Category: Poetry

Good Will

only here to alleviate
the headache

third eye open
under water, swallowing

I’m only here to make something
of myself

isn’t that cowardly?
I could just make myself again

but I’ve accidentally already
and quit

so I speak through forced
sobrieties, for myself

inspiration clamped shut
until it breaks

every few years
I build the same home

here again, I want so badly
to cross this threshold

but it looks too familiar
ordering replacement fear

way out in advance
the common denominator, me

a haunted family tree
something I can’t give away

or give away and buy again
thinking how lucky am I

I’m stealing this
just to have another thing that

watches me
full of wishes

A Wolf at the Door

I feel like I must
apologize before entering
like wiping my feet
I take off all my clothes
then knock

I don’t want more
I want so much less
I want to know
exactly what’s going in

but never will
ignorance is
part of the rent
/ the net, unless

I strip away even more
my job, my skin
each one of my appetites
and yours

pair them off and
put them on a ship
leave the water on
like we did to the fig

finally the door opens
having forgot I even knocked
you say, it wasn’t locked
and I walk through

like I did to your progress
a partition, the end
but only
of the treeline

my body swinging, heavy
in the boots
like a hanged man
a wolf at the last second

UFO

I can’t whistle, but
I did once in New Mexico

when I blew steam
across the water like

the Northern Wind
my big cheeks full

my beard and eyebrows
a land-form each

I am performing more
as you drift more

but my gestures
fill your sails

you kiss the ground
but it isn’t wet

I bite my tongue to
find some

when you ask for lights
you add that little

don’t take me
a disclaimer

just show yourself
you mean anywhere

here… but also
everywhere else

Jansport

If I had a clear backpack they
might see my Gameboy, or
whatever book I was reading
instead of the required

they might see how seldom
I used my folders, jamming
papers in like
forcing fire

if it rained it might look
like water on a window
on days when classmates with
clear umbrellas came equipped

with their own atmospheres
all docking here. I may
never have gone in
instead I’d lie to my mother

– sometimes I’d take the bus just
to spend all day
walking home –
or try convincing myself

to my father
he would have said
there are so few men
and so many fakes

they are easy to reproduce
and pass off
it’s taken me all my life
but here’s how you tell

The Music I Would Take to Space

I sing in the artist’s
voice – almost always
Rivers Cuomo is close
Billy Corgan hurts
Claudio Sanchez is like
I swallowed a laser
Cedric Bixler even higher
I can do Courtney Love
Shirley Manson – the
garbage version – but only
if my window is closed
I actually don’t know
where my singing voice
is – it’s gotta be in
my stomach, but
I keep my stress there
they fight their way out
– the Gemini twins
pulling at each other’s
skin, scrolling open
my throat like birch bark
the bugs are stars, but
they are themselves first
like all performers
I am understudy
I am making what I fake
but I have this window
one little window by which
life scrolls by – the
marquee – how exciting it is
to jump into one before
knowing it ends
it’s got you talking
you can’t not finish
there’s no way nothing’s there

Grass

the moment wretching
becomes embarassment, or
forgetfulness begetting
regret

I must purge before I’m full
like eating grass
use it down to its wick
and need more

get more. expend more
smoke it. they call to me
they are soul choice
says the non-soul

so avoidable
so unnoticed, so
they don’t break the skin
as to them

every pour
is a great cathedral door
my eyes like stained glass
manipulating the light into

church light
dried blood and piss, the
yellow-green of flowers
shoved into books

everything is a mistake
your bouquet should have been
grass, the children
should have been quiet

The Most Humane Way Possible

I can see faces
in the trees again
their beards covering
their mouths         their eyes

the spaces of absence
where the grapevine
hasn’t quite
blanked me out of view

we’ve been through so much
they’re expecting a list
but I couldn’t         I can’t
I’m wondering about the farm

you adopted two hens
but must cull
five to six muscovies
the most humane way

is not the easiest
almost never
I wonder if
it’s a huge mistake

then remind myself
that we slept well together at
my parents’
we bought a car

we survived an abortion, an
assault, a freeze, a virus
all of which during
we wanted to pull so tight

like netting and a cone
and pass through         our
rib cages trying but failing
to catch us, breaking

the skin like pin feathers
I must provide life
that is what goes on the table
you must provide love

but I think mine goes first
I must work on balance
I picture cairns, but
not that         something

more considerate
mindful of
underwater bugs
maybe she’s here

and that’s why you can’t sleep
I would have loved
to have seen you pregnant
maybe it’s the house

it’s probably me
what’s the most humane
way possible
upside down into a bucket

but we slept so well at
my parents’         loved
so well in the trailer
had options

overcame those options
like mountain climbers
but on soft, little heads
we must attract

the type of good
you can’t feel so good about
but it’s what we’d want
if we had the other

Jump the River

watching kids play
Jump the River, which
is a game with two ropes

the kids line up, then
run at the “river”
& jump across it

each time the river
gets wider until the kids
are barely able to make it

some run their hardest then
stop abruptly at its edge
some throw their bodies &

roll for extra distance
some just cry –
too hard, no fair

later they will wade in
the creek. its banks
move apart like ropes

the water flow lessens
some of it abruptly stops
it gets warmer

the sunlight reaches lower &
blooms the algae
the tadpoles feel the urgency

the tepid water tells them
hurry up, get eaten
or get caught & held

their instruments still in
perfect spiral
our eyes take time to adjust

to decide if we are heading
towards, or away
either way we fall into it

then drop it
will we get word?
will it be fire? monsoon?

will we throw our bodies?
or stop abruptly
at its edge?

C.K. Dexter Haven

I was trying to stop
smoking – I read everything
I ran. boxed
worked to exhaustion
tried to appreciate the
unreliable emotions
whatever showed up, I
went with
rage like a bull
through the front door
I let in
rage like a cat
with a bird
with intent to kill
but not before I show you
I’ll show you all
I’ll stop, and plunge
that unsuspected depth
to be part of a story
Pittsburgh, Philadelphia
anywhere but here
where the grooves are
so worn down
they accelerate
I go faster and faster
nowhere, like dying
in books, like the end of
Prince Caspian
or John the Forerunner
whose head came hand-
delivered on a tray
as my salvation
but there goes my appetite
up in smoke
up down the river
beneath the water, where
the sky is wet, heavy crumbs
beneath the desk
like a kid in school
locked in but down
I am no longer high, but
not low either
I threw my time
to the wolves
now I see the bone