What Are You Doing, Sheryl?
Moms unload their kids
for Kiddee Day on the midway.
Cheap rides to kill an afternoon
so hot us ride jockeys get away with stripping
down to muscle shirts. Nobody
shirtless on the job, that’s the rule.
We watch the moms watching us
behind their sunglasses. Bringing Johnny
back and back in line, making longer
conversation at us the longer
we let Johnny ride. Till it comes time
to run him back home, him screaming
he’d had
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Cormorants and Guillemots
Come with me to the Western waters
Where the waves lap a coarse kiss on the shore
And we can learn to love the silence
To give love and know the love of others.
For we are nothing, a scattering of dust
A fleeting spark of electricity;
And yet we feel the pull of the moon
Some sense of mystery, communion of souls
The subtle tugging of a distant star.
When sometimes our imagination leaps
To empathy, then we are unique
Embracing
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Streets like threads woven into the city
Knot at the harbor
Am I moving uphill or down?
Echo of my footsteps
Centimes in my pocket tap rhythm
Lost in the working class maze
Homes expand and collapse
Expelling screaming ghosts
With every yawn and step upon uneven stones
Piss in the same alleys as Napoleon
The pavement slippery with allegory
History hunches my shoulders
With its random weight
The light slithers in my eyes
As I lay back on the street
In the swirling green absinthe
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Seated in the waiting room at the doctor's office,
I am filling out a questionnaire.
I come to a question I am not sure how to answer.
Do they really need to know that?
I put the pencil into my mouth and bite down.
The feeling of the smooth paint crunching
and then giving way to the wood underneath
brings me back in time to another question
I didn't know how to answer.
A blank sheet sat in front of me
at the kitchen table.
I couldn't concentrate with my
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It Was Just a House
It was the year in which the plumbing went bad
That the beloved house, feeling perhaps neglected, began to reveal itself in ways
It had previously chosen to keep to itself, the dead, and the demented.
Redwood, granite, level-set oak floors and an emptied bedroom emanating puffs
of white smoke
Where the man who plowed the best break,
Seam
and furrow
Once lay,
Yellow teeth bared in the ineffable discomfort
Of Active Dying.
Where the gentlest woman
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