Look at this kingdom of garbage
trucks. A survey underneath
the 31st St. Bridge, where I spend
my horrible days collecting.
It is Friday night and there is
pressure to deliver. I told you
nothing we do here is important,
so take a deep breath. Smell
the compost of contemporary
capitalism. My blue brain
has ceased to need a function.
My winter is every man’s
desire for himself. It is waiting
for my back to give and bear
the weight of the waste:
the compacted nature of my life,
squandering, squandering,
squandering the ineffable.
(originally published in A God You Believed In - Pinhole Poetry, 2023)
tv
This Vestibule
& within this vestibule the sighing & side-glances,
demands for just-asked-for jackets, & axes dealt
to execs in their excess, & star-born nephews needing
validation; & on this thin strip of wooden walkway,
in the gaze of dead deer, a floor air bubble that shocks
& wilders passers-by who have walked upon it one
thousand times, beside the gunshots on television
(free film school for everyone!) where we have
seen passive-aggression, passing gremlins, & a red-
state journeyman who lusts for connection along-
side extras lost from fittings (if they just turned right
past the blue truck, an open door you can’t see
from here, here, where we have waited for a call
sheet for hours), & once, there was a heavy storm
& we watched a CATERING cone withstand
the rain & hail & screeching wind & we were on the
inside, too, through the glass, rooting everyone on–
yet hollered in catharsis when it tumbled down.
(originally published in Osmosis Press, Fall 2023)
Omnipotence
Your laugh could knock civilization out
but you are too modest.
I spent time at the cafeteria alone
at school. Red trays quivered.
On film sets I can’t look up.
How tight is the lighting rig?
When I apply that logic
to our place in the universe–
it’s too cold a stone to live alone.
When your soundwaves reach me,
in my solace, from the moon
or Mars or Mars, Pennsylvania,
I want my life to begin again
and I want you there
the whole time.
(originally published in Ephemeral Elegies, Spring 2023)
The End
After Matt Hart
seems like a good time to say
I spent months feeling helpless
looking forward
to this indeterminate light
we’ve been dreaming about
this industry
affects people
like a natural disaster
rolling through our days
until The End
rejuvenates us
makes us hungry
for The Beginning
a road trip a flight
a movie night haven’t
had one of those
in a while a cold
drink to jolt me
alive alive
until the dead
extend a hand
to bring me back
and I reach
for it too
(originally published in Delta Poetry Review, Summer 2023)
Zone 28
Tara, the arcade was not the answer
(air hockey shots & bowling) such
fantastical surrendering with hollow
hunger & the terrapin match /
between dinosaurs Maureen was
drunk & screaming. typical
punch bowl. red & strung
with lights I lied about my blue
ice I said I did not have enough
but I drove to Taco Bell next door
& ate five soft ones texted
you I made it (though I live somewhere
different now) home if I move
how will the wind know
the difference?
(originally published in DREICH, Fall 2023)
Reruns
I sit by the fan
this May afternoon
alive forever
in the green
of our home-
made salad
(spinach, chickpea,
yellow pepper, tahini),
sore and sweaty
from carrying air
conditioners up
steep hallway stairs.
Using the heat-
gun and pliers
I straighten
my brain’s
antenna.
Our argument
becomes static
on a tube TV
in someone
old’s living
room.
(originally published in San Antonio Review, Winter 2023)
Screens
(originally published in BlazeVOX Journal, Spring 2023)
Day 14 of 21 (Block A)
I saw you meditating
in the UPM’s office shades pulled
lotus on speckled carpet
you caught me wondering
if you were tranquil I felt terrible
though the door was open I was
an arrow piercing peace
that single moment I don’t know
if you ever think about it
your spotting my gaze lasted one
second at most my mind runs
reruns just tell me you’ve forgotten
in the chaos of casting hundreds
of extras for a scene canceled
by sudden rain
(originally published in The Broadkill Review, Summer 2021)
Cookie Cake
I cut cookie cake with plastic butterknife
a birthday my age is showing not my celebration
in the office a long way to the center I repeatedly
say I slice some New York pizza I shape
a biscotti I am the awkward focal point
struggling through the cake rock my boss
offers me a Swiss army knife I refuse
she swears it’s clean the PEOPLE want
a show they want to see struggle I
bellow hands shaking through thick paper
plate after plate she says I’m impressed
you didn’t break and my piece is
so sweet I can barely eat I
do it anyway the work
I put in deserves dessert
(originally published in Squawk Back, Fall 2022)
Career
After I axed past the tree-lined path, I turned
the wrench that opened safes of gold with my own
hand. And then I hired someone with wrists
of a little more tension. I should have
never slept in the bed of wealth. I should have
known, in the night when every dreamer is
dreaming, I would sink deeper into that
endless hole of jagged desire until
I was thrust like from a slingshot
through my roof into a room
of mirrors where I seemed to be me,
but adorned in glimmering garbage.
(originally published in Academy of the Heart and Mind, Winter 2021)