i nudge the mantis
away from the closing door
he keeps all his limbs
Tag: words
mealtime (20171011)
if food only went one way
–forget about the conservation
of matter here–
if food only went one way
how long would it take
to get sick of chewing
and swallowing
how many words would we have
for full then
more than inuit words for snow
let’s say that you can
only eat so many
meals before
it stops going down
starts backing up
you can’t eat anymore
because your last meal
a pastrami sandwich that looked
great on the menu
now hangs greasy and wet
from your mouth
you chin shines and
the thought of putting one
more thing in your mouth
is enough to make you
want to pull out your teeth
with pliers
and sew your lips closed
how long do we have to sit
at a table set with ignorance
who the hell keeps passing the rolls
picture in picture (20171010)
i look at a photograph
a woman with short, curly hair
stands in front of a window
holding her phone up
as if she is taking a picture
i half close my eyes
aqueous images
parade across my vision
all specimens for inspection
under a microscope
one transforms into a jet
slides from right to left
top to bottom
it looks like she is taking a photo
while a plane descends erratically
behind her back
the crash inevitable
i take a mental picture of her
her hair is short and curly
the window in front of her
is closed
she is trapped between
a plane
and a plane
pressed between dimensions
her picture
is a picture of a window
that is closed
her hair is curly
it descends erratically
inevitably crashing
against the nape of her neck
she is a specimen for inspection
under a microscope
expectations adjusted, unmet (20171009)
autumnal orange light floods the parking lot
while soft snowflakes fall
even though these aren’t snowflakes
even though the greasy stink of smoke gives it away
hills burn
and wind pushes ash toward the sea
i hope the sunset–at least–
will be beautiful
——
less eclipse than occlusion (20171008)
the sun rolls in a rut
in heaven each day
spiraling lower
and lower still
like a skee-ball
thrown so hard it pops into the outermost ring
zero tickets for the effort
i want to wrap you up
like a snake
i want to swallow you whole
and feel you inside me
clawing your way out
the way words and dreams
used to claw their way out
before i got fuzzy and dumb and tired
i want to remember
the names i called you by
i want one of them to be a magic word
that will make you happy
without anyone losing an eye
low on the horizon
i pinch the sun
between my fingers
smaller than a dime
that orange bastard
has been trying to
give me cancer for years
let it roll beneath the horizon
for all i care
i’ll put my head in the sink
fill it with water
and wait for the mermaids
to start singing
questions (20171007)
how did my hands
get so heavy
and why do they weigh
so much
even when i
am asleep
departures (20171004)
you say
–see you tomorrow
i can’t help but be astonished
at the clarity
the unassuming confidence
in those three words
any one of which might
be overtyped with hyphens or Xs
of course you expect a tomorrow
you had one yesterday
but past performance is
no guarantee of future results
and we’re all asking ourselves
that question these days
what about that presumption
of my being here
i’m old
getter older at an alarming rate
and i’m not exactly in great shape
not that i’m in particularly bad shape
either but even if we rule out disease
we can’t rule out accident
it’s those other drivers
(not you and certainly not me)
i’m worried about
barring disaster
what if i oversleep and decide
to hell with it
the world’s not going end
if i don’t get out of bed
then we come to your eyes
those fabulous eyes
liquid soft like autumn rain
who’s to say you won’t eat a bad
cookie and the bacteria
will specifically target your optic nerve
or that you be driven to some
wholly inappropriate oedipal frenzy
–see you later
is how i reply
keeping it vague
keeping it hopeful
keeping it light
tiny slivers of glass on a dusty floor (20171003)
the when of you
an exhibition of
my ten thousand pieces
–miss alignment?
–no, mrs
clocks offer offspring
wound/ed/ in the knees
and the stars
winkin blinkin and nod
off
my ten thousand pieces
brokered bartered battered
before the sun went down
when you were
——
fallible memory (20171002)
every word from your mouth
is a hammer driving nails into my skull
drive like a truck driver, oil-stained cap
naked chrome women on the mudflaps, 10-4, good buddy
every breath out
the fall of the hammer against a nail
embedding itself in wood
it’s own act of will of volition speaking
squeaking as it crawls into the grain
remember when we were kids
and tried to drive in a nail with a single blow
into wood that was probably meant for
something other than keeping us amused
how many galvanized skewers did we ruin
bending them into right angles
or that time
you chased me across the street with a golf club
blood ran down my face
and mixed with the taste of candy cigarettes
you came for me again with a bat
days after the first stitches came out
the sound in my head was like a hammer
hitting an anvil and those words squeaked
as they crawled into my brain
and they said
parenthood (20171001)
kronos signed his name
to the application
turned it in
still attached to the clipboard
though it fit awkwardly
in the inbox
the social worker
looked over the form
he thought how much
this looked like the dmv
–all government offices are the same
she looked up at his mutter
and he coughed, covering his mouth
–this says here
that you’ve been a father
before. can you explain
why you want to adopt?
he looked into the
shadowed corner behind her
in the small office
–hungry
Words and Feathers 