Don't Fog The Feelers Flaws Included (How Any Years, The Work Is Always In Progress And Changing)

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IT IS HAPPENING AGAIN

The source of consciousness
shifts
memory makes itself available
if you want to go that route
why poetry sucks in 2011
is why hip hop sucked in 1996
or why the presidents are virtually the same
count them on 18 hands
see how slow everything is
never mind my birth 
which is fast you're being born right now
we don't share the same DNA (hopefully) 
but doesn't that mean I mean that doesn't 
well just don't hurt me 
we might have something in common 
a way beneath the skin
in some sense a vacancy
but mirrors are easily filled
by a masterwork
the atom's work is easy
masters are old records that set the soul
to spin always and back into oblivion
where we still stand a chance
to conspire with the dead
changelings
our limbs swarming every overheard conversation
a transmission full of horses
evil, a word in the pile where our bodies overlap
latitude, this space previously empty
another night blind as the eyes on the money
& decisively worth less but who decides
all is accessible the day has has only one door
plants grow so people work for shakespeare
this someone looks like that someone who works for Apple
who works for billions of peanuts
more tattoos & augmentations
sadness around the eyes
or eyes big as jolly ranchers
boots up to the knees, Chinese from Texas
in the bar while I'm on the net
the silver-white women in this new field
springs many-splendored things into nonexistence
but as these things go
just when you learn to dance
they boot you off the show
never has they had any more meaning
we've all been dismissed but look at us
all busy catching up so sunk inside a phone
anchored by our other
y achine alfunctions so easily
a queen a company a human
remember what loneliness was back then
just the poplars a body or ember
a sail a sea alive
for once scattered among the evidence
true or false as what arises next

 

Don't Fog The Feelers: Where I'm From, Ears Afloat Where I'm From

Keep the birds and the traffic sound

They create friction
Even if upside-down
The context is the same
Light almost growing on the apartment buildings
The shadows handed down from the sun
Keep the sun
For now we'll need it
For later in the day when who knows
What it is: the off-key song of an African woman
Below my wide window, singing
To herself as she walks
Keep song and sing it
To the middle-aged man talking to his dog
As it drags its black nose in the bright grass
Keep the black nose, bold font, booming grass
And the pot-bellied woman yapping at her yapping dog
"Henry!"
"Henry! You're waking up the neighborhood
People are trying to sleep!"
Then the garbage truck banging as it lifts the trash bins
Dumping all the janitor's poem parts into a dirt bed
If I lose the birds 
What would the painted machine replace them with
Classical music? The sound of the sheet music turning
No, no time machine stay
In this place where the bees pour forth from the woman's faded song
And the flowers toss puddles of purple of red around
And give the whole thing a yardlike feel
Keep the cloud impossible as that may sound
Let it linger here at the bottom
Where you'll happily find your own lap overflowing

Don't Fog The Feelers: A war reduced to a poem

This poem  has been reduced to war
I always said I'd never use the word poem 
to describe what I'm trying to accomplish
I make myself sick, happy inside my language
Love inside my god. Green is green again
Again I gotta make payments on my freedom
On my sense of self, which I keep encouraging
to act senseless ah but it never works. Too much poetry
Too much dead people all up in my space. Too many people
trying to live in one place (not this one) Power is for publishers
and coroners, for example. I love my friends and family.
This poem has been reduced. 

dontfogthefeelers ENERGY'S MY PERSONALITY

That could be it
That could totally be it
I don't feel like there's anything special
or magical going on inside my body
What happens when you die
I feel like it's going to be just as good to die
as when I was are there things you think about read about
that you understand. The minimum is Mom do you feel
okay about me driving home. Our soul is energy
yeah it is but you got a power lightbulb
I have no idea I got to go
I don't know I have not a clue
I understand
I'm come from a very a very Christian 
country. Come on. You guys get to leave
I get to go. Make me go home. I'm just like
a body in space. It's worth repeating.
I'm just like a roller-coaster in an Italian accent.
Guess what? Everyone's
almost gone 

Don't Fog The Feelers: What If Our Only Hope

America is a form of many selves.

I was up in the hills at dinnertime 
And no one was there. I stood in the tall grass
It swayed sunlight. And again I understood: the earth
Is gentle, earthquakes or snakebites, just
Dimensions of renewal. Again you're writing a poem.
I'm not a great predictor of anything. I spoke
With a friend (the sun was a wheel) a blackbird
Cut itself from the blue and for a moment
I knew the sky. My base. Unclaimed.
New territory. Water operating under water.
The women, anyways, they all look great.
I kiss my sis's forehead. She has kids now.
Hayley, What do you think about America?
Why do you ask me that? I don't want to go there
I won't see my papa she says
She's shy and confused. Her cheeks have the dearest
Sun in them. I like her answer. I'm not sure
Where she's coming from.
She's wild and mean, vain, a whiner but full
of wonder! She loves you one minute
and throws around the word hate, which my mother hates.

Don't Fog The Feeler's: What Time Is It?

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What are you going to do tonight?
There are lots of questions
I'm inspired!
What's the number of our house?
People surround me
Immersed in their typical afternoons
Bewildered as I am, squinting, alarmed
Or fascinated as a body
In the sun
The desert sky
As blue as green
It colors the hands until they're see-through
I don't know why
we have
BEAUTIFUL
Beautiful feet, feathers or fans up in the air
Beautiful Argentinean man
Single father with a bruise under
His eye I thought
It was a birthmark
Is it a birthmark? I'd never ask
Spain? He owns a computer business
In Temecula I thought he was Adonis
What's your name (what a question)
It's never the same twice