I put a poem in her purse

I put a poem in her purse,
forbidding any touch or look,
not sure who would read it first.

Played it cool but, a little terse,
asked how it went, and what it took.
I put a poem in her purse.

With urgency trapped feral verse
ripped from endangered notebook,
not sure who would read it first.

Comfort is adventure's curse,
but who might be the real crook?
I put a poem in her purse.

Stony eyes mirage a hearse,
engraved with scorn of affection mistook.
Not sure who would read it first.

A guest passing through her universe,
craven, quick, my intrepid hands shook.
I put a poem in her purse,
not sure who would read it first.

Problem Child

A heart dangles on frayed rope,

choking chance with immortal trope.

Smoky tears are wrung from torsion,

disappearing down a painted slope.

I had a self-inflicted notion

that words could set our life in motion.

Truth so tender it hurts to smile.

Silhouettes descend toward the ocean.

Life, you said, has been a great pile,

so I stuffed my mouth with dust and bile,

sliding backward just for kicks.

Thought it would turn around in a while.

Gingerly treading on shattered bricks,

been trying to right this wrong since I was six.

I got time, though hope I'm not your last pick,

for waiting to be your new problem to fix.

everyone has a birthday

scoff, baby, toughen
up and grit down
on your bit, lighten
up, turnaround,
be a little more
than deliverer
of disappointment.

don't let the weight
of your quest squash
any residual guesswork.

don't cling to flakes
of unfortunate reality
that pool your consciousness,
turning spirits soggy.

they are sure to melt by the morning.

so make them familiar mistakes
in the name of cyclical evolution.

at some distant point
they will reveal themselves
to be more necessary
than all them advances
combined.

don't you fade with any degree
of permanence, don't rig your
scaffold with scarlet letters,
don't dare dig between the lines:
those worlds are a prism
magnifying our bodies,
preemptively empty.

here is your birthday present:
a salute to your existence,
a breathy verse verifying
that though in life you are
unquestionably alone,
if you died that might change.

Watchfire

Depend

                 on me,

      divest

      your daily

                       life

                              of panic,

                              of unease,

                              our lateral union

pending. 

           Enamored 

                          with endless remodel,

     obsessively suppressing possession

                  (it never attained anything).

How these pockets 

        of lip-quiver sink 

                  into themselves, 

how desolate days meld 

                 into waxen weeks,

counting the seconds

                                           until you

                                 circle back, 

                  chalking cheeks red,

                               cycling through     

        all the best things you said.

Anything Helps

You got my hands
snapping baskets
into the shape
of a lone forgetful
swan.

Roads
slit from
interstate
cuts.

Turn,
O snippet
of surface.

Out here
weathering thorns,
allaying the huge nothing,
mustering motions,
waylaid, yet,
well...

hasta contra

swell inspection

rigs varnish with litter

bugs and skittish

snakes make passes

at foliage

nestled in the tresses

of their scales

and exoskeletons

what we're here for

i am really glad
that we're friends
so i try not to make
this awkward
but been havin
this problem lately
not telling you
all the things
i want to tell you

like that
you have
the most
beautiful
cheekbones

or that
your laugh
makes me
smile
inside

or when
we are alone
i don't think
there's a thing
i shouldn't
tell you

realization between trains moving opposite directions

this pulls:
hurts

spills
into next
morning

now

no longer
trying
to show
care
for you

only
care
for you

I break computers

cause
when problems
arise

i tend
to ignore
them

hoping
they'll fix
themselves

which is not
how it works
with computers

I want everything to smile

the day began
in Disneyland
coming out
of the theater
perplexed
my nose buried
in a stack
of hayhair
surrounded with
faint signaling
of a landing

the day took hold
in Disneyworld
imagine our
respiration
and fantastic
spending
lose each other
at the pool
and stay out
late

a bit early
for all these fantasies
but I let em in
on one condition

that the picture
should never
feed anything
but the possibility
of getting there

Words

I had some things to say,
not all of them words. You

heard it first, our mingling
ripped apart like velcro

before broadcasted
behind closed eyes.

I said, you are for me,
which was a touch garish.

The river split, vanished.
Lost your scent

in the bloom of record
temperatures. You said,

don't be shy, as a hand
fell short of my cheek.

There was fiction— then

you. I said, tell me to cut

it out, as if it were contagion,
a root to be excised.

