October 2011
3 posts
Bachelor's Degree
Paper trophy—that cuts that cuts that cuts that cuts that brands my XP dry-skulled forehead for what for what for what for that untuned urgent grand piano plucked a forte ‘plauding crowds are worth some lint a bunny dusted mopped that floor—all wood— and dry skin cells a blank- et trampoline. Horned yarn swords believe the sound.
Sonnet of Disenchantment
This crown chakra’s pounding on the doors, an unlit fire. The mind matter match is struck, the strip a brilliant liar—who wants to find us as taped up boxes, “Fragile,” stamped upon the package. Shipped to destinations where, arrived, batteries lacking. Ill-equipped for proper and polite usage, to the sewage with the rest. Tossed into the fecal matter. The cost of the pieces unassessed. Lost. (But...
DRAFT
He said, “I don’t want to bleed again,” implying that I might be the cold concrete that ripped the flesh from his knees three weeks ago. If not the concrete, then the hand who stopped him, the hurt that drove him to tears.
January 2010
1 post
MSY
Innocence hitchhikes to the airport, cracked Raybans melted to his diamond nose, which scarfs a final nico-fog. Where are you lumping to?
—I’ve just enough for a one-way coach billet. Your sorry burnt face will hang & your sorry balloon is popped and raw, ………….in&out the oven. ………….It’s ashen and...
November 2009
1 post
Pisces
You’re the kind of fish who inches toward the bait, then away retreats at the shiver of a finger. Nibbling at what you know won’t hurt you, leaving the ocean unchanged as you slip through it, you bind my eyes and restrict them to you. You’re the kind of boy who, when a friend sleeps over, doesn’t turn off the lights or the television because, you say, you’re too drunk to do either. But in...
August 2009
1 post
No Lime
I know a little faggot who likes to shoot tequila, who says, “No lime,” and scoots to a dance club. That little faggot’s grin absorbs bartenders’ eyes, and they let him drink for free, and he’ll drink them dry. He’s been real thirsty lately, though he’s always shitfaced drunk, and I bet he’ll never wake up in arms that are warm enough.
April 2009
1 post
why did
why did canal soot leech onto a mix CD scratched by fear’s unclipped fingernails if a faulty bloodpumper sweat the sweet eye water to compensate for the handsh- ache?
February 2009
1 post
Falling Easy
To be read in one breath. I can fall in love so easy like a baby falls asleep so easy quick and I can’t feel my head it’s spinning round a round a carousel around like spinning wheels and weaving wishes in to thread so easy falling like a beat just pulsing jazzing dancing feet I’m falling down but speeding up and slowly passing out of consciousness whene’er I smell the...
April 2008
2 posts
For Emily Webb of Grovers Corners
Our conversations were mostly breaths, impatient ones that feared the other’s voice would ever split the tethers that bound us in nervous, melting hope. My little chair smiles and offers me the motherly star who lets rivers chase down the hills to raise wheat and rice that my thirst and hunger may end. My little chair smiles and begs me to lie down and sleep when the sun leaves, deny my tongue any...
last Tuesday's abusive tempest
You were a jump rope that I whipped ‘round myself and skipped over, and every time you beat the ground, your stripes were scuffed with watermud from last Tuesday’s abusive tempest, during which did we herd the toys into their boxes, the toys that held your face with plastic, stubborn, immobile arms that held my waist before I spotted one galactic tear in your unblinking eye, your clenched fists,...
March 2008
1 post
Shine bright, little star.
Shine bright, little star. Pucker up like you do after you’ve tasted a citrus fruit or before you let me kiss your mouth of orange and vodka. Let me kiss you sixteen times. I’ll count like we counted stars. I’ll name the kisses for what they are: Slop, Smile, Heat, Truth… We’ll name the stars as well. I’ll refill your glass until you’ve met every one. Having met you, they will shine brighter....
January 2008
1 post
Sitting atop my roof, I've found
Sitting atop my roof, I’ve found a route to the sky that had before hidden above trees, smoke, and wires, while I lay stupid on the ground. The next door dogs bark song to me. I speak one back with rough, quick voice, then clutch the rotting, mossy wood of lovely, unloved sycamore tree.
April 2007
1 post
7th period with suuji wa dokushin ni kagiru
Parabolas avoid Directrix and Focus with a vertex or vertice. I don’t know this method, so I place a 5 in my row #9, and I’ve lost my binocular choochoo of thought, so the test smiles bright, and I squeal that I forgot how to factor a polynomial with four degrees. Before sudoku captured my hypothalamus, these fingers could scratch a brilliant solution set with any numbers you might get from a...
March 2007
1 post
While you say you sing badly
I enjoy your alto belting. Your pitch is baby bear’s porridge—just right to our left, the pianist is preoccupied, so you lie on the ground and sigh to the therapeutic carpet of teddy bear comfort. Smile, Miss Left-hand Girl. Sleeping dreams and the dreams that come true are past the mountain. they’ll be coming around when they come. ‘Til then we dreaming artists sing. My tongue belts showtunes...
February 2007
3 posts
Ya'at'teeh
(1) T’ááłá’í “Ya’at’teeh,” he told me. “That’s ‘hello.’ Say ‘song’ in your mind and start from there, ngya’at’teeh.” (2) Naaki Ya’at’teeh was a song, and to speak it was to sing, like the wind that lifts the sagebrush, ts’ah, and makes it tumble over highways with only two traffic lights, or like the wind Kokopelli breathes into his flute bringing children to their mothers’ wombs, calm like...
Lovely Left-Handed Ladies
K—- Your tongue forged acoustic sugar, and it’s still singing in my naive brain. Your song’s been dead for hours, and I’m belly-up on the dance floor, rewinding, then pausing when I spot lips carving your love into mockery. When you left the room, the world followed your tongue’s tune, natural nicotine beguiling the foolish, while I’m belly-up, mouthing lyrics to dust-bunnies: “my girl scourged my...
My Cans, My Cans
Brother sits upstairs, homework, They tell me, so my eyes keep rolling when i hello the door and go, me in my underwear tiptoes over decemberly icy bricks to my Cans, my Cans who behave for me, just me They say while prince Brother is televisioning, Them chocolating him, and him liplicking my eyes keep rolling when i hello the spotted, wrinkled fruities with tuesday’s lasagna drowning in cola and...
November 2006
1 post
Natchitoches
Nod your heads, boys, when I say to you: A behemoth swiped your breath last week, and The confidence can’t win for you. Can you se the armies coming for you, Hear their feet in the mud like mad horses’? It’s true their steps are too quick to make noise. Tears and sweat can’t happen anymore, Or you’ll have to hide them when they do; you Cannot show weakness, or you will be devoured. Heads...