Cedar Sigos


What did I miss
while in Paris?
(the big game)
Rod Roland wrote that
before I did
I wish
to be more like him
(crystal gazing lights
are in perfect darkness)
what can I make with
what I have?
happy anger,
a plywood press primer,
“I gotta
keep going soon”
off Crete
like tomorrow
I would knock
seeking sanctuary
in the city of
Poseidon, I grow older
type the faintest lights and
the sleepers awake
key doors shining forth
the guard so thin
and fleet
and wending its way
through what channel
damn fast
splintered glass
bottom boat, blood
brought to ghosts

…   for John Coletti

(Vampires dreaming elephants are good lottery luck)
Moroccan Things:
Boy hustlers
Brion Gysin
Argan Oil
Digging up the city of Poseidon
who are old money
and quick to correct me
if you don’t want
you lose the flow though
several words
Serious is the dog star (man)
The sun just had a tornado
(sable on blonde)
I think it was you
a parasite got control of the speech
intricate landscapes,
jewelery, all that…


An Emotional Memoir,

I walked along the mouth of a black river in Zurich. I nearly froze, remembered please and thank you. I
sometimes had to point and could not look down. It may have been a bed laid for a railway track. I had
traveled sleeplessly, still excited to get away in final observation of my emotions (would everything
just come to a head already?) A friend I hadn’t seen since childhood had asked me here. We had been
facing the same two way mirror for years without knowing it. He had written to me about my poetry so
I hammered back the emerald tablet in return. We were both helpless to showing the edge of two
opposites drawn together, romancing the edge of assyrian robes, reentering the embassy. We came on
with almost embarrassed affection, so easy to talk. His wife resembled Sharon Tate. They had three
children (you would never guess) How kind to be lost among lopsided spinning leaves. It was a passage
with the usual skull change, some morning glory seeds I had figured into a brick to block my windpipe.
I found its rightful fit and it dissolved. It only reinforced the deep Atlantic green that later fell from
gold in Sacre Coeur, fighting off the torrents of green blood in my poems, my eyes. It was no fair. In
grey square cut button up coat. I don’t have ideas. I get to work, no talent, no genius but divination,
painted dusk.



I can disappear before your eyes killing you
I slay you with my eyes you disappear
That’s how I would remember that line and How To Write
Actually, certainly, stupidly, only the ladies strumming language
They are not women, they are nights
Wrestling these lines off the back of a knife
They have a second life spent in stone and so attended
Bomb the bridge to heat my hands
Work their handlers in order
Go to the movies all day, only to collapse and focus
To finally hand off my faded flower
Caring and pointed, she brought me up and loosened my mind
Toward the checks and imbalances
And cameos in lucifers grotto.
I remember a full on scottish plaid suit
The gravitron, SEXODROME growing out of apollinaires grave
Empty balcony seats, operatic little fills
The poems of a Multi-billionaire, a vow of silence
Fine and Mellow, all the things you are


Plains Pictograph

I have been described as private, that’s other people
(you never really know) One year I sent everyone
A slice of the rose for Christmas. It was meant the way
It sounded, withdrawn. Two fires on the high road whistling
The phone only echoes back my voice
Entrenched mirror, high rise, intense pathways,
Pistol unit, sword, english glossing, streetlights
Sniping back. Mothers lock up your daughters
Cut the light, shut the shade, hollow thy mountain.
I think I still am stirred mind heard words,
Some of those nightmares, some of these days
Just a gigolo, solo, sears, free land, blow your gold leaf
Sweetheart deals and money to my love letters, rivulets, tons,
Minutes to go, blinding ices, jesus pieces, high praise

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