Sandy

No,

the rain is

soothing to

my skin but

I’m not fond

of wet sneakers

tracking mud

on the floor.

Wind through the

shutters make me

shutter

into my body

aches.

Go back to

bed. There

is nothing to

see

here.

Take a

Polaroid of

oblivion

it’ll last longer.

Pour me

a cup

of earl

gray to

chase away

the cold.

I need

windshield wipers

for my glasses.

Maybe then

I’ll be able

to see

more than

five feet

ahead of me.

sandbox

you talked

of pills and lapsed friends

blinking sleep out of your eyes

I crushed dragon berries into tea

and poured cups, liberally

to chase night’s embrace from us.

[There are things I cannot tell you]

(inspired by Shane McCrae's collection of poems "Mule")

There are things               things    things I cannot tell you

I cannot tell you                                things    like         /Fear    

cannot bare        Fear yes fear      fear is    frozen

I listen to your words     gifts       behind glass

But I listen           cannot  touch    listen

Frozen words   

Listen to gifts     burned from lips

I cannot have you            but         it doesn’t matter

You are real        my          muse.

work in progress

When you love someone wrong, your heart

refuses to listen to reason. Instead

there is perched anticipation

in syllables meant for communication

but not really for what you want, right?

Answer: only if you continue to believe.

Sweat condescends in the orchids

gardens of ghosts. Popcorn kernels &

mint leaves. I know it’s

impossible, improbably, infeasible, indestructible

yet I persist. I cannot stop wanting

until you feel something or anything.

Meridian

I want
you to break
down that invisible
wall between us
and touch me
where the lines
of twine cross like
the line of the
Meridian
which sounds
like a girl
I used to know
in grade school
who could never
keep her
goddamn mouth
shut. She should
have kept it
shut more
often, instead of letting
it rattle.
My friends all have babies now
what does that make me?
I once liked
to steal
coins from the
street. I’d leave
them in my jean
pockets. And later,
only lint
remained.
I never
wanted to become
cynical, it just
happened to me
eventually
we all become cynical
don’t we?

six degrees

(an exercise in voice & associative movement, inspired by poet Eileen Myers)


I want
to eat
cheese puffs
all day
and not get
fat. Is it too much
to ask? I
know that they
are horribly
processed
a factory far
away from my
bedroom
is quiet and dusty
and I wonder
how far I have to
go to go somewhere
the six degrees
has never been.
I don’t want to
live a life where
I have to
worry all the
damn time
about things
only I care about.
Baths for no reason. Pomegranate
seeds in my tea. I want to tell
you that the chalk make-up
makes you look like a doll.
I hate dolls.
But there will be
dancing naked in the streets
when the fire goes out and
when the looters
stop breaking Lego skyscrapers
in front of children
their faces Halloween in December
and yes, I’m laughing
like I’m insane
prophesizing the end.
I will grow a
Jesus beard
and maybe then you’ll
believe my stories
and maybe then
we’ll finally
have some peace.