I won't ask for the truth,
but when you ask

for favor after favor, only
later regrets not obliging

at least once. A fresh fallen
fruit in your hand sings

the ground's praises, dares
this hold for a finish,

perishes in the trappings
of what I wanted to say:

Babe, you've got me existing
as if it meant something.

google poem

when will i die
when will xayah and rakan be released
when will trump be impeached
when will i see you again

why are you like this meme
why are you running
why are you like this
why are you interested in working for

how did you get here
how did you get so cold
how did you get so smart
how did you get so fly

will you be my bridesmaid
will you marry me
will you still love me
will you press the button

out of the light

unpredictable streaks
of splendid backtrack

turns terrible afterburners
into tufts of smoke, abrupt

abyss, a reminiscent slack-
rope, long driveways, sensuous

soliloquy for birds, blended
opus, point the way toward air

Song of the Dirt Road

In my hand the last death-stick gets crumpled, tossed into a timely basket with gusto, with brave                                     applause hinted at in the winds, my pockets evacuated of their grotesque waste,
While gravelly land crunches underfoot, the flies following ecstatically, keeping my mouth closed out                              of precaution, smiling taut, accompanied at ear and helm by their buzzing, chased after like a                                trespassing giant,

I see to it that no one else walks with me, that cyclists may pass by my side, that the unlucky pedestrians                                              overhead or cast across the prairie-dog-pocked field know not of this dusty road,                                         and that I was once one of them, and may still be were it not for the ambitious development                                                  of the municipal transit system,
Delicious that technology should show me the way, articulating the tongue of the path lapping against                                       the roof of the sky, how tasty to walk West toward indeterminable mountains, how salacious                                  our daily commute through the Mother, who with classic patience waited all this time for                                       her best secrets to be uprooted,
When the rain came at last all the rocks loosened, magnifying the pores of the Earth, and my myriad                                      fly-fellows emerged from their arid hibernation to revel in wetness, and to reveal the                                                       abundance of gospel Spring,
When the worst crowds behind and ahead, and in the foot-trails of the mind, and one seeking levity                                        tilts their head up toward the descending rails, and goes not one furlong without checking                                         that the worst has been left behind, 

When the symbol of a birth manifests itself unexpectedly, and the cautious creeping feeling of good-                                          cheer winkles from the periphery, and what morose thoughts of happiness unaccomplished                                         are left at the apex of the tracks, and good habits stick out their noses to measure the                                            humidity,
When you walk alone but carry the best of everyone inside you, allons!
             You walk in crowded splendor.        

lonesmoker

one bad morning

topples domino style

into long weekend's limbo

but i am reminded

that i have friends

and put this foolish footsie

to an end

manager-in-training

turn off alarm
turn on lights
turn on hoods
turn on noodle cooker
turn on noodle cooker
turn on oven
turn on computer
check the email
check the p&l report
put in some numbers
email the numbers
count the drawers
count oh adding machine
put away truck
make a deposit
set up front of house
arrange the ladles
take the temperatures
check the schedule
print out deployment
print out labor
support what makes her happy
remove chairs from tables
spot-check dining room
fill out the daily journey
fill out the threesixty
fill up on caribou coffee
pull the cookies
slice n wrap the crispies
hold a shift rally
spot-check bathrooms
get a bin at each sink
fill sanity buckets
two towels in each
make iced tea
stock the drinks
stock the lids
stock alcoholic drinks
take stock of everything

TODAY I AM NOT YOUR

frail mainstay

not your son

not your friend

not your family

not the one

i was meant to be

today not your

basket case

not the one

you gonna chase

not a clean one

not a good one

a strong one

a smart one

a lovely one

not a poetic one

not a knot

nobody taught me

how to stay in one place

so i'm ashamed

to say

i am not your



today

go figure

my mug
from this
morning
still
smelled
like
coffee,
so i
washed
it with
soap.
now
it
smells
like
soap.

Sunshine

I will be what you see when you shut your eyes,
or if your breathing crinkles into chaos, I will be
there to hold it, know this— pricking skin with dyes,
plucking bone, I will raise these gifts you gave me
with grace. Will stand still, will offer my dependable
body and with patience impart some peace of mind.
I will rearrange. Flounder, gaze, harbor unmentionable
ways of knowing you. I will be your mirror, kind
and encompassing. A concerto of waterfall rocks
at your feet, a faithful ear, a mess of starry nights:
I will give you these things. You don't have to knock
if you've already made it inside, so just know, ya bright
beautiful creature, that even if I fail to make you mine,
you will still drench my body with all that sunshine. 

Vainglory

"My heart has become like wax, melting within my belly."
                                                       -Psalms, 22:14


I think I like living here.
Disquieting notion
that what follows
may be descent
of story, evolutionary
dip, a camp mistake
pitched among thirsty
reeds.

