My story, “Lobster Boy,” was published today in the anthology entitled STRANGE BEHAVIORS. It’s best not read by those prone to recurring nightmares. I, for example, plan on never reading it again. Green means go. Yellow means go faster. Red means go faster than a demon’s dream.
“Drowned Scavengers”
Lick a lot of fences we paint
in the underwater shipyard,
scraps of silk and cashmere
where the flammable blindfold
meets the underwater sun
you worked until the clock dropped back
behind your bed and sleepy-headed
treats at the end of spears
to tempt the fish
whose life you gave me
the blindfolds sweaty
werewolf hands
the chokehold backlit by Ferris wheels.
“Moon”
Erasers in our backyard
our silhouettes to sleep
she lays her evil eggs
behind ferns, under bushes
his tooth is loose again
and all cooks vacated the henhouse
this isn’t your place anymore
the breezes linger amidst the trees
wishing to speak before passing on
the knots in oak street
and your heart glows to cinnamon
streetlights fall into purses
private rituals, intimate places
across green sands
a shadow and you on your apple tree
overlooking the hill with the horses
you rode bareback to call boyfriends
scary and merry and all tell-tale signs
the scars driven into diaries
the night they never let go
cloudy leaves
fallen through owl spirits.
“Love”
Love:
hard-worn, fought-run,
beneath your reputation
lies the innocent specter
an elegy for a raccoon,
an open wound
wraps the pictures,
tears them to floating tears
lingering on a moment
frozen for all echoes to grasp
dented by miles
of dimples in your backyard
the freckles and strawberries
while ladies glow luscious
down bittersweet paths
under awnings of sour fruit
the creepers relax the vines
the ivy I knew cold fish lips
awakened the ripples
the carriages of spider women ,
the sparrow of zeroes,
at cream cheese
and cucumber sandwich parties,
my white gloves covered in my blood
my lacy petticoats sink through my skin
my doors, through the drool, let the cats loop scalding hot
over a crib game of desperation
the scabbed breathe of a wish fulfilled.
“Cues”
We led happy lives
when you were young,
you didn’t notice.
Don’t move away, I pleaded.
But then you did. Far away.
All along, I wasn’t real.
Neither were you.
So why’d you have to drag down
this made-up land?
Were the cabbages shining that brightly
in the moonlight?
Stay strong, the light is dancing
and the horses are a storm
while rivers run in packs
the planets glow dismally.
“Blinded by No Emotions”
You can have the best of me.
I don’t want him anymore.
Drive in a car made of ice shavings
over the cliff to a wolverine.
We played the magical book
at firestorm concerts
kissed scorpions
and Betty’s nipples lit up.
Blowtorches were our safe haven:
the life you lead as a rat,
bats screaming too loudly to exist
above the cliff that laughed back,
we glimpse a blanket of starfish
combed to their hearts’ content
ravished by the completeness
of all opened presents’
lace drawn hastily away
from pregnant shadows’
rope with the beckoning of claws
unforgiven by the rake you broke
when sweeping leaves too eagerly
and spotted the hidden witch
in the dusty shed
her meat collection
unfolding with a hissing.
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