[There are white blossoms outside my window]

There are

white blossoms

outside my

window

and when they

fall

I imagine

its snowing

in September. The

carbonation

of the

iris soda

tickles my nose

it makes me

smile. I

never

heard you

apologize. I

stopped waiting

years ago.
look me

in the eye

don’t

ever

look

over

me.

-2015

happy

the typing of my

fingers

like a song

I don’t

know the end of.

it reminds me

that once

I didn’t

know how

but

what does

it mean to be

happy? Someone

told me once

but I forgot

it along the way and

instead

count the steps

I take

up my staircase

humming and laughing

to keep

the ghosts at bay.

The morning

yawns

as it

draws the

cold from my

hardwood floor

and I

race across it

as it bites my toes.

-2015

childhood

everything in me and around me was fine

everyone else was always the problem.

I remember being labeled

fat

as kids pinched

what shouldn’t have been

an inch

and I lied

when I said I couldn’t.

I remember my almost kiss

behind the tree

we weren’t allowed to go behind

tracing the roots

with our shoes

even then

I felt the urge to climb higher.

I remember

when the accident took everything from you

except your name

and I cried

because no one else

would ever call me Steve

or draw shitty cars with me

in shop class

or laugh as I cut crooked

pieces of wood.

I remember the grass stains

on my softball uniform

on my field hockey uniform

on my new jeans

and the fresh cut grass

as I tried not to pass out

while running the mile in gym.

I remember.

I remember

because my memory has never faded

it’s the one thing

that has remained the same.

[untitled 4]

the

office light

flickers

on &

off. artificial

life remembered.

placid fabric &

squeaking. the

distant sound

jackhammer

birds

life. a

child

screams, laughs

then runs

away.

[we don't like to]

we don’t like to

think about

how memories change

we want

more of the same.

old haunts

tourist pollution

like the coins

in my pocket

I’d rather

stay

there.

don’t think about collapsing,

pavement, solid, underneath

crumbling, flaky concrete pastries

grin and

let the steel buckle. I

find myself laughing.

the grey-haired stranger

smiled when he said

my name

like he’s found something.

there wasn’t anything we could do

only watch

as things

changed

around

us.

-a year later-

The woman said she didn’t care about Van Gogh so she wasn’t worth my time. At noon I watched the spider crawl into his ear, which acted as a cradle. Dogs barked loud enough to wake the baby next door. A fan cycle on repeat. The neighbors burned toast again and a siren cried. Time moves fast when days are long. A floorboard creaked. When I wake, you were gone. Church bells can be slept through if you pretend you don’t exist. Alone doesn’t mean lonely. Avoid the trading post. Miles of miles of miles of miles.

Diner food

She touched with

spider webs

dancing

from her

fingertips and traced

the moon in

circles on

diner table tops. A

coffee cup

chipped

like her

front

tooth. I

laughed

quietly

counting

the circles under

your

smile.

I'm too....

A guttural cry from somewhere

Why is there orange in that beer?

I smell something…

you smell of

cigars and

alcohol and

loneliness and

you don’t

do anything

i see

everything.

The smell lingers

of regret and beeswax

of vanilla and ink and

            Do you know where your daughter’s daughter’s daughter’s been?

Everyone cares so goddamn much

everyone cares so goddamn much.

Walk

(an imitation poem)

Wait until the house is silent before leaving. In the cold, becomes part of
your bones. Touch, branches like limbs. How long until we cry. How long
until we are touched. What is cold and what is warm in the forest. It means
nothing. Salty rising anxiety, a silent phone, plaid flannel. And know when you
return, know there is no one waiting.

what has been done

late at night i see
the spiders crawling on the windowframe
when i moved in
covered with snow
the nights long
and with the oncoming storm
and pumpkin everything
i wonder
what has been done

push & pull

(I'm not dead..just very busy. Yay!)

Wrap me in solitude so thick, the milk drips from my spoon.

I curl in the wings that started growing in my back

That I’m allergic to

And like fur against

Condensation sticky skin

I push

And somewhere

You fall.

memo

I want to write fables for my grandchildren and their daughters and sons, but I won’t. They will have difficulty understanding them. The trees I planted didn’t come with instruction manuals and the lines of code for the outdated machines had worn away. Pen ink leaves permanent marks on palms and graphite wears away too fast. Voices crack and falter. They wouldn’t understand anyway.

virgil

Your spine cracked

like the binding of the books

you stretched upon

asking me to read you

like lines of Virgil

and I know you

watched that man

wearing the dirty trench coat

and like a blind man

your hesitant palm to mine

reading into the future

talking of things to come

flocks of grey geese

born with knowledge of ponds and lakes

of where they are supposed to be

but some don’t follow

black sheep

with feathers

your smile

falters.

okay

I remember

the worn cotton feel

bitter chocolate taste

story-telling sound

But

I also remember

the rainy day memory

the tip of your tongue speech

painful procedure face

clueless frightened smile

So yes

I think

I’m okay

after all.

detour

I watched
you crack open
redemption
from your chest
as if it
were your heart. My
sleeves were soaked
with chicken broth
from sick
Sundays. When I
smiled, smoke
escaped through
my teeth. Your
iron lung coughed
then sputtered
before
you took
a sharp breath
of smoke.

free-wheelin' 1

sun drum soup cans and
feather weight collars adorned
with graduated chicken leeks inside
boxed wood grate baskets and
gravy red bracelets
with Mercedes sun airline
over the fielded
white elephants.

Teague

bruises blossom a

most beautiful shade

of pomegranate

on her skin

while

underneath my

fingertips

i dance while

not even

moving

save for

the opening

of

petals.

darker black

in my mouth forms
the shapes of mountains
but my hands grasp cotton
and Judge Judy is on
so i breathe in apathy
to release
i want to hold you
and not to love you, perhaps
but to feel eternity
with the folicles of your skin
and to trace the battle lines
to call cease fire
at least until we finish
our earl gray tea
in your mouth
a seed
i water.

'12

(Just a little reflective piece)

It was the year of clay underneath my fingernails. The year of handwritten goodbyes, the year of alcohol, of gazebos, of blue-eyed angels in trench coats, of chartreuse cardigans and lemon water. The year of peppermint tea at two in the morning, poinsettias that made me cry, of bedside lamp sonatas. The year of stubborn Chinese food, pizza box jokes and carpeted misogyny. The year of words, of nostalgia, of letters to Chicago and breakfast beignets in New Orleans. The year of endings but also of many beginnings.

Savage

She said you wanted to wrap the moon in a tortilla and I might have agreed if I believed in Mexican food. You told me it tasted like room temperature. Or like the coldness from behind the sun. No, I cannot see the sun from behind my rose-tinted glasses, but they’re the only ones I own. Dollar store hookers propose I join them for coffee after their shifts but I say no, the bitter beans of java never felt good to my tongue. But they wanted to philosophize. Kierkegaard never had as many fifties as the men in the station wagons lined up for their drive-through happy meals. I cannot help but stare at the coldness of your collarbone. It turns away with you behind it.