“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

My story, “Lobster Boy,” was published today

31 Jan

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.


30 Jan

The Three Seasons (tra la la la lah)

30 Jan

“It’s Frank!”

28 Jan