Archive | February, 2018

“The Last Time I Saw You”

24 Feb

“The Last Time I Saw You”

Turning a corner, the train whistle blew

down the drain, rupturing our fluids

the night when your body relaxed

without you, fish

swam through my hands

the blue dishwasher bleached a pellet

in the dark of the kitchen,

our lips chapped,

our skin crumbling to waxy tissue

it was the last time I saw you

in the house of broken windows

of folded petals

of folded grasshopper wings

where these thistles rasped your throat

to desire a summer long ago

when we both lost our bathing suits

and split down to the rope

on the swing above

the slapping of the waves

riding your bike backwards

we’re friends for pain

the locker room killers

don’t let the mirror drop

don’t let this dinner end

please put away the props

shield me from your dressing gowns

and chain my heart.



22 Feb


for Richard (“Buz” (“Pop”)) Russell

Flapping wings to call you home

a red barn and dirty boots

your mother’s writing poetry

and we drive around in circles

you were embarrassed to be lost

and you wanted us to be together

on an orange-leaf afternoon

you’ll crack a smile and know everything

and I’ll learn.

There’s a rumor about boyhood,

although ours felt centuries apart:

boys don’t cry,

don’t hurt,

and don’t feel.

But that’s just a rumor about boyhood—

that’s just horse feed and crab apples.

Let’s ride our horses through the dark,

patting the hot metal on backs of trucks

ready to haul lumber to glittering casinos.

Let’s live one more rumor about boyhood

before they find us hiding in the woods

with flashlights near tents

before they find us to tell me you’re gone.

“Spider Bite”

21 Feb

“Spider Bite”

It reminded me of my boyhood

in the Pacific Northwest,

that sense of the laundress—

which reminded me of my boyhood

in Los Angeles,

that sense of the boundless—

and I don’t care what the doctors say

when your mother paints a snowy picture

on your bedroom wall,

or we killed a mighty falcon

in our boyhood reverie,

or the spider bite:

a mountain of moles;

the fluid drips through your system

from its hairy jaws

mandibles wash up on the shore

of your spooned skeletons

relaxing in a beauty box,

or betray the hoax to a lavender ghost

he stops by the mirror sometimes

as if to redirect ancient wizards:

ghouls in their bird mobiles

a fair thorn away from here

pinpricked by your favorite goddess.

“Kindly Ones”

20 Feb

“Kindly Ones”

The darling young starling marks

her glass eye

we drowned in the chandelier, looking on

the bullseye marks

the doorknob growing further away

into your thigh-light eyes,

wish we’d met

a blind capsule

a rose, a Sharon

a dimple pressed on sheets

makes a goat neigh

a swan wearing tap shoes

scrambles up a sandy bank

a gift from a friend

however you use this tissue

of the sunken depths

lead no unicorn or lichen

through unfortunate schools

relaxing their grip, but taxis turn

photos fool no proof

for the goat-herder’s daughter

beneath buttercups

the nail worms thrash

palm trees moisten the soda trees to ash

the fruit of havens, hairy and burnt

ballast spells a missing thunderbolt.

“Proud Passerby”

19 Feb

“Proud Passerby”

We’re proud of you

when the healing comes tonight

when the bough shakes embers

through banana rowboats,

when the headlights come tonight:

a wounded boat on a torn sea

hook to sinker, a blister pops

peeled by an alabaster blaze of line

illegal girl poetry by scissors lie

which smudges fish lips to fingertips

trout look-out towers to antelopes

sewed to jackals’ backs,

hard-rode to sundown

scared skeletons made of feathers

a slashed sailor hunting hurt

for a cooked kiss.

“I Fell from a High Depth”

17 Feb

“I Fell from a High Depth”

I fell from a high depth

mapping the gold of wrists,

a parakeet with lonely eyes

through this tight keyhole;

a wind bent for saunas;

a derelict reflection;

frightful fur collars,

ferocious in your bed

night on all fours…

…the llama knows no injury.

The pears fell

we painted our toenails with moonlight

and all the hungry capybaras

licked the leather off a motorcycle jacket

then somebody faded away.

“Wet Apples”

16 Feb

“Wet Apples”

Two black eyes

a heart full of teeth

rivers gush to tell our troubles

rivers rush fish for us

and though we grovel

at the thighs of dawn

and fall down butterfly slides

the hanging lamp in the jungle stills

through green mists the wings of insects

blows your horn through the fog

projects candy films, rings the inn

for us weary warriors to be lifted

by living cat pillows’

incisions stitched with black thread,

ten claws reserved for punishments

amputated with care by silken drawers.

“Icycle Moon”

12 Feb