let us see what the outer world is like--

we force the hatch and pop it open as fresh air wafes through

the stale holding cell of our awareness

eyes shielded until they accustom to sight--

blur devolves to knife-sharp edges in a sudden focus--

there is no wonder--in the smoking crater of this once-neighborhood--

lizards in pants and amoebas in dresses slither--

three have spotted me--oh god--HERE THEY COME....

Content (c) 2008-2010 Philip Milito.

the yattering of the world

is an insult to my brain--

Content (c) 2008-2010 Philip MIlito.

the force has blown through me

I am an outline of purpose stalking

the form of accomplishment

invisible in the shining morning

I morph into other 'mes'

as the ground shifts in its upheaval

and our time is what clotting of molecules

embodies us and the world

into the happenings of our lives in these days...

Content (c) 2008-2010 Philip Milito.

Half-built, the bridge support was a solid frame bracing tapered arms to sling a fragment of roadway slowly rocking in a wind. I walked under it and looked up into the up-reaching arch, the slab rocking over me like the belly of a dragon. I walked away from it, and looking back in the deep blue twilight at it, it resembled the slide in which a sewing machine needle pumps up and down in a blur of mechanical speed.

Something reached this far, and no farther; something freeze into a black outline in the night-encroaching sky, stitching itself, the darkening vista and my eyesight into this one instant--more than its content, but its entire actual being itself; this built moment the foundation for the next half-built walk back home.

Content (c) 2008-2010 Philip Milito.

today I'll write my masterpiece--

then leave it its own finished thing in creation--

I don't care--I've scribbled so long and all

people can do is tell me to take a hike--

well--no one likes being scolded--even if its just

fallout from another's self-whipping--

signing off on the scrambling damage--

but I don't care--I can't care--

I watch as if I stood next to myself--

double pair of eyes seeing the Parthenon fall

yet again--under the same sun of myriad scenes

arguments started in one life settled in another--

Who could covey all that? Who'd want to--

dimmer minds clamoring for an answer you don't have

but for the reality of knowing you don't know--

I'll write it today and leave it like that cat

who leaves its shit under a rock--then step away from it--

stand among those looking at it-- they saying

who's that anyway? and stand among them anonymous

saying--"ah--just another asshole with a gripe...his masterwork..."

Content (c) 2008-2010 Philip Milito.

the fever has broken--

a wisp of smoke

you and the air you arose with

dispersing--scattering on the breeze---

while the inky contours of the daily world

sharpen and dry--forming hard forms--

the eyes closing on this

to feel in visionless vision the skin

cooling by the touch of that wind--

all awareness of the bodily unity--

all the senses one expression of response--

the wind will not cease--the coolness

and the heat surging and shrinking away

successively --the consciousness of all

these aspects in this breathing moment--

this instant perpetually probing into itself

as process we mistakenly call 'time'--

the eyes open--the light has slightly shifted--

and a relieving weakness begins to quicken

and slow movements of limb tumble like syrup

down a maple tree--and so lifts itself to gaze

out the window at the milky day--and you--

an outline of molecules dancing over a broken fever--

Content (c) 2008-2010 Philip Milito.

renewed and relieved

I'm someone else again

what's done stands on its shaky ground

enduring its term through shifts

of stars and the Unmanifest churning

into being and someone else

is telling this to you

through every mouth that is mine

Hear me All

through every mouth that is mine

Content (c) 2008-2010 Philip Milito.