Tuesday, October 21, 2014


shit is the best
kind of shit. It
admits itself,
confesses the state.
Whereas I, Monday,
all days, still
strap myself
into fabulous
sneakers, struggle
to keep
what oozes
out, in. This
would be an excellent
time to earn
an undergraduate
steer clear
of Ebola, as cows
steer up at the stars
at night. Another day
has left Texas
behind it. Time
to dismantle
all footwear and

His Morning Commute

At tongues-length 
a woman 
the cellphone she plucked 
from the garden.
No trespassing!
An "at" sign.
The question 
of "Where were you," when
"Houston" may only prove
an unacceptable 
answer.  This isn't 
the most awkward 
way to write you, but neither 
the least. The revolution 
will be autocorrected. We will all 
be autocorrected. 
Every day extraneous 
snipped like the stems 
of a rose bush. My message
conveniently dropped
in a pile. What is
due is eventually 
due, and what is 
eventually due
is the bill.
For the phone call,
for the ride,
for the thorns.

Saturday, June 16, 2012

We all leave ourselves

We all leave ourselves
behind. Seven winters
in the dark is one
way, summer supper
with your mother,
another. The push
and the fury. The wide wild
hair. I could spend
my whole life seeing
and not seeing anything
as vast as those pants. "There is
so much to talk
and not talk about." Your life
is long enough to let it
your heart.

Saturday, April 16, 2011

the sea and the sand

stout meaning
around the middle
of the road where we
first moved they were
all dirt, I remember
when they brought in
the asphalt, oil-stink
smooth under banana
seat handlebars
kid-footed pedals
in between.
"was burned
to make way
for a train
for a train
for a train"

Sunday, March 13, 2011

5 points later

You found me
new home, new cast on
the door, new
manner of waving
my hand new cozy
means of breaking up
rust thumb through
condensing stains
all easily
This won't make
much sense
tomorrow, until
tomorrow, either.
She asks, please
come in
my badge please
find my newly
forgotten tree.

Tuesday, February 02, 2010

all morning they came, amateurs with broken arms and smooth skin. mostly quiet.
still waking. limbs chewing gum. big lips on a small orifice wondering how
many mouths led to that one.

when you get off the hobby horses, when you drive off the wildebeests, it’ll just be you in
your bed. afraid, you’ll say "I know". a feigned collapse when the loss of rigidity is
always waiting.

what have you ever told me. what have you ever said to me heading home. serval cat,
I like your ears. midnight, I like your shower. egypt, open your window issue.
dustbowl, you’re drunk. muffin, let’s kiss.

the key requirement of Title V, Prediction IV: we read it in a book when we were
seventeen. cross-sectioned. smile of a lamb.

the alter. the long toe. the lemonade we drank on the roof.

the main requirement comes to collect the late afternoon sweat, making a list of everyone
you want so you can tell them. some drama without the antihistamine.

Saturday, October 17, 2009

latin bonus est

in your fist
the crumpled can. when i was
home i could never
escape the hum of intangible
wires it was my sister's
bedspread there is
nothing left of me
here a porcelain doll, rectangle
of glass i was
forgotten on checkered
linoleum i
was the pushpinned
poster the battle
before the gate clutched
in the rain a knife
in hand a rivulet down
the forearm you see
the uninviting home from
uninviting rain i
will say it
baldly i sat
stalking in
the rain a black
knife held killstrike
in my
hand i rode
the bus i thought
how fucking beautiful
if it must be your
memory it must be all that for
us all

Tuesday, October 13, 2009

I fell asleep last night under the big white broom mustache of an old man driving through the intersection of church and market. gravity unchaperoned on those milky bristles, we went around seeing things I’d like to tell you about, but the old man deserves his privacy.


this is where my voice cracks with emotion.

and here,

much later,

is the next morning.

he waters his lawn, although he never notices the lawn. he tilts his propaganda up towards the horizon, which looks all the more infinite at my size. a new creation. or the morning I woke up in the smokey mountains not knowing how to say it, with no one to say it to.

and here,

here comes belief. the ice cream man. the boys and girls.