surf another wave
of cyclical maturation
I am who I am, you
are who you are–
static trust– your white
noise a velcro
loosening of being
unhinged– I leave cities
faster than lovers, cruise
the interstate in blindfolds
before rumble strip sobers
me beyond the paved path
(originally published in Bindweed Magazine, Summer 2021)
I was searching, too,
having lost the will to film
when I left Los Angeles. So
when you and Kim hid bags of
Haddad’s M&Ms from the other,
I learned it’s okay and rare
to find such sweetness inside
the seams of a rolling chair.
And when I watched you
climb desks and tables
to seek an advantage
inside the pillar, the cords,
the tethered lights– which
resulted in a broken device–
it was never malicious,
wasn’t some power play
I’d become accustomed to
in this industry, just a game
that ended when Janice
emptied bulk bags of the candy
over our desks because
even I was in too deep and,
yeah, it was hilarious. Now,
as we clean our desks to leave,
we find stray M&Ms buried
under paper stacks that serve
to remind, if for a moment,
that you are my friend.
(originally published in Eunoia Review, Winter 2019)
Your lunch spot becomes a haven on the ground
level of a tower between towers on rainy workdays.
Your eyes strained at the sight of a waterfall
of text and maybe you missed
an important error in copy
marketed to clients. Here, though,
the dishwasher sprays a thousand plates,
aiming spouts at cheese stains hardened
from sitting by the garbage in
the place where discarded trays should be.
Water pressure removes ceramic sin
eventually, an industrial machine
humming in silver efficiency,
skin rinsed beside it.
Glasses that pass the spot test emerge,
steam rising, but meat lodged between
prongs is wrestled out with wet finger.
Your fork drips from the steak
just in a salesman’s mouth.
(originally published in Stickman Review, Spring 2018)
I really want to drink today.
The sun is shining. It’s warmer than usual.
I should try to ween myself off, right? None of this cold
turkey shit.
I haven’t drank a drink this year, the miracle
of it. Today, I am alone.
I scrubbed white the kitchen tiles, but there are
always dirt stains, smudges when you look
a little harder.
Sanitized the kitchen table with towels,
swept its crumbs from the floor.
The cat sprints from one end of the room
to the other over
and over, imaginary laps.
What every day is, these days,
running a relay race, handing
the baton to tomorrow’s me
with the trust I won’t– today,
it’s a sleep’s worth heavier than yesterday.
Long minutes the placemarks I pass
I can’t make time go faster. It is my day
off work, and in its nothingness I trudge
through sludge. Old habit,
you don’t die hard because
you’re not dying. You’re
as alive as me: refreshed yet craving,
gazing through the window to the light-
stained street, the shadows cast from trees
out toward the river.
(originally published in Stickman Review, Spring 2018)
I keep saying
when I start drinking again,
there are gonna be ground rules–
the main one being I can’t be
a fucking asshole–
and these include
nothing hard & nothing sweet.
& only beers, a few.
But I need to be honest
with myself right now.
(Originally published in Poetry Super Highway, Winter 2018)
The phone rings a silent coil around
the kitchen; the houseplants drink Coca-Cola
and rum. Some day soon your lover will leave
is already a dust mote dancing in the sunbeam
through your window. Carl Sagan writes from
the after-universe a love letter to the abyss and
attaches a minuet bouquet with an I’m sorry note.
How to apologize to whom we love when we are living–
rain sobs off the gutter, shrieks down city drains.
She doesn’t trust you anymore, and you didn’t come
back last night to feed your dog who cried alone in
the darkness of your home, but still he wagged his tail
in the presence of your uncertain return.
(originally published in Columbia Journal Online, Winter 2018)
If I don’t watch it, this lake
is vodka and I won’t care I don’t
know how to swim. Getting sober
is like that. I go out into the world
and look you in the eyes and say
I’m fine. I’m having a good time
and you go on never knowing
I was half-underwater, that
there was a monster trying
to make its way to the surface
and I had to push him down.
(originally published in Rattle, Winter 2018 – nominated for Best of the Net)