we need not gather
rice in the trash sticky
with friends’ hands
still friends their hands
a question of what we collect
these rakes our long limbs
(originally published in Penmen Review, 2025)
covid-19
On a Zoom Call with the World
the crows are stage left with nails in their beaks
it took centuries for modern civilization to collapse
but it is happening now and we are all here for it
looking toward the future (naïve to hold a telescope)
I see ants collapsed just outside a giant mound of
peanut butter powder coated in poison we were
feeding ourselves (and we fed so long) with words
and power with which we chose to destroy ourselves
and we are all here for it drowning in the rising seas
(originally published in Flights, Fall 2023)
Quarantine (Day 60 – May 14, 2020)
you threaten me with a walk
outside I acquiesced but the rain
came anyway and ended the plan
for temporary freedom in the confines
of codes covered up for the necessary
health & safety of others I love who
might love me if I could hold their
gaze for more than a moment
(originally published in Ink in Thirds, Fall 2023)
Bro
Get out of my life with
your election signs. Don’t
tell me what stakes
you stuck in your front lawn.
Come on. I know you’re not
a boomer. You say we’re at
a crossroads and I gaze
into the neighbor’s yard–
used to be bushes concealing
every outside path. Now there’s
someone on a lawnmower severing
the bonds of grass, in intervals,
each direction I look, each time
I visit home. And we comment
each new motor makes it harder
to reach each other. Mom’s
neighbors want to beat the rain.
We just built this fire in the back
of my childhood home. These
bundles of sticks my mom gathers,
waiting for us to come home
some early October Saturday.
At my brother’s first mention
of herd immunity, my sister
suggests we seek more kindling
in the tall grass. The air is
parched but we must keep
burning. Firewood left from Dad’s
death we’ve already forgotten.
My brother says we’re gonna
lose all this country fought for–
Dad survived World War II
only to shatter his ribs on a fire
hydrant sixty years later. Mom
would not let the coroner dig
into his carcass for an autopsy.
In his later years, Dad would keep
a hose beside our bonfires. Still,
we hunch over heat together,
burning hot dogs on forgotten
skewers. We dredge the past
again: a year after my father’s death,
cooking hot dogs over walnut husks,
one of you said there could be
an industry for the timbered taste
coating the tenuous meat we’ve
shared over the years.
(originally published in Alternate Route, Spring 2023)
Strangers with Appreciation
IN BOUNDLESS EXPANSE
BETWEEN JOB AND SILENCE
NOSTALGIA AND THE EVER-
LIVING PRESENT I SIT IN FRONT
OF A PROJECTOR SCREEN
COOLED BY THE WINDOW
UNIT I CAN DERIVE NO
MORE MEANING TO VIDEO
GAMES NO
it is the purpose of a stranger to dream
for me to be engaged so in his fever
your creativity is what I want
now that I don’t have the rapturous
privilege of losing myself
but haven’t I
wrestled with every single
whim every whistle
of the wind that calls for me
I answer
for a little while then reach then
ASK NO QUESTIONS
FOR ANSWERS I COULD NEVER KNOW
THE MEANING OF THE STARS NOR
MY PLACE WITHIN MY BRAIN WHERE
THE SOUL SITS
it’s sick sometimes in
how I want to be someone else???
but I look at old pictures of myself
and think he’d be so happy to see
how unrecognizable he is to himself
(originally published in confetti, Fall 2023)
On Sassafras the KEPT ONES
In the alley toward the strip yellow
plant caution tape walking through trash
valley to Iron City Beer no one
needs to pack bags stepping on
white rocks on Sassafras the KEPT ONES
under clouds. Wonder who makes
it out alive. Plastic bag with Lysol
wipe flapped in the wind when tossed
in the trash. Another event stupidly
beautiful to admire. When I look away
I could crash into sunflower NO PARKING
signs. What masochist places
these in the middle of a long busy stretch
of sidewalk? Now bees won’t leave
me alone in this heat
(originally published in Spinozablue, Fall 2022)
September Pool Rental
Lost that social
muscle, backstroke
that splashes all the
words my mouth
wants to say but
needs weed
for, the weeds
overgrowing
in the far
away wild.
My back
patio’s
unbearable,
its familiarity.
I want
a pool, or
someone new
to dive into
my mind
and stay
a while.
(originally published in where is the river, Winter 2021)
April 6, 2020
We rearranged the patio
though no one’s allowed
back. Silver chairs survived
the winter, now the virus.
The navy rug we slid on
brick, under long legs.
We hung string lights under
nostalgic blue, a horsefly
floating by. We put our porch
tables there in negative sun
when I said the new people
watching is through barbed
wire, through dead weeds
overlooking distant sidewalk
behind the abandoned printing
press and the parking lot
of Rite-Aid. There
I saw a congregation
shouting and prowling
abandoned concrete.
All I could picture
was ubiquitous spit–
how will the world
seem clean when
we are allowed
the world again?
Beaks of birds,
always lurking.
(originally published in Ginosko Literary Journal, Summer 2021)
After Millvale Music Festival, 2021
at Grist House the day is everlasting
& we have just lived
through a pandemic.
August sun shining
I feel like an emperor
owning the day
til its end
the sandwich trucks
& hot dog carts
all of my life is good
we have just lived
through another
week under
shade of the
everlasting days.
in all my life
how many
days
will
I ever
get to feel like this?
a hundred?
maybe
in only eighty
years I need to
count
my inventory
(originally published in Statement Magazine, 2023)
What Else
On a towel eating Lays
at the shore of Lake Erie’s
ocean-simulation but I just want
to piss in sand
singing memories of Los Angeles.
Sorry, the masses I abandoned.
What song of salt on tongue.
What rustic swampland.
Nothing
about the tide I claim
to understand. Water’s not even
clear. Only unexplainable shifts
of the heart coming
and coming at me relentlessly
like I never settled when it mattered.
Now I prefer deepwoods drugs.
Life’s a slow death
and I just need to get to the end.
(go)
What else do you want / what else
do you want / what else do you want? To do?
go
go
go
go
go
(originally published in Spotlong Review, Winter 2023)