temporary; soon filled by
a bulldozer dumping money.

April 4

The camel humps of the dunes,
blackbirds too ordinary for this landscape,
fog the color of sand.

April 5

get out of the city.
run from the city.
the city is a machine
the city is an invention
the city made needs
needs created by the city
needs that grip you to the city you never needed.

April 6

I've sat myselft next
to the same situation
in this, the present.
"The future doesn't exist," he says,
after an explosion.

Like she is saying, this girl I don't know,
The fat rich white man wipes his ass
with the paid dollars of my debt.

April 7

Bright patches through the clouds,
people who flinch in the sun, or
flinch in the rain, or in the glow
of the sun after a violent rain, the rain
that lasts only long enough for me to run through it.