wMillion Poems Copyright Jordan Davis. wArchives: -- HOME -- wPlig Bong (* = pinged in last 12 hrs) wPeaceful Acres Home for Resting Blogs Dale Smith David Cameron Franklin Bruno James Meetze John Latta Julia Mayhew Keith Harris Marianne Shaneen Sarah Rehmer Wyatt Bonikowski

wThursday, December 29, 2005 1807 I have burrowed under. It's warm here, But dark. I have hoarded memories of light And air, stacked them up against a bird Who tells me the time by folding himself Into sleep. Almost everybody has a family, A group of friends, and a blank wall If they're wise they keep behind them. I don't close my eyes to tell you the story, And still I can follow your breathing To where your game of concentration Has hidden the juggling rings. Come here. posted by Jordan # wMonday, December 19, 2005 1806 THE PLACE OF FEAR I wasn't assimilating the bean-rays When twisty daylight compounded All the interest from here to San Diego, I was thinking of bringing you All-you-can-eat good news, The wedding of time and light In the garden of little doubt. There was a third person in the car Telling me to drive faster. You Were versed in her sweetness And how the pressure of the hills Played on the chassis like ribbon candy, The pretty shit that tranquilizes The repeated messages of billboards To check-out our midseason replacement, Shake the governor's martini, Do what for lack of water the greenery Can only dream about. Prompted To be grateful, I looked like someone Told to look alive. It was work. You know what, though, Let the focus groups say if reasoning Would enjoy a comeback, I'm supposed To stay home under the bed Until the hovercars are in production? I don't have the answers but I do Know how to stay on message: The consistent world and surprise Have a thing for each other. What, you want smug and pithy? posted by Jordan # w 1805 The universe needs you To be so in your cock Cartoon characters flip out At your righteousness. posted by Jordan # wThursday, December 01, 2005 1804 THE HERO, WHAT WE WANT HIM TO DO He shows up in the middle of the meeting And fires a starter pistol. He steps in front of the running water Staring intensely at the city Until the schools improve He cracks a smile He fuses the alien egg He dreams a new life for television The assembled villains of the oil grab Cannot keep him from transmitting The make-out session of his truth Even the Assistant Professor is stymied Sounds of IBM Selectrics Swirling bundles of newspapers The slight eyebrow arch Before the next story begins We sit up late waiting for him to come home Playing a game involving lit plasma tubes posted by Jordan # w 1803 Cocoa, you fall for the "dream flu" When story hour mergers brighten up The yick budget. I understand having Those administration carnivals To spice up the me-toos, but like Valery Giscard d'Estaing, I am the child of an occupation I have fought all my life not to repeat. You can guess how that turns out. posted by Jordan # w 1802 When I step out of the camera bag It's glowing blue on the midden And quiet neighborhoods have produced More shimmering niceties than The headache farm you call your art. Still, I will lift my zap-rayed self Up alongside you on the bleachers To wait through the whistling, The coughing of shovels, the warm days The season spreading visibly this way Leaks occasionally, like bubbles. posted by Jordan #