Bluebird floating
blue across the redlands–
when did I become
isolated? You said
I had a home
to sleep, I just had
to ask but
I would never– except
I did the night we shot
arrows across your
driveway, my quivering
aim missed the tree
and nearly pierced
a squirrel’s eye–
(originally published in The Wayward Sword, Summer 2018)
Six months after, it was April,
and I still lived in my Ford
after moving out of your house.
I drove to Oregon, found a waterfall
to pose in front of, my familiar wool
and cerulean jacket, a white t-shirt,
my scruffy beard.
In the photograph
the stranger takes,
I smile.
The sun glints off my face.
I wonder what you’re up to
and who takes photographs
of you– is it a stranger?
Am I a stranger now?
(originally published in Pif Magazine – Summer 2018)
Let go
of Los Angeles.
Of the shore
or the dream
of water. Night
sky the black
granules. Negative
film reel. Prints
in sand. Bare
feet: where to
wander
next?
the raindrop
life (transience
is a home)
loneliness
forms
on clear days
rising out
of reach
& always
when you wake
(originally published in Literary Yard, Summer 2018)
summer mugs me every time
muggy breath and hug of sweat
so hug me hold me let me know
I’m not a cloud who will sink
into a vapor or wave hissing mist
an atmosphere of melancholy hot
days that teleports me to L.A.
stargazing fame because anyone
who meant anything existed far
away celebrities or friends who
wait when you come home to drink
torpedoes in the square then explode
with laughter when telling them how
you lived everyday in a pile of socks
and neverending sunshine
(originally published in Abstract Magazine, Spring 2018)
rarefied air
never spring
the way smog
sept into our lungs
on the couch hand in hand in
the same room breathing
the same air where there
are more heights to inhale
(originally published in SOFT CARTEL, 2018)
I have been inside
a marketing firm
with its own basketball court.
Uninspired employees huffed
then daggered meaningless
the hoop, hoping for renewal,
but no one kept score.
I could relate:
attending Catholic school,
I found it necessary
to ask for forgiveness
in the shower.
I had come to fear
a red-fanged Satan
sporting a porn ‘stache
waiting by the mirror,
covering himself with
a towel, fork in hand–
and me, behind childhood
curtains covered in soot,
water rushing, my body
seal-like from ablution.
(originally published in Sooth Swarm Journal, Summer 2018)
I walk waiting for the clarity of nature to upend my core
having forgotten again another grand idea I had the night before
the rain-soaked sidewalk
& deep dent on a passenger door
a two-story house I think is too tall
too wet bricks and white columns
each window a translucent universe of past
raindrops & the universe everything ahead of you
out of reach past the physical
the American flag waves in the wind
black sedans drive to a hair studio
talk show hosts spit they just
spit
& my dream once was to be on television
& in Los Angeles it happened
my face on mom’s television
but otherwise forgotten
still signals invisible waves
here I am a field the scribbled wandering
eyes & a blue jay makes a home in a tree
& me in the days I become
when I look in any mirror
(originally published in Botticelli Magazine, Spring 2018)
We can work on puzzles all day,
watch the patterns move
from one color to the other.
Block colors twist in gradients
until blending into something else.
The sun removes itself
from the scene, shifts
behind a cloud,
creates a change in light,
a block of bricks on a building
slightly darker than the rest.
(originally published in SOFT CARTEL, 2018)
I don’t know anyone
but the gnats swarming
around me &
the stranger
next to me calls them
wedding bugs
marriage begins with wings
then seeks blood
sucking glimpse of sweat
on skin sugar all the single
guests swat at the air
around them familiar
the way we complain
of heat so beg
for rain to form in
these shrouds of clouds
to cool us down
it’s nice to have something
tangible to wish for
(originally published in Razor Literary Magazine, Spring 2018)