floating and leaving no trace
a time traveler
must have three hearts
one for the past
one for the present
one for the future
each beats fully
only in the era visited
my ribcage is too small
to contain twelve chambers
and i am going to have
to decide when i will give up
before i break a rib
my brain buzzes
a beehive
ruled by competing
overfed queens
i once read that bees
will surround an invader
–say a wasp or a hornet–
building a little sun around him
raising the temperature
of their abdomens
cooking the intruder alive
i wonder, does the wasp
pop like popcorn
burnt in a microwave
leaving a greasy tendril
of smoke
what has crawled into my head
i smell something
burning
i’m terribly sorry but you’re breaking up
would you mind stepping closer to the
microphone
clown head
bullhorn
communicator
tin can
sarlaac pit
garbage disposal
intercom
intercontinental ballistic missile
it’s getting difficult to make out
what you’re saying over the sound of
barking dogs
crying babies
trash compactors
battlefront amputations
explosive diarrhea
burning piñatas
sleeping naked mole rats
maybe you can call me back on a different
phone
smoke signal
tarot card
trance medium
the word sprouted feathers
the most beautiful plumage
impossible to look at in direct
sunlight but impossible to
look away from shimmering
like a mirage or a rainbow
or alabaster coated with oil
but that damn thing
would not take flight
sitting there like a cannonball
already shot
rusting away in
the rain
this is a window
but you think
you are outside
i pull you back
until you see
the frame
the sill
the sudden reflection
of light on glass
your own ghost
like pigment transferred to acetate
marbled, colorful, but hardly there
a film’s second exposure
and through that the world
you think you see
with your eyes
the celestial beast
casts a shadow across
the moon as heavy
as god’s anchor
a sea boils, somewhere
and it stinks
of cans of tuna
and anchovies in oil
——
Last Day of National Poetry Writing Month!
Day 30
Check out these sites:
the ocean lives
in an empty
soup can
in the field
behind my house
i once found
a conch shell
bleached white
in that field
the ocean lived
there, too
the ocean lives
in my heart
salty tributaries
find their ways
to fingers, ears
the ducts of my eyes
you are too small
to be a moon
yet your song
pulls on the ocean
shaping it
before it flattens out
once more
——
It’s National Poetry Writing Month!
Day 29
Check out these sites:
chem trails glow orange
even the planes love sunset
clear spring evening
——It’s National Poetry Writing Month!
Day 28
Check out these sites:
i shrug out of you like
an ill-fitting suit
an old man’s funeral jacket
a mummy’s dusty wrappings
the cracked, dry skin of a pudding
left too long uncovered in the fridge
a plate of overcooked liver and onions
the liver my own pulled from my guts
and cooked over the fire in my bowels
the bruised peel of a banana
the exact size, shape, and consistency
of a healthy adult shit
i shrug out of you
and you don’t even know it
——
National Poetry Writing Month–almost over!
Day 26
Check out these sites:
they tell you
to settle down
when you’re a kid
and you’ve eaten all
the halloween candy
that has been inspected
before bedtime
they tell you
one day you’ll settle down
make yourself a little
place in the world
build a life
they tell you
things will settle down
when chaos has erupted
like a 4th grade science fair
volcano
but what
they’re telling you
is to settle
because we’re all down
here
and why should you
see things
from an elevated height
——
National Poetry Writing Month Winds Down!
Day 26
Check out these sites:
Words and Feathers 