Olentangy River Road

Without destination, I am powerless
behind a Civic’s bumper. The cars on 315–
straight shot viewable from my window–

travel without obstruction. In the Prius
beside me is a couple wrapped around
each other during meaningless red light.

The world is ending in these fumes and
still, I have been staring at this Wendy’s
sign, fantasizing about my lips on

a burger square, biting into processed
buns, cramming my mouth with fingers of
fries, then watching the sky turn jaundice.

(originally published in Corvus Review, Winter 2022)

Old Dad

Growing up with an Old Dad
meant he was always dying, inches
closer than the rest. Mine survived
the Great Depression to grant me

a shorter bridge to bloodshed
in our lineage, my father’s great-
great uncle Stonewall (the Confederate
general) and Andrew (the genocidal

President). I don’t want to be
that close in time to them. My years
must stretch as far as they can,
long enough to outlive that legacy.

 

(originally published in Impspired, Spring 2020)

Noodles

tin colander holes parts of me peeking
out into the kitchen horizon    past the stove
which so very recently burned blue &
contained above potentially dangerous
gas    of which you were in control
unlike last night you did the right
thing  begging cathy not to drive
home  her slurring sentences
& drunken desperation  just
hours before  all three of us
together  I had to walk home
after downing Nosferatus
and you were there with her
drinking tequila when you called
to say now I really
have to say goodbye
but everything was fine you
arrived at your destination
but she wanted to
drive again the night
air thin
& shivering &
blue when she
departed

(originally published in Gingerbread Ritual Literary Journal, Winter 2021)

Erosion

I want to sketch surroundings
in my skull they are skeletons
each day dustwhite percussion
bleating purple ears forgetting
shapes faces family landscape
manicured blood lawn of bone
dry cocktails to leash legacy
within brick pen of a home
we call distance inside air
conditioned repainted longing
to be where you are inside
construction green architects
will lose the blueprint to

 

(originally published in former People, Winter 2020)

I do not want to sleep I want to get smashed

but I fall asleep it is Friday my youth
is waning. Please tell me every time
you want me there. I love to say I
will think about it. And I will. To
feel if the sun will warm the air
enough to drink gallons the death
of me. I want you to nail me
down I want to stay in bed I want to
surround myself with hanging lights
and loud whiskey-drinkers and dance
around smashed Bud Light bottles
gleaming with the force of recent
desire– someone leaving their
own temporal body, someone
leaving their wallet behind,
someone leaving the world
so damn lonely now.

(originally published in RASPUTIN, Winter 2020)

Forests

Countless nights I have bailed
myself out the next day. Kinds
of lucky escapes. I have fucked
up under the guise of drunk, a
costume I knew I could wear.
I am ashamed of the monster
who wandered gardens of
knowing not to tread where
he did not belong, venturing
deeper into woods to pick
mushrooms– knowing one of
these times he wouldn’t return.

 

(originally published in Time of Singing, Spring 2020)

Remnant

at the dawn of new
love the redness of sand

but the enormity of
my past crash-landed
into the current

after losing sight
of an early oasis

I’m adjusting
to your alien
environment

a mast
can anchor
to lust buried

in the desert
to disappear

except you
reemerge

endlessly
in thought
and linger

a ship
that surfaces
to haunt

 

(originally published in EAP, Spring 2020)

Frailty and Fervor

  the religiosity of longing

             potatoes are my new church
long-lasting water-scrubbed love

             in the oven eleven of them
       I want you to count
              carefully

  our time remaining
                        provided what we want
                                    we really want

is growing underground in vast distant fields
    if we could see well enough to count

(originally published in HAD, Winter 2022)