Brotherly Straits

They call hacks, understandably
distraught when they catch glimpse

of the new plumber brothers, killer tunic
plus fairy, arcane rune of imperceivable

synergy squeezing the juice out of every
cooldown. Rubbing their rumps, sore

losers flail their transparent rulebooks,
sputtering out unimaginative analogies of

hermits and shells, horses and knights, all
sorts of well-tried combos whose fairness

derives from never switching shoes, a trifle
unbecoming of champions. Should it stink

for the sloth-reflexive, for the single sperm
that carries the family name, for the brute

mannered or staccato'd speaker, suppose
it stinks. Our way was long overwrought

with taunts, glares, and occasional threats
of fratricide, overcome by several hundred

miles or so. Now at the dawn of our hacked
existence, we let lean on one another, as

brothers have and ought, and if they think
us formidable now, probably best not to let

them know we have only just begun our part,
victories beyond reckoning are still in store.

Undercity

Beneath,
the walls yawn
and open
like a cat's mouth.

Tunnels wend
through cathedral air.

Moths
zapped by iridescent
backs.

Rank files
of cabinets
stuff the mezzanine.

Gnashed
bodies become
sleeping bags
for the unsuspecting.

Fingertips tap
light notes
on the breathy
organ,

troubling
silence with a throb
of sound.

Insects sleep, all of them.

A warm wind
rises
through a honeycomb
of antechambers,

filling the crevice with
bone-white,
cloud-grey
blood.

Musicians twirl
their instruments of flame,
crisping music.

Months are crunched
underfoot.

An orb of light
patrols the intestines.

Bait.

Barley and fennel
are the national flowers.

The moon seeps.

All the books
are full of pictures.

Every
face contorted
with pleasure.

Winter Vermin

Taciturn gargoyles
hold vigil each night,
tucking mulch

into the edges
of flowerbeds. Vying
for partial custody

of persimmons
snipped into confetti,
they totter over

the bawling bushes,
with rude artillery
de ruido, raking

in disgust with
their dust-dance,
curling violin strings

with the crook
of su dedos de piedra,
vermin de invierna. 

Those mute inventions
surf through pipes
and whittle my sleep,

leaving tiny parcels
of what the day
should bring.

There!

Embarrass yourself,
embalm the shell
you sell short with
outrageous acts,
stuck to chest
as bells tacked
to a sweater.
A few days
of well-meaning,
full-hearted
and dumb
display,
and you might
move through
life better, or,
at least,
they will begin
to know you,
they of course
beginning
and ending
with yourself.

Año Nuevo

Slap a success sticker
on my tongue and say "aahhhh,"
throw some wire
through my jaw, jeopardize
gum-line, poke at
the tender spot, portend
some of your good
altitude.

Un otra dia
voy a lavaré los
platos susio,
and who's gonna
stop me?

Dead air,
I fill unwillingly.

Dead skin
I will unerringly
resuscitate,
groomed for
another great
year.

Do-re-mi, baby.
Do-die-me, kid.
Don't-rate-me, lady.
Do-yr-part, dude.
Does-yr-mate do-his-math,
do-roses-melted-die-so-well?

El comienzo de el año nuevo
es un fuego en los dedos de manos y pies.

Determined, dead. Impress on me
some outline of your general impression.
I take the mantle of General Discretion.
Behind: cabinets stuffed with misleading remedies.

Delante: el suelo, flores, el cielo, montañas,
todo junto se ahogarán 
en el mar del año nuevo.

Carried Away

I rub my feet together and a dream escapes.
I wake married to self-control, perplexed.
Last night I lost control.
I bought the bigger bottle for efficiency.
I don't want to have to go back to that store.
I let myself wallow so long as I have company.
I question the sincerity of my struggle when I can't keep it to myself.
Look at the time, it's been cut down.
Look at me, i'm cutting myself down.
It's unsightly. It's blemish personified. It's what I've been trying
to end.
Universe presses send.
Silence & suffering the default planes.
Resist. Resist. Don't think of this.
Press ahead. Pull the switch. Dig. Don't think of this.
Turning to the usual things, the books, tears,
shaking down my fears. Unconcerned with what's creative.
Creating concern. Playing along with my vanity.
Making nausea. Quelling nausea. Making nausea nascent.
My oh my, look how much fun we're having
con el solo idioma. I'm holding back
a long-awaited poop. For when I'm alone,
estoy sin aliento. Waking up divorced
from yesterday's reality. Singing the anthem para mi, para mi.
I take back everything I said
so I can say it all again.
So obscene. Such a scene. Living, a mess.
What else can I quit? Tempted to try muteness,
though I'd get fired. I could quit trying to impress,
and listen closer to my own body. I could wear a dress,
but even then, who'd take me on a date? Gotta think less.
gotta write without redress. Gotta not think of this,
or I will lose, lose, lose it all, gotta not post this,
gotta not end this or else the questions come back
to burn what they could not finish.

Postcard, 1951

Survived sixty-five years,
a greeting from Fort Marion,
etched in casual cursive:
Happy New Year!

In my hands,
a glance is caught,
a stranger's voice
disseminates,
the message
brought so far
and still
carried on.

Hold You Only

You move me,
at once closer yet
spiraling, lighting
abandoned sconces
with your baubles
of sharp fire. Lips
twinge and desist,
unwrapping resolve.

I swear, your stare
dishevels my mettle,
displaces disposition,
makes a mockery out of 

distance, discontinues
any notion of wading 

through life dissatisfied.
Gratitude doesn't cut
deep enough.
You move me to blush,
blather and gush toward
a rush of untenable

heights, all with 

the softest push 

to the small of my back,

and if there is ever
a way to repay, send me
the price in writing,

for when we are close
there is nothing we need
to say. 

Parallullaby

There may be no conclusion
or sure-fire solution
to this swelling complexity.

I will keep walking straight
'till we understand our fate,
so long as you walk beside me.

Quit Staring

How to say, the feeling grows stronger.

Blight of romantic twilight
banished from the room,
escorted out by candlelight.

I am falling
out of my skin for you.
It is a little uncomfortable,
but nothing new.

Estoy enamorado profundamente?

Soft, silent night.
Our first noel.

Starting to get why this season
is so beloved, having nothing
to do with religion.

Nothing glows so well
as admiration
ensconced by the tree.

What I imagined
as whimsy stiffens
to hard truth in my arms.

Speaking this truth,
not letting up on my drive— It is imperative I pen down
these things I cannot describe.

Devastated
to be walking out that door— but not fearing any end.

Frenzied
with thoughts
of a start.

You are taking up
every inch of my heart.