From the window of the faded ranch
I watched a bird floating in the kiddie pool:
a loon, with its reticulated band of stars.
I knew which bird it was from the tilt
“Lifeboat in the Apocalypse,” “The News of Your Death” and “The Gift of a Green Scarf”
I haven’t always wanted to be
in the same boat with them
but when the time comes, I hope
there’ll be room for me in that lifeboat
“Weren’t We Known?,” “My Father’s Shirts” and “Reflections on Hwy 66”
Running out of ourselves urgent
anxious we were spirits of some kind
ghoulish forgotten ones
living in half-light we could barely peep in
and never found ourselves in photographs
we found nothing made by our own hands
read more...“In the Dentist’s Waiting Room” and “Near the Thunder Hole”
“Talk to me!” it’s the woman in the dentist’s waiting room,
in a pre-silenced state.
“If you like couscous, how d’ you prepare it?
Are you following the Russian news?
Do you personally know anyone who had COVID?
What’s your stand on DNC, BLM?
Speak your mind!”
“The Ritual,” “Setae” and “Elegy for Ernest”
Classic rock crackles around a half-lit room,
scent of sweat exhaled by thick cotton
work shirts, denim salted with cigarette breath.
The bar’s low lights shiver on the skin
of his black leather coat. I linger
on the small god tapping at his chest.
“Salt,” “Like a Foolish Man” and “Skipping Stones”
All the salt in the world comes from the sea.
That’s why we tunnel under the Great Lakes,
To chip away a seabed that now flakes
Beneath hydraulic steel machinery.
That’s why our salty tears eternally
Burn our clenched eyes.
“STILL (Upon Awakening),” “New York Times>Wedding Notices” and “Discovering Magenta”
Magic will not save us.
Still
when you dream
you’re in Vegas
with your ex
doesn’t that mean
life’s a gamble?
Still
read more...“Demure,” “My Ode to Lovecraft and Dickinson” and “Tomorrow Isn’t All We’ve Ever Known”
The rumors ever forever true
our tombs and fate entwine
the looming absinthe pearl
we’re hardwired nigh plagued
the minds of the masses now jaded
plugging the hole as crevices swirl
one day we’ll displace
likened to lemmings to gorges
“Barred from Every Pub Even the Burrito Place,” “Reverence” and “Heathen. Expat. Hometown Girl.”
Teddy carries what he deems of importance
In an old trolley cart padded with terry cloth.
He holds congress with Johno and Frank
And two other silent boys in the town circle.
Their guitar looks nice on you
It is a rare occasion—
So you sing for them.
“Hello Dear Visitor,” “Puddles Caressing My Skin” and “We’re Just Cordial Friends”
I deserted a place labeled as a home,
with outlets popping out from their cables,
an oven that I needed to light manually,
and a floral couch that creaked no matter the weight put onto it.
I still have that picture of you resting softly,
sinking into the cushions,
with a long tear at the top
“Underwater,” “Locked” and “Don’t Tell the Women”
The naval admiral’s shallow body
Is smaller than I imagined
Underwater
In the nucleus of a nuclear submarine
Elusive to then Soviet fish spawning
On the sides of a metal ship
“Familiar Cycles,” “Cloudless” and “Sand Walking”
Late August bears canicular days.
Vertical rays beat down.
My head bends forward,
seeking the shade of my own shadow.
Once luminous eyes now fading,
Fight off the unequaled glare of the most radiant star.
“Imagining 42 Tiny Scuba Divers,” “Drifting” and “Sandcastle”
Bubble rings like misplaced
angel halos arise within
my teardrop from tiny
scuba divers the size
of pinpricks swimming
about aimlessly with salt
coating their masks,
and high on painkillers.
“Aches and Pains,” “Timber Tantrums” and “Chicago Sunset”
There is an indigo ripple in my eye,
sending me backwards through time
on cresting waves that roll into themselves
Tightened by their energy,
these droplets form ropes
that flay my memory
“My Chair” and “That Hat”
Where I sit is not my chair
but on my bones stacked up my back.
The me is from shoulders down for air,
chin up for sight and speech.
Though toes curl the chair legs
for balance, my feeling is, has always
been, that life is in my hands.
“Pa,” “Land mark” and “Dark night”
Drive Chronicles Avenue straight out
of downtown for three miles to the
railroad bridge, empty as a Roman
ruin, turn right toward the spray-paint
chaos of the Grass Lake rocks, right
again onto Esther Road, to 135, and
there’s tight-wound Pa sitting on the
dusk porch while nervous fireflies,
trespassers, skitter, knowing nothing
else, around the maypole of his chair.
“we’re still learning, please bear with us,” “left behind on the fourth of July” and “Warm Bodies”
after hearing some
rousing speeches from
several eloquent organizers
off the cuff, exclusively
including a young woman
who was George Floyd’s cousin
shared a heartfelt
and energizing tribute
the small solemn and intimate
gathering of perhaps a hundred
concerned citizens who’d responded
to an online call for marchers
“Ode to Baboon,” “Elephant, Room” and “Reaching Out”
Were you and your healthy
liver nearby?
Were you an excess mouth to feed
in some municipal zoo?
Or were you carefully culled
from some robust family
roaming the Ruwenzoris
and in a frenzy flown
Bujumbura-Pittsburgh,
held incommunicado
until the propitious moment?