Anthony DiMichele, 19 march 2013
I went to the mindspring
an oasis in a desert
the place has been off limits to humans
since the 1930s
and so has gone wild
I was the first white man there
to see such vast vistas
and to hear the silence
that was immense
it covered me and everything else
with its invisible blanket
I knew in my heart which was suddenly
enlarged
what it meant to be part of the earth
rather than an occupant
of rented space
there were no other humans on earth
but me and there were
a few flies
the mountains were punched up and isolated
blocks of jagged rock
the alluvium
crept up their sides in low
long slopes
they were alive and almost
organic
I too was detached
and part of it all
I did not need a hand to hold or
the reassurance that someone else
was just over the hill or at home
waiting
I wanted to crouch down in the sun
expectant but for what
I did not know…
now I am back
not deeply changed
but more solitary than ever before
our place is in the wild
by the ocean or in desert spaces
places where we are neither beggars
nor kings
but bits of the foundational dust
eternal
Anthony DiMichele, 18 march 2013
when I came into my life
and became my significant other
I became a grave by-product
I love the way he tells me there
has got to be a system
to build a car out of data
choices will be modular options
with a whim of individualism
the great divide echos with
very little variation
in sarcasm
which takes enourmous amounts
of delusion
normalization
floundering mindscapes in an ocean
of insane insecurity
constant dissonance resonantes
hammering chords into random bonds
adapted to what is malleable
within a monoculture
I have no relative resources
to spare
I like reason I understand resistence
as well
there have been far too many linguistic
massacres
whole languages disappear without notice
*
before you leave I want to ask you
how you got here
priority mail?
that microcosm of a macroworld
of competition
that no way is anything other
than murderous which makes me
garnish my neighbor’s ruthless
barbeque
I make good money nominally
a narcissist can make a movie
out of it
that goes viral
in the impossible
*
your loneliness accuses me
of being someone I hate
who shamelessly steals my shoes
those identical twins day and night
but I am accountable
and talk then talk over
talk with more talk
which is absurd which I have already
heard
because it is part of all the talk
your loneliness I have heard is not
my business
but I have no business
but silence
which accuses me
*
your absence empties the task
at hand of significance
who needs you when I play hide and seek
with myself?
is that what you mean?
*
you are up now well after I woke
restlessly
in a seperate room I hear the bass notes
of wood against wood
and maybe something made of metal and glass
and I wonder if I should go for walk
to be gone for you
*
it is a fine late autumn afternoon
of cold sunshine in
March
fall spring
they miss each other
so much
they resemble each other
they just can’t let go
*
listen
just for another hour
like background noise
distant traffic
to a raven in fir tree
next to a cemetery
or cicadas after a hard rain
with 90 percent humidity
or wall paper from another century
the white noise in the dry yellow grass
listen to how tall it gets
tomorrow
*
the curtains are closed
holding back the light
when it wants in
the clocks haven’t quite digested
last night’s leftovers
or a forthnight’s overdraws
I suppose
*
when you are really happy I know I had no
real part in it
so I have nothing to fear
*
Anthony DiMichele, 9 march 2013
and the flames were swallowed by darkness…
you go ahead I’ll be there in a moment
the dogs are dead
I tracked them with a computer
to the end of hope
they’re here
they called me home
I am at your convenience
which will get you nowhere
trust in the lord and you’ve suddenly got one
but company is hard on my knees
and if I were an imitation
of a standardized test
a sample
a reaction
broken into
with the only key
I could explain the fusion
of those funny things you hear out there
that would like to get back inside
nobody
who got it from you and returned it
used it last
why do we always
talk over each other when we are trying to think?
the clock is eating the frosted halls of an apparent haven
and of course there is a limited ration of kerosene
who is hidding inside the imitation
that takes over the question marks in ski masks?
punctuate this truncation with a bodice of perfume
yes it could be anybody’s
now
*
Anthony DiMichele, 5 march 2013
I woke up yesterday on my birthday
I was a rock star
in a double wide garage
let me show you again what ecstacy looks like
after our passing into dust
(something you want to weigh in on)
you alter the settings
and get out of jail free
but your citizenship is revoked
wandering here never ends
and that is okay too
the reserves are just over the hill
their wings on wheels blaze
they are breathing fire
everything is about to change
Anthony DiMichele, 3 march 2013
you have to be short for a guy
misshapen and ugly
as if your face was made with the flat
side of a shovel
in wet cement
to lurk openly in broad daylight and mean it
unintentionally
suspiciously
while every caress leaves you feeling
secretly filthy
and your doppleganger is out there
looking to deal with the devil
who is beautiful
white and expensive
no not us we say
I wish I were green
or striped like a mandrel’s genitals
I would lay baskets of poppycock before goldilocks
you just have to be ugly
small
to key the boxcars full of you know who
going you know where for you know what
to clear nostrils on red carpet
or valet service for a ufo under a carport
don’t go there
once you have seen one and talk yourself out of it
only to discover you are a liar much later
you revel in the freedom of hair coloring
hand-me-downs
even ghetto was begotten
by the same sow
huffing a cocktail
mixed by a slave
oh yes
yes
smaller and uglier even
Anthony DiMichele, 27 february 2013
I joined the cult of the self
anxiously
not completely willingly
but I was born empty
and nothing could fill me easily
not without a tacit acknowledgement
fettered to a vengeance
a charismatic speaker
who demands a democratic process
I never wrote it in stone
but left my footprints
hardening slowly
all over
that wet cement
Anthony DiMichele, 27 february 2013
murder incorporated
presents
America
the beautiful
crime against humanity
and
after all is said
and done
it is just a word
a proper noun
posing as a verb
in memory
Anthony DiMichele, 26 february 2013
If I have made a career of failure, it is because success has always
looked like a life of crime to me.
Anthony DiMichele, 25 february 2013
who is ever ready for the end?
the elusive obdurate oblivious ending
of anything but pain?
to change what is
to what was?
who is ever ready for love to end?
who is ever ready to say goodbye and mean it
forever?
who is ready even after love has died
to walk away?
who can kill all hope rather than hope
for one more day?
who can tell the last chance
from the last hope?
it is the speed that amazes some…
who is ever ready
for the end
once the end has finally
begun?
*
Anthony DiMichele, 25 february 2013
I said to myself when i re~read what I wrote
its okay
to say what I said as I did
even if
even when
even though
the consequences
are great
after all
I am not
lying in wait
to trap love
like an unwary
animal in the wild
words are an empty cage
and when passion knows no bounds
its ecstacy
even alone
is sage
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