Blue is the swing
of my lips from side to side
as I frown and frown
at what we’ve done.

Blue is the color of me
whistling past the graveyard
I have made of my home.

Blue is the shade
of our impotent
disapproval.

Blue is the wing
of a thunderbird
caught above us
in the smoggy answer
to the question,
“What have you done
for me lately?” Blue
is the laughter of
triumphant myth
righting itself.

Blue, the sky’s blue,
deepens as the earth imagines
itself healed, patient again
with our dwindling presence.

Blue, goodnight blue, kissing us
good bye, glad to see us go.

Blue is the color of our absence.
Blue is the fact of it happening.

Blue is the way we used to think
heaven would be, and blue is heaven
without us.

give them up

take them out of your bag
and hang them up to dry
and die

we need the dance of good and bad
with all its twists and feints
to be shown to us as a chart
of small and long steps
that march back and forth
to a beat that drags and then speeds up
for that is the one way
we will learn it
and then we can work
to try and make it smooth
and straight

we need the arc of love
to be drawn in dots and lines
that curve and halt
roll and drop back
so that we can take hold
of the long view
and not be slaves
to the past wreck of any one time
when it did not come out as we
had planned

give up
your rotted
flowered and sickly fragrant
overextended vocabulary
your
adoration of complication
in pursuit of explication
of creation’s obfuscation

phew!

it is all just so much spit on the tongue

this world you claim to know
so well you can write of it
is not the world
we were asked to show
for all to see and hang
upon

the rules that say
it must be so are
too glib to be true

you have lost the thread
of how we were meant to run
this race
have made a choice
to paint your names
in truth’s place
and made them
ten times the size
of what is in fact there

a word to the wise
is all we need
wise words are small words
keys
for locks
not made for codes and
traps

so
give the huge words up
and be brief when you sit
with pen to page

live for the short road
and for praise
of what is found
when the Big Words
are cut down
to size

NOTE: Rough recording of this up on Myspace: http://www.myspace.com/poetrybytonybrown

A certain part of a man’s body
walks the street looking for the blue pills.
There’s a storefront on Water Street
that’s supposed to have them
but he’s not sure of the address
so he goes into several before he finds
the one he wants and buys a pack
from the certain part of a woman’s body
behind the counter.

Certain parts of men’s and women’s bodies
crowd the night streets around the club district
where the exchange has taken place.
It’s party night, party hour.
The parties of the first part
merge with their counterparts on the sidewalks, in the bars
and parking lots. It’s all so exciting,
with the undercurrent
of deception, the blue pills everywhere,
the gels,
the creams
and implants.

Meanwhile, all over the city,
men and women
whose parts have strayed
stir uneasily
in front of the blue fire
of their televisions.
Smiling, whole bodies
keep telling them
something is missing.
Even when they know better,
they cannot sleep.
If it’s not too late,
they may head
to Water Street
themselves, having
a long look around
for themselves.