up/down/side/through-grade

will now be publishing through here:
http://farynbethhartxoxo.wordpress.com/

won't you come along?

cough man

seams unstrung stringing sing song on a
duke ellington juke
while darjeeling bitter steeps on the marble
table tops of gypsy jazz
and crayon colors whip gem green dough
from double stitch skinnies -
no foam.

SEVEN droogs scanning top to tale
seesaw tripping the free bin suffice.
who's jock sharp enough to buy an honest coffee
grown some place in the shade
by some singer with a name
dragging paddi rice through neon fields
stead'a dropping the month's on sun shades?

everyone is no good, false fake too busy
and the head chisels in this kfc frenzy.
the FOURTEEN will get you where you need to be
and back again
(with a torn orange transit this month)
banking on catching a drowning jumper
that cannot pay.

the green man chirps and the dogs waddle
their wares; on the rocks;
on someone else's block, who got famous here
and wrote a book about it
another book for the kaleidoscope shelves
begging for the top of THREE minutes
just to find something you may not be looking for.

the tip tap typers sit in their roasteries
thumb tacked dot to dot on the map of the world
squinting hours eating away as they crave create
the future
with a pinch of hing and apple cider vinegar
and tweed duffel bags that find their ways into
international sleepercar crevices.

the day will come and has come when we will
stand on the mountain, the silver mount zion
(tra-la-la),
and not double back at the copper penny scatter.
with finger snaps the pastries will order
along driftwood park benches overlooking cities
we begin to claim.

scatter like pennies that no one picks up
but we turn, heads up,
to grant some sort of hoorah-la to the not in a hurry.
monocle maniacal monarchs
we spread like fiery sparks to cover boundaries
pounding with carrion. we pray on prey on prayer
wayfarers.

afraid somehow of the again. letting the hub dub bobby nothings scratch at my decisions as if someone else is dying and i have fuck all will to save them. this light is out: along rav's strings, along gav's rows of vitamins waiting for the ferry to slow down, pull in, tie up...stop!

marsh

in a place such as this
you spend the days capturing
egrets
white crested
that search for food in the low tide.
you wonder about your mind
and how it doesnt stop wandering.
you wait as you gather snippets from the hovering collective
and you stay sane by watching the sunset -
by remembering why you are here

curling chess men

the chai is simply to watch them
four bucks for a steaming edge
or after hour divorce

the city grabs me visceral
holding in on a ferry ticket swipe
and a typewriter too big for its age

all from somewhere and then here
we are no where
and the head swivel pounds

amounts and cigarette butts
and artists wasting acrylic
in alley galleries

dubious

missive missed connections
on a bicycle riding fast in the fire lane

and adidas carry bags left for cold
in mission foyers
on community funding

where are you friends
so we can ride these streets
on sung stories

and photograph minutes that choke
and climb up trees and telephone polls
to hear just what the world is saying

roastery

so much hulla-buz

the pastry girl
flirting with the customer
one extra dollar
one less muffin

one more plaid flannel
even in fairfax.

my books are stained with black tea
and his whistle as he watches them
romance
over the fair trade sumatrian

like any hairsprayed number
star-crossed
i never thought it could be real
even in fairfax

waiting for bus 29

some fix at screens
some in politics
some over toddies
and some too much cream

i'll be late
he'll be waiting

sioux falls

“We are told we’re never supposed to understand Wankan Tanka, only to gaze at its infinite perplexity.”