Zoo / Depression

your nephew said I was the cool one
(ripped jeans)      it gave me a kind
of complex     nothing was the same

after that day at the zoo      an old
chimpanzee contemplated death in
the corner of his cage       how life

knows a multitude of ways to restrain you
 I considered   myself                lost
in the crowd        not answering my phone

nor trying to find you     I know
that’s not feasible I mean we were kids
pushing kids     blue by the aquarium

glass    big-eyed fish couldn’t notice us
if they tried   the big room shimmering
in the gray January light   we trapped

(originally published in Visceral Uterus, Winter 2021)

Forces

My friend once announced to a room of strangers
my poems plunge them into pools of water
I guess that’s a phobia my inability to swim

for more than a minute and always on the shallow
side last night my Uber driver told me she tells
her kids be courageous be kind and went on

to talk about her Ziggy and Shane like I was family
On Tuesday I’ll let them go further than our back
alley what liberation! but then the world

five kids tugged at her jacket last week on the haunted
hay ride I get it I feel invisible forces pulling me
every cardinal direction at once yet clouds keep moving

and I struggle to stay honest I don’t want you
to know lust the long rope tight around
my neck leashed to the wagon and I throw straw

into brown grass to keep the chainsaw
killers at bay though I know the monsters
are actors wielding masks they sell me the part

of me I run from because I know anything
the world gives me lattes Lagunitas
love I return worse than when given

(originally published in The Orchards Poetry Journal, Spring 2020)

ferns in memoriam

ferns in memoriam
in the room of you

the four walls   the plaster         so what
we would have had a life
together not just be alive
together
                                                  so what

I’ve learned to lose the leaves
the old days
          reminisce in new nostalgia
created   from a new & better era

my body alcohol’s punching bag
but the nights!    no straight-edge
James    nerdy
                       yes     but one that
lets me lets me lets me
grieve in the light

 

(originally published in In Parentheses, Spring 2020)

You Leave to Make Art in the South

      humid
          green
        swamps
    a riverflow
  of talent
      the sediment
         of the world
             gone well
                   past
                 my flaws
                   I wish
                 still for contact
             this accident of
          longing a lesson
       in how not to be alone
                    through the lens
                              of canvas

(originally published in Erothanatos, 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)

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)

NYE, 2010

that was the monochrome new year
I reached for your leg like a frog with long
tongue and you were on
the couch flyswatting everyone

the walls were drunk too the way
we behaved in the wild dorms
animals celebrating the turn of a page
the setting of the sun it was winter

in Berea and we held each other
like it would never be warm
again we caught snowflakes on
our tongues left black bottles in dead grass

 

(originally published in Datura, Fall 2019)