enginefailure

tuesday morning
you, making cookies in the kitchen
i’ll never get tired of sneaking up behind you,
hands on your hips and pushing your hair aside to kiss your skinny throat
the way you trap my ankles and don’t let me go
a forest explodes into towering flames and we live in it for a moment
and we eat perfect cookies and laugh at the news
and there really isn’t anything more… is there

“You say: “ere thrice the sun hath done salutation to the dawn”
and you claim these words as your own
but I’m well-read, have heard them said
a hundred times (maybe less, maybe more)
if you must write prose/poems
the words you use should be your own
don’t plagiarize or take “on loans”
there’s always someone, somewhere
with a big nose, who knows
and who trips you up and laughs
when you fall
You say: “ere long done do does did ”
words which could only be your own
you then produce the text
from whence was ripped
(some dizzy whore, 1804)”

-taken from cemetry gates, by a band called the smiths… that’s how it’s done kids.

show me again…
show me that way you throw that face against the sky and push the sunlight through your hair
take my hand and lead me into the trees of Connecticut again
the open road, strawberry crushes and kinky love in the air around us

yes, i want to spend more nights with you on new england shores
i want to push the stars into your mouth and watch the light come out of your eyes
small sparks between fingertips, small bursts of flames when two hands become one

i’ve seen the glow of planets fade when you close your eyes
cities become dark and quiet
ships on the sea become motionless, and satellites fall from the sky

years upon years of butterflies
anxious breaths as you approach the door
a slow brilliant dusk in the background
unlike anything before.

the geezer at the bar looked me up and down and mumbled some words that i couldn’t understand.
so i leaned in. ‘what’s that again?’
he said, ‘do you know that there is no synonym for the word “muse”‘
i told him “yes, i know. the closest is “dream” but even that doesn’t quite cover it.”
then we got into some thoughts because while he was right, “dream” was the best for the verb tense of muse, i argued that it is might be of equal or even of more value to the noun tense.
Muse in the sense that we discussed it was for the one who inspires you to want to reach into your dreams and pull out the beautiful pieces of it, and add some shine to it, make it glow, and hopefully get someone else to see that beautiful thing in it, even though they won’t see it the way you do.
it was a strange world, this creating a dream, for a dream, using pieces of dreams.
i ended up buying him 2 more drinks before he fell asleep on the bar. perhaps that is how he best mused on his muse, by dreaming she were still alive.

han solo runs a liquor store down on cahuenga.
he plays jazz tunes and sits behind the counter and smirks at everyone that walks in.
I once caught him catching a few winks, or at least I thought that he was until he threw a bottle of cheap wine at a kid trying to steal some Oreo’s.

I hear he hangs out at the stripclub down on Sunset too, the raunchy one where girls put their stuff in your face and watch for your reaction.
Guys either pull back or push forward. I personally don’t move, I am unaffected, cheap whores never did do anything for me. I don’t care how cute or desperate you are… you’re dirty and i know the game.

i hear ol han plays a mean game of checkers in the park. when i heard that, i wondered how mean can a game of checkers really get?
fuck it, he’s han solo… i’m not gonna find out.