Someday in Two (Axe)

No way to celebrate now

The end is nigh we’re told

Stanzas double up on us

The old mind

Can’t decipher codes

Like it could

You have an ancient

Antique quality

Not seen in any

Roadshow. What may

Have been lost

Is now light.

As if we vaporize

And all the we were

Can’t be substantiated

Nor remembered. Doesn’t

That (my dear)

Make you sadder and sadder.

To take these ideas

To the tracks

And find the end of your perspective.

(c) jim hill (3-16-09)

untitled

she somehow

coaxed the shadows

back into their origins

as if there were

no darker side.

she was like this

omni-directional beam

offering relief to sight,

making it lazy without

having to distinguish

good from bad. the

hard work of differentiation

left to someone less inclined

to unleash

their swallowed smile.

(c)jim hill (2-10-11)

untitled

you

were the very end

of my parade.

the soiled ticker-tape

and burst balloon

flaccidly pulling at

loosened ropes.

pooled hydraulic fluid

from a leaking, curbside

low-riding car.

you

were the broom

and cinch-sacks

of a reverie-less

crowd of

domestic illegals

making

an hourly stab

at their version

of the dream.

(c)jim hill (2-9-11)

untitled

what if we

had nothing

to mark our

days.

no number

over which

to make an X.

no increment

or division

separating old

from young.

i don't imagine

so much as wish

for the ability

to see time as

god does:

one long -

no infinite -

extraction.

(c)jim hill (2-9-11)

nu

Naked as the news

Behind the tube

Still I sleep

As an alpha

Male in beta waves

A shrug

Is as good

As a brush

In the wacky world

Of rings and disks

For trading and keeping

Still I keep you mined

On a chain

Less the gang

Calls you out

There are tears

For all your fears

As you glow

And go in the dark

A pixie with stick

To save you from

A knifey wifely prick.

I call you out

To find your letter

Taped to the dash

And in that little light

From the overhead

You strain to read

What has become invisible ink

And as you sink into

A current state

Which memory passed us

Both

And yielded a shoulder

For the road crew

And their plows

To dig us out

For the rescue

And the rest.

(c)jim hill (12-24-10)

wake early

wet dream

behind the dry wall

the yard surrounds

surrender

and sanctuary

the quiet

of an environment

with only a select

few of god’s chosen

creatures

I wake early

To get a sense

Of what I can’t detect

There’s a natural

Tendency of course

To exact

What can’t be

Extracted

I force

Through

No will

A shared

Dream

Of a bulldozed boulevard

The hammer blazing

Like it did in yore

A craftsman’s precise

Idea of a paradise dictated

By reason and the church.

©jim hill 12-04-10

italian

"ma che cazzo"

and that tree on the back patio?

Just call it “fica’s benjamina.”

noiseless food

the mannerless goo

nameless mismatch

and goatee-less moustache

tried forever

to fried food neverland

and begged

the ring

to let go of your hand

it speaks to me

of where

and special places

traces of love

and the faded photographs

of 45’s smallish talking

barely singing

hardly breathing

o don’t believe

what you can’t see?

Think again that it’s

All about what you witness

As your own experience

What if what you exert exacts

Its vengeance in allowing

You to believe you hold the reins?

Rights for the providence

And ceremony

What if we can grant nothing

And our tolerance is conceit

Disguised as lust? My metronomic heart

Speeds hastily toward a coda-fied conclusion.

© jim hill 12-04-10