Dig a hole until your fingers bleed
and then fill it with water and exotic fish
and exclaim that you've found meaning.

singularity, pleasure, dive
into hope of income or happiness.
Believe in a slogan that shouts
from a melted metal sign on rotting planks
or a recruiter dressed in animal pelt that stinks.

Hope reeks like fumes from burnt plastic
animal figurines. Their molten black drips
divert my attention and the noise blares and blares.

This tree-surrounded log cabin

where I rock and hum tunes

was planed and hammered

by numb fingers. 

Nearby the trunks assemble

in tight formation, and the roof

blocks starlight. My palms sweat.

It is now time to stand,

and I grip my axe handle.

Foggy morning, and hazy notions
of any obligations. Only thoughts
exist, that flit like sticks along a current
that leads somewhere.

There's a series of thip-thapping slaps
of the nail in your wheel against asphalt
and you say your friends have a dirty driveway
and I do not know what to say.

You stop behind a stationary car
and honk and yell at them to move
and you apologize about your anger
and I do not know what to say.

But I'm glad you are so active,
caught up in tires and shouts,
and how you don't believe your friend is in love,
Because if you were silent for just one moment
You would see that I have nothing to say.

Flying, slipping, falling
feeling stuck and lifeless beside some sparking star
that pulls you into its orbit and absorb intention.
can I speak?

Let's sit under this highway off-ramp roof:
remove your gloves and my fire will warm your palms,
and direct your gaze to my personal beach.
I do not swim because the river is cold
but each night it turns orange and the buildings
opposite yellow and signs red and the purple sky spirals
with gray clouds. I like life here, but the person in the next tent
keeps saying "lop heads, eat lead, lop heads, eat lead."