the bleeding radio repeats the same
dead guitars their necks and bodies
another day strings stretch rained
bullets for old fingers to play half-
mast country white and blue so red
throats the shallow soundless holes
peered into to sing sand to bury
the chorus of another city’s silent
prayers God never intends to act
(originally published in #theslideshow, Winter 2018)
my own advice: treat every gift
like you’re nine in ninety-seven.
rip the heart out of your parents’
wrapping jobs. don’t notice
the hanging phone calls,
the coils of collection,
the foggy snarls at the door,
the stay-in-bed allure radiating
from big, red boxes hidden
behind the couch for after
we opened all the other presents,
for after we grew up,
after we got jobs.
(originally published in The Drunken Llama, Fall 2017)