Gaze Down Not Eyes

skies are gray my mind
lives having dug through
refrigerator for the cookie
I thought Mark bicycled
more instead I went to
salami town I burnt
a hot dog yesterday
for backyard freedom
the weeds are cut
behind the wire
and we are paranoid
of visitors someone
knocked on our door
time turned to trickle
last week a snowstorm
somehow but I have not
witnessed any weather
in a while I avoid outside
and outside avoids
me we always have
had an awkward
wave as we both
put our heads down
then move quickly
another direction

(originally published in Subnivean Magazine, Winter 2021)

Precedent

The sound of fascism is for a small
while less intrusive than the work

in progress on your neighbor’s wall,
which is also yours. 7 A.M. drills,

hammers infiltrating space.
Sun crystals shining through

bathroom window might say fall,
could say end. Dracaena sitting

in darkness on a different sill
amidst loud nearby noises.

Gonna see my family for the first
time in months. Whose side are they

on? I squeeze the lavender
satchel handed down from not-

my-grandma. All was passed
down from stars, but that is

a different story. Eternal light
in dust. What disgusting precedent.

The disturbed mornings
in which simply drinking

coffee hurts the backside
of my lower lip. Fish flesh.

I don’t know why the liquid
slashes me. That’s why

I drink so quickly.

(originally published in mutiny! magazine, Summer 2022)

Inadequate Help

I counted twelve hundred drops of rain
to cull the drought in the desert

but at some indeterminate future
coordinate. There isn’t even a crowd

to be lost in anymore– human bodies
dissipate into pixels on a stuttering

screen. Listen to her voice. Listen
to his voice. What we are drinking

when we speak is a potent purple
cocktail: dragonfruit, chia,

pineapple, banana, ginger,
vodka, rum. I know you

are close when you made it
but the rain’s still far away.

(originally published in San Antonio Review, Fall 2020)

The Days Are Bored With My Language

we are sitting closer
to the television in a brand
new bedroom not
that we bought a new
house rather rearranged
everything the television
Playstation mini
tables dustballs morals
we never labeled
outside obvious
corners the air
conditioning vents in the faraway
summer I hope never
comes yes I am this
amount jaded the new colorful
reflections of the TV
beside its fresh horizon
almost like the screen’s
outside where I can finally live
my real life in pixelated terms
I know I know I am
conflicted about even
the architectural oxygen the wood
was inspected man just not
by me I mean girders in the semi
shallow underground been
scrubbing raw potato skins
only still to grok the boiled
intentions steaming the
mind’s kitchen I don’t got
knives I don’t got any
memory of the chicken
carrot stew just I often
feel infinitesimal I can’t
stop filling overfilling
the pot hot water simply
abundance very thankful
for plastic bags stuffed
in the cold seam of the
world our window
won’t open

(originally published in datura, Summer 2021)

Jessie Must Think I Am Pathetic

Another gray sky day, empty gas tank worries in the countryside
nowhere don’t you long for my touch? Oz runs just far enough
for the bone against the backdrop of my outstretched arm
hand out fingers extended & I don’t know where I stand with Jessie
except she must find me pathetic as she walks into water under the
influence of Dr. Dog & now she swim-dances the past three days she’s
walked along the rock edge of the pool. & now I need to text Tony Z.
what’s a man most afraid of? I’m getting used to inadequacy. Oz brings
his bone to the other side of the fence. Jessie says she misses the green,
the pool purified at the beginning. Sara throws pong ball through
the hole of a lime lifesaver floatie and a butterfly metaphor soars
above the water. Have you ever almost drowned on drugs? I don’t
recommend it. The lesson is gravity’s not the occasionally falling apple
but the drifting leaf toward the other side, whatever the definition. September
third and we just got our first sunburns. Hannah leaves the house after
work and like a magic trick, three pong balls appear in the water
and the sun reveals itself a moment. Oz lays in the grass in front
of me before a philosophical discussion about casserole and how to cope
with beans bought at the beginning of pandemic we will never eat.

(originally published in KNOT Magazine, Fall 2021)

Six Miles In

the Reserve longer
                 to get         lost in

steep  trails             will sleep well
         balancing spaces

in extended
               phone conversations

       to cut       yesterday
             my bike

summer with roads how
                  long all

     the distant presents
all precautions everywhere

     of daily life for a long time

 

(originally published in Modern Literature, Spring 2020)

My Privilege

I’m privileged to sit in my home on a sunny day
with just a headache
in late May two thousand twenty. God I feel
plenty guilty. My friends
are linking hands in the street and I am scared
of all that’s viral. Oh what has lingered
in the air since, yes, America.
I have wept with internet videos
in my shadowed home,
never gassed
standing up for what is right.
You say protests are only one part of the revolution. We can’t
just go out there and put ourselves and others in danger.
How does that help the cause?

I am donating fucking money
waiting
for unemployment to salvage
fruit. I can’t say no
to a food bank donation. To
the Freedom Fund. Reclaim the Block.
Justice for Ahmaud, Breonna… If I am not
downtown with my people
burning businesses of bigots
take all my worthless fucking money
and light the biggest fire
possible


(originally published in FlowerSong Press, Summer 2020)

Self-Isolation (Day Twenty-Three – April 5, 2020)

In the morning light that surprised in all the surrounding
darkness of the era I am only hungry for the world to change

its tune from Virus Major to Canis Minor like back when all
the sad dogs sought regular companionship through the day.

Though home is where the heart is (TJ MAXX propaganda)
the heart is home far too often, staring to the sky in need of

a long embrace from ever-shifting clouds that spread thinner
and thinner by the wings of blackbirds gloriously racing

through the whiteblue plane.

(originally published in Pendemic, Spring 2020)

Room Filled With Music

the winged violin soaring through air
all petal & leaf & major key this song

will fit somewhere why not with us
swallow it will fill the body your heart

the pulsating bass in our bedroom
jockeying deep cuts our eardrums

rhythmically rimmed as in whispering
to the other falling asleep is how good

your resounding warmth

 

 

(originally published in Cavalcade of Stars, Summer 2020)