Ambrosia of friendly
fluid flows through
veins with cheek-to-cheek
agency, shadows
embrace in the wind-lit
alcove of a melting
incident.

Tread intentionally.
This material cycle
of wants bending
at the needs, never
desirous of first aid
first, comfortably slips
into another last resort.
Topology of an answer:
dips and bends, rust
and ruse, yet I skip
with clueless bliss,
welcoming songs
with nothing for me.

Prep Lists in Tight Spaces

Angel rips stalks
into bits, puts
another cross
through the box,
replenishes
to the fill line,
snaps with ease
as unsuspecting
laughter
cascades.

They say,
if you are not
having fun
you are doing it
wrong.

Slap thy knee
with a soup spoon,
wrap thy homage
in bread, knead it,
let it register, stir
a hundred and one
amalgamations
into a spotted pot.

Who knew
the stretcher
would be
coming through?

Branches droop
with blooming
cauliflower,
gnarled hands
clamp over
bony shoulders.

Reduce—
tempt yourself
apart and split
the months
between haircuts.

From afar
my hip-lens
licks its lips,
an aesthetic
predilection
falling prey to
the wrinkled
sunrise
beneath
those
eyes.

Attention!
you dopey romantics,
drift not— there
is silence enough
to sift through.

ya had to ask

indescribable
breaches
of contract

rudimentary
gallows
display,
hallow
be thy
name

tangled up
tangibles
crosses
paths with
wavering
storylines

ejected
from headspace

found
in the same
ol place

my patience

Not Bothered

Potent hopes are smothered
by dulled blades. Some sullen

lifeguards follow the ripples
outward, chewing batteries,

savoring sunlight. Sewermen
bathe divinely, scrubbing dents

from their exoskeletons. Then
an irrefutable gang catches wind

of gears whirling, takes turns
perplexing gateway dregs, dares

each other to plunder sternums
with their plentiful tongues,

what fun. Hail from the underpass!

They know the value in unknowing.

Hail from spring's subtle invitation!
We've arrived not expecting another

arrival in the works, the midst missing
its moxie, most of us locked into our

movies, scrambling unpolished credits,
rolling, rolling, our life at last.

ya da ya

when all ya make
are mistakes

are ya gonna let
that best ya

or make
em proudly?

flowerpicker

snagged
sprigs
out of spring

with silly
wish to
shine on

your day
in the same
way you

shine
on what
was

previously
un
plucked

Questing

Inexorably ripe and sweet,
my sentient flock of fateful
fleeting marks, locks of soapy
hair and stale smoke makes
purpose bristle and disquiets
my anxieties. I am faithful
that I will find you. Curled up
beneath a skylight, sleeping
soundly through the night,
chivalrous dreams chasing
you through imperiled forests,
a mat in a blazing hut, a ritual
hazing, your bible smile
fills the dips in my oily body
with longing, with precocious
vistas and hope-rattling.
You earnest audacity. Relinquish
your earnings in favor of a more
cherished prize. Rise up, son
of the sun. Get going, lonesome.
These passages were written
in the name of endless persistence.
Returning to me all at once,
I pick my way through the letters
to revive these songs that'll waken
the slumber your doubt.

Erickson

Erickson spent his fortune

                 on a bigger grave

got that killer view

           and settled

                   for granite throne

           farewell

            oh well

this morning

  the snow

                 fell in melted

        clumps

                       like infant

        cymbals

                                    and the cemetery

                                    was so bright

                             I had to look

                                            the other way

OUR NAME HERE

What signage!
Hung starkly
above some
no doubt
necessary
warehouse,
though whose
wares they are,
I am unaware.

Our name—
what a get,
what suggestion
in sage lettering
that graces facade,
a finger-cuff fantasy
splayed in bold black,
a projection
ripe for drifting.

No seer
saw such visions
as this, no pastor
imparted fervor,
no foreman nor shipwright
developed a finer blueprint.
I feel you near,
as warehouse recedes
into vacant eastward plains,
pulled through a madhouse
of my own making, constellating
every moment my tooth pulsed
to make you mine,
and now I have seen the sign:
OUR NAME HERE.

often i speak softer

because
straining
to

hear
me

speak
you
often

move
closer
which
is
where
i'd
prefer
you
to
be

Unfazed

Warily
I miss you
verily,

projecting
blank
perfections

within.
By chance
if you are

thinking
of me,
will keep

this
empty,
the effect

being
a duplicate
sunrise,

should this
sky ever
be touched

by
your
lips.