don’t remember much now
says the rocking chair with his
wrinkles down to here
covered in a blanket
riddled with holes
except
The fabric!
The static!
The electricity!
The spark in a dark room!
The viscous loom shuttling!
The sputtering note of petroleum!
burned but survived
preaches the bedpan hollow
out into the halls hallow
no-one listens without anguish
so no-one listens
Heartbeats
Inside you the slow-breathing coal accelerates.
It’s fierce now. You expand like an old star.
I write down what I can.
Inkstained snow falls and lies piled around my chair.
I bargain. I accept nothing.
I say, Perhaps instead you can take…
So tomorrow I will lead you into the chamber
and feel your heartbeats flow between my fingers.
I cannot keep them.
I cannot be rid of them.
one of eleven
Write eleven; choose one.
To find that one the eleven must be written.
There’s no way around it.
You’ll find it in revision.
Five might seem like enough, but no.
Or ten? but again, no.
Eleven is the magic number.
Eleven is when something pops.
Still, treasure the first draft.
It’s not right, but still you love it.
It’s not quite, but it’s got that magic.
know your enemy
long in the quicksilver know your enemy
clings wetly to your bones know your enemy
shouts slurs in dark corners know your enemy
would if they could know your enemy
most virtuous most despicable know your enemy
crawlspaced bodies pigeonhold know your enemy
whose cloak of invisibility screams and screams know your enemy
under eye ink pools know your enemy
the accuser is: know your enemy
neardistant
behind
shocking wave en
jambed it lives allatonce
neardistant
bowed
tied up real nice & set adrift
sea’s aspersions
waves hello
today’s rent due 10 years ago
same block but crumpled
but creased (who
laughed?)
2018 / 2008
nothing between friends
who anyways just sort of fade
neardistant
Deep Calls
such warmth that grin which
i’d’ve butlered cloched quick-as-you-like
drips instead drops instead down
a narrow mineshaft
no ladder built to follow
no chain no bucket
lies strewn amidst unsailable scraps
stationary gemless
a flashbulbed minute tethered
in amber plunged
copper-wrapped its thrumming core
calls deep unto deep
& you shall
& you must
thatsnotme
child with mud in its ears
thesaurus for mouth
that’s not me
sinner with fingers in
pies pies pies pies pies
that’s not me
fool suburban
nothing to do nothing to see
that’s not me
what i am is an excuse
for myself
what i am doing is what
must be done
where i go is where i am
right
now
whatever you must say
it says
at the end of a sentence a period
as always it is wrong
cause
what if the sentence need never end instead goes on
on into an enjambed
future hazy disorienting
also forever
it says
must say fewer
wrong as always
you must say
whatever you must say
no less
15 Minutes Away And I Don’t
Some memory of you
And the way you used to talk
Your mouth feared what it could say
A spare thought shifts
The stacks
Stands still
And what was I doing
You take my picture and I take yours
Somewhere a photograph
Meaningless still
Crooked teeth
Golden fur
In a sleeping bag half-in-half-out of your room
I dream big dreams
(They won’t come true)
Braved the 403 so many hours
I wouldn’t anymore
I’m 15 minutes away
And I don’t
this isn’t me
this isn’t me
moving through the world
walking through waste deep mud always
this isn’t me
sweating in the summer sun
breathing heavy resting against some oak or
this isn’t me
in the booth pouring it out
to silence
this isn’t me
at mirrors somewhere me stares out
who is the head-me the thought-me
that isn’t me
but is