Denny snacks on termites
that fall from
the thatched roof.
They, too, will dance
in a heated spoon.
Poetry of the Non-Prose Kind
Tiny Lobsters
September 30, 2016 by 2 Comments
[You cover one eye, upset]
September 28, 2016 by 1 Comment
You cover one eye, upset
though sunlight means nothing now
and against your cheek some mother
strokes her child –you praise half
and what’s left spends the night
the way all wounds begin
as a single touch then end
broken apart under the same wind
birds use for a home
and every morning more sleep
is needed, more darkness, returned
as if it had its beginnings here
is touching down, adored
by one hand held out, the other
no longer moving or found.
Erratum
September 26, 2016 by 2 Comments
Underthought as in underfoot, not
Undercooked. Dry snow, not wet meat.
Images are culpable if thought is
Infinite, like we sometimes imply.
To hold that all can be presented
Again, with minimal complication,
Underappreciates the way dry snow
Hides water from the subtle boundary
Of a phase transition. Melt, refreeze,
Step on, step over. Get out of the way.
Bystanders
September 22, 2016 by Leave a Comment
Before burning, rangers scour
for strays, miss an old
deathwish bison, lenses
isinglass scrabble, heightened spoor
of the next world, lambent,
liminal in windlifted brush fire,
still as an uptown statue.
Zephyrs pare the swart umbra.
Infirm shag ecloses from fluming
helical caul, then retreats.
I take on white noise,
occlude as old world revenant,
rattling chains to
jounce the static of your gaze.
Primary succession. No goodbye.
And when black earth
seethes fade, rangers locate
flameskinned bone,
hear the gooey tar face
pop and spit, and that is that.
kitchen caught
September 19, 2016 by 1 Comment
comfortable between keys or connected strings it’s not
tricky transposition obliging
v
erging
on summer wear
layered,
i do not hold you dense
heartthrob
Hold Me Closer, Tony Danza
September 14, 2016 by 2 Comments
then you wouldn’t understand the people we’ve been.
in a field, the last scenarios left on earth
fight each other
and the broadcast shipwrecks in your throat.
to celebrate the end of the visible universe
we smoke a fuckton of honey oil
and wonder what expanse it is that we really haunt.
the first law of emergencies:
that they are never consumed with this much quiet.
Suspicious looking Tupperware
August 29, 2016 by Leave a Comment
Chooses her words care-
fully. Scientific before
descending to the biblical.
Thus hermetic instead
of hermeneutic. Ho-
mophonic prefered to
homophobic. The revo-
lutions of evolution
in place of revelations,
divine or otherwise.
Skull Percent Off
August 23, 2016 by 2 Comments
How to rationalize, face-down, eye makeup and packing
raw meat and eiderdown slideback, the traintrack.
This was the dogeared philosophy pushing contaminate
inside where falseness began.
This was the witch wind the finger-kinged zodiac dip.
Many slid down the slide
of the abandoned pavilion
slipped off her negligee that way.
Prince Gallitzin pedaled the organ
let his hair out the diamond-shaped window.
You had the talent bluesy, unlucky
the runs in your stocking
economic decline.
Papers soaked up pubic ink
closet calculations
the heavy girl gaze.
Let the clouds serve
what sawdust does best wide-eyed and pray.
Bend your head dead above mutant truths
a four-legged nativity.
Go ahead and indulge in popping glass violets
self-deprecation
as cutting your teeth
won’t fix what’s left of decay.
American Sentences, New Zealand Lens
August 18, 2016 by Leave a Comment
Sheep surround the airplane door—howdoyoulikeus?
howdoyoulikeus?
The urban myth: Ladies a plate, they said, and she
actually brought one.
I spent three hours in Los Angeles. I know all about
your country.
Howlonghaveyoubeenherehowdoyoulikeithowlonghave
youbeenhow?
We make our own rules. That’s why we need so much
Number 8 fencing wire.
Clean, green and a good place to raise children. Don’t
say what you really think.
What do you mean “insular”? If you don’t like us, you
can always leave.
Now that you’re old and we’ve sucked you dry, when
are you going to go back home?
No more Miss Liberty, no more Golden Gate—
only the Southern Cross.
