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)
before you
moved
to Chicago
we lit a flame
with bugspray
loud as strangers
but the bonfire
burning out back
is your voice
haunting
the smoke
in this house
(originally published in Goat’s Milk Magazine, Spring 2020)
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)
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)
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)
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 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)
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)
so much depends
upon placement
an 8-ball
between stripes
at the edge
of a hole
a drunkard
aims the stick
knocks in
loss
with unbuttoned
cuff
(originally published in Door Is A Jar Magazine, Spring 2020)
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)