End of June [Transition]

last night I slept in your bed
white sheets disheveled

I plucked an orange scrunchie
off your pillow and placed it

on the dresser
drawers half-open

like an uneven staircase
dresses streaming out

onto the floor
like contrails

frozen
mid-destination

 

(originally published in In Parentheses, Spring 2020)

Roadkill

eye contact
with a dead deer
on the side of the highway

his eyes were open
facing oncoming traffic
neither happy nor sad

just dead
face intact
a mangled cute

because I don’t find deer
particularly cute
nor useful when alive

(here I am
another man
valuing appearance

as commodity)
but I don’t want
to kill them

I am on my way
to see my underpaid
overworked partner

on memorial day
passing cop
after waiting

cop
and I swear
there are

more carcasses
than usual
in the tall grass

 

(originally published in In Parentheses, Spring 2020)

Whip Your Flame Hair Against Me

and I am on fire too ready
to burn Panera down
no one really wants this hospital

food its chemicals inside
that make it breathe the bread
is moving if you watch

close enough its heartbeat
in your mouth we are all on
fire this former dead living

animal a baguette string inside
my intestines there are wings
in my salad flapping dead cells

floating and all I can do is be
the sun and burn the whole world
then flush my throat with water

(originally published in Madness Muse Press, Fall 2020)

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)

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)

Grandview Heights

I need this walk through the suburbs
    summer heat has me a certain way
    lovers have me a certain way

I need to clear my head with the zen
of weedwackers droning, an SUV’s blur and
whoosh, lawnmowers torturing the grass–

white noise, white birds, white hybrids.
walked with white sneakers in the mud
last night drunk in the rain through an alley

(originally published in RASPUTIN, Winter 2020)

Multimodality

too many avenues to take
to achieve              [what]?

goldfisted, I punch Jupiter
through the rings
I’m bound to. a racetrack

this zipline I cling
to the forest not the tether
nor the trees many

branched and beholden
to gravity I seek
to lunge headfirst

through the brush
renewal in sharp
sticks and scrape

the surface of
what composes me

(originally published in Ginosko Literary Magazine, Winter 2021)

I’ve Been on a Bender Since Becoming an Adult

in the dark of grimy
bars floral couches live

feathers (what a thrill beneath
neon green) in view of Saint

Maria’s grand brick parish
I unclasp Catholicism’s hands

from my neck (backdrop always holy
human touch) how can one believe

in anything other than getting fucked
up loving people at parties

unconditionally my friends I have
forgotten too many nights not

to complete the circle offered
under guidance of compass

and an unsteady hand
flicking the lighter

(originally published in Incessant Pipe, Winter 2021)