Installer ce thème
unless winter ends

praying into the dryer vent

grant me warm hands

daffodil deliverance

the pain of your first boxing match

once upon a nuclear power plant

one sunbruised blossom snaked above

the treeline seeking shelter from

them city sounds

just creek water

& rice wine

creaky pines are windy busy

heralding my

mountaineering madeleine

—-

I am leavened by your hot skin

ribs & bones & starving at

your salt lick

hurrian hymn

Ashoka,

we have feasted at your lap

reach your bark in famine

to remind myself

—-

where Mahavira renounced the whole world

in the forest language

& my tea leaf lips touched the ear of an interpreter

she bent to hear me sing

that Hurrian hymn

of dead glaciers &

the higher order of love

to be felt & feel

—-

Ashoka,

you are laughing down at me

as I fret over another blanket

stitching myself to your roots

we will grow together soon

breathing through a broken nose

Victor & Marcelo ride the school bus

woven into seatbelts

in mutual hatred

Victor bullies Marcelo constantly

& Marcelo cries as he waits for the bus

to arrive

pull on those imaginary boxing gloves

daddy didn’t give you fists for nothing, kid

shanghai

first the grape juice

then the ginger

tease

you kissin’ my soldier shoulders

warm compress

surrendering to winches

freeze

I am quilting your wrists

my apprehended temptress

—-

snare those arms

to hold you up

hold still

unfocused lenses

croak robin’s egg blue

& my body believes 

in every word

you wore to grooves

an oaken shield

now splintered liturgies

they are deafening

they tell of your perfume

foundation

Water leaks under the jamb, sickly slow deflated lungs left to melt here.  This chair is too big for me as I divide figures by the lump in my throat.  Eight hundred seconds pass & count faded cash on my dead watch.  Warm beer eyes me darkly.  She is sultry & whines to be tasted.  To be finished off so we can both go to bed.  The chair is one nervous squeak from rolling away forever.  You were my age when you sat on this cold throne for the first time & I am wondering if the king will roost again.  Waiting for bad news; I listened to your amplified cough as we spoke.  Three feet away I held the phone so loud was your wet volume.  They rolled you into the room next to hers.  I kept that coincidence in my pocket, in my coat.  I swallowed the truth. Déjà vu.

Maybe this is how the god of modern men felt when he drowned a wretched earth, kept that secret thundercloud from each child he could not bear to burn.  He knew everyone would die & knew that knowing makes it worse.

This chair groans & what does not add up fills the building to her leaky roof.  This chair is too big for me.

It was built for you.

cleopatra philopator, fall of the republic

my empress of held breath

she cross her arms

she cross her chest

the modern world has moving parts

& I am one of them

-

my goddess magnolia

she sprout in March

she crown a king

though effortless her blooming is

I kneel before it

-

my pharaoh of poetry

she flood the Nile

she river reeds

this epoch has mud enough

I brick her pyramid

-

my princess of poison thorns

she cross her chest

she cross her arms

the modern world is moving us

closer still, my queen

dreamcatcher

got them patrol shivers

in the creosote smoke

letterboxes leverage luck

against our cattle coordinates

-

we bed down in starfields

under the juniper limbs

greedily drunk with her shade

by the prickly pear oasis

-

sorrel & sweetgum startle easy

our beaten wagons circled

between the bellows

& creekbed stones

-

cross the petroglyphs a rider crowed

he wore a firmament of feathers

he would fly no more forever

through the ten gallon sky

-

you make me unseemly, love

ledged up, your prairie bones

in the canyons a moonbeam built

weary of my stillness illness

wounded knees on sailor legs

we are a lonesome ride from Eastern ports

now our home is on the road

it’s always open season on princesses

you are all soft eyes, Audrey Kathleen

I’m a combed down Eldred Peck

& Cole Porter is narrating 

our Roman holiday

at the Spanish Steps

I could have sworn it was Minneapolis

intermission at the Guthrie Theater

or nineteen fifty three

when you cut your hair short

& I lost my hand to a hole in the wall

it swallowed liars with stone teeth

-

a mouthful of surprise

when fingers emerged from my cuff

I had been trying to make you laugh

& your face gave me the distinct impression

nobody had ever done that before

you looked absolutely radiant

you looked desperately relieved

the gods themselves

today I am part of the problem

because solutions are difficult

it is cheaper to complain

pull the broken pieces off

& continue continuing

the roots grow ten

quivering lip sex

your equator revolves

around rough hands

calloused from pruning

the soaked orchard

they urge apples

from alkaline loam

-

I am awake for twenty four hours

because I want to be tended

because I want to be

put to bed

post-mortem kit

jewelry sachet

white tyvek bag, seven feet, zippered

blue sterile field

three khaki identification tags:

attach to belongings

zipper

& left toe

one blown pupil

its fellow pinpoint

wipes for washing off ninety miles per hour

into an embankment

on the boundless nature of joy

traffic had bent inward upon itself

a greedy snake with no tail to speak of

so we didn’t speak

-

you dozed casually in my passenger seat

do you know without you it is empty?

quite so, darling

-

never have I felt so compelled

to describe wild brilliance

& limitless beauty to a tree

-

but the forest knows she is green

so I let you sleep & grow leaves

joy is a boundless thing

march

pale lime orbits

a carrier urges fledgling battalions

to the business of bombardment

beaten coloratura strains

at the Saugatuck bottleneck

in B flat minor

-

where wolves & dreadnaughts

crowded the river to 

New Antioch

having smelled blood

a mahout melted to his mount

beneath the whip

of twin Sumatran suns

-

I am an honor guard for a boneyard

worrying the flock in my mouth

little ones

somebody on the radio asked for

a doctor to the red phone

so they could call them in the field

spare us the nightmare they found

two little ones & their murderer

in a Chrysler Town & Country

for fuck’s sake