incision
feels like insight, but–
just a cut
a small leak
everything inside runs out
until nothing’s left
——
Category: Poems
untitled (20171105)
how many hearts
how many prayers
balance the scale
the moon is the color of blood
the color of rust
the color of flattened lead
twenty-six stars wink out
who would ever think
such a thing would
[not]
happen
those who ask this question
would find a special
place in hell
if we ever needed
such a place
straight to the heart (20171103)
i offered an open door
and like the vampire you are
you came in and starting
drinking everything in sight
i’ve learned from all
those hammer horror movies
that there’s no easy way
to rescind an invitation
my best bet is to stock
the fridge with curated holy water
and spread garlic aioli on everything
like a pretentious asshole
while you’re busy avoiding
mirrors
i’ll be sharpening my stakes
and looking for a mallet
breathing and the promise of human sacrifice (20171101)
solid air
pressure imbalance
chest expands
inside hands
digging outward, escaping
offering my heart
the quiet of water (20171031)
i bury myself in beach sand
begging the tide to come in
this is cleaner than a funeral
no open grave for grieving
relatives to fall into
not need to rent a backhoe
no need for mourners at all
the sea provides the tears
the waves–sobs
the wind–sighs of loneliness
the gulls–shrieks and laughter
naiku (20171029)
a gentle breeze
sucker punches the sycamore
not enough to bend it double
but enough to knock loose
a few leaves like teeth
spiralling and spinning
on their way down
a squirrel eyes me
suspiciously
like i’m the one
who egged the wind on
so i give him the finger
since my dog is too old
to give a shit
about a squirrel
halfway up a sycamore
how calming the wind is
how beautiful this fall dance
of leaves/teeth
how angry the squirrel
clinging like spiderman
to the bark
it’s a good
autumn day
the skin you’re in (20171028)
stop picking at it
is good advice
the nail slips under
the edge of the brown, cracked scab
lifting
lifting slowly
watch the old coagulation
crease and sweat serum
as it rolls up
you’ll leave a mark
you’ll make a scar
why do that to your skin
once so soft so
[the insides of eggs are soft
but so are omelettes]
dig
dig
into flesh
not frantically
you’re not a beast
this is science
after all
a white coat
a bunsen burner
a double-blind
how many times
can you heal
over in the same spot
before the blood gives up
before the skin gives up
before the heart gives up
inaction (20171027)
i close my eyes but the scene
doesn’t change
there is no hint of movement
no self-betrayal
as if the furniture tries to blend
in to the savannah and not be eaten
an invitation to not look
to not investigate
the inevitable weight of words (20171026)
all i want out of this life
the only thing i want
the only thing i ever asked for
was to relax next you in bed
clothes off under the covers
curling toward you like a seahorse
without either one of us
being a slave to the clock or the cat
and just laying there feeling the heat rise
off your skin
and if things get spicy
then we can’t scratch those itches
with long, sharp nails
and why shouldn’t i bury my face
in your hair why shouldn’t i want
apotheosis now instead of later
why do i have to say why not
why are those even words
childhood scent (20171025)
a hairspray mist
hangs in the air
with a cigarette smoke aftertaste
reminds me of growing up
of grownups
now i’m a pot pie
vented and steaming
full of meat
full of gravy
and of graves
Words and Feathers 