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)
oh
Panera
I lost the important things
sweeping baguette crumbs
underneath an industrial
fan– cyclicality, the broom’s sashay
from one end of the room to
the next– sand blown from the center
of the desert, and how selfish
to keep water in the bottle
with other mouths to nurture.
(originally published in Adelaide, Fall 2019)
In Waves
It comes in waves, the grief, though you laugh
as you say so, because we are in the Atlantic,
children again, uppercutting large tides,
and I never learned to swim, but the saying–
the metaphor– is true, the water is relentless,
and we were states away from the hospital,
where your father was, when you got the
call, and later, in our hotel’s game room,
there was a balancing act– you, your family,
the ping-pong paddles on the black table,
the plastic balls rolling slowly onto the floor
at the end of another meaningless game, the
bouncing, then physics, entropy ending–
how else to reconcile lost time? This dusting,
this airing out, now, swimsuits soaked from
the salt of the sea, this fabric, this residue
dripping off of this vacation into the old
Civic, the broken A/C, the windows’ open
breeze, silence of the road lodged between
green hills, so endless, our breathing.
(originally published in Creative Writing Ink’s Monthly Contest, November 2019 Winner)
Drinking a Rhinegeist Truth
10:33 AM on July 4th
& if that ain’t some
gunslinging fortune
my drinks have teeth
can’t mix with coffee
I am trying to stay awake
I am trying to stay
a firework of politically conscious
colors
most mornings the soup of ritual
I gnaw at the aluminum’s tab
when my beer has ended
I am not satisfied
no
I am not satisfied
with this ending
(originally published in Datura, Fall 2019)
New July
This army of cicadas returns home
from a distant war– old love, we
retreat to our comforts after pulling
weeds– Kentucky Mule burns,
melting ice at the bottom of
the glass, I am on your couch
then inevitably your floor,
your hand on my knee.
Chatter from the gathering rises
just outside the back door,
footsteps up the stairs,
and we embrace against
the humming refrigerator,
pushing toward a lush
new vegetation.
(originally published in Adelaide, Fall 2019)
Click-Clack
we didn’t do yoga except your feet
on my shoulders & months later
you zip past me with my new lover
on your bicycle the acacias stink
of memory you see us arm
in arm on the way to the library
as we used to too but when we
kissed was a web spiders clung to
a hunger many legs couldn’t satisfy
(originally published in WINK, Winter 2020)
Horoscope – July 20, 2017
You’re going to have it all
but not today, Taurus.
The swarming suits
will suffocate you;
love won’t feel like it exists.
This trend will grind you
down to bones but you
will bounce out of bed
tomorrow to grind
at work. Open your mouth
a little more than usual
to let more air
into your life.
(originally published in The Brasilia Review, Spring 2020)
Good Friday
a sea of cars
parting people drive
home I am a delivery
man feeding fish and wine they
snap their fingers I arrive
in the flesh who else
would they wait for?
(originally published in Cirrus Poetry Review, Fall 2019)
Oasis
little do we know
of anything
mindfog a desert light
progress
a stony monument
voyeurs
on a voyage
through the fog
(originally published in Adelaide, Fall 2019)
Hot Sauce
You know how much is too much but
you shake the bottle anyway over browned
grilled cheese sandwich and bite in.
The things you think you can get away with–
oh, the tiny fires you’ve stepped across in
the temple of your longing. Little dabs of red
on canvas– the meat of the situation is you’re
taken but, Lord, the flame goes hallelujah blue.
I’m speaking a poetry of pigs. Relationship
as slaughterhouse. Relationship as bacon
you want to slather lust all over.
(originally published in Adelaide, Fall 2019)