a hospital in
ho chi minh city
has a wall of jars
with pickled
fetuses aborted
(they say)
by agent orange
i feel a flicker
of glee
quick as lust
still killing the
murderous little bastards…
today I discovered
the beauty
of a boy in a
round wicker boat
When my dog talks to me
I know that he is discussing
Quantum Physics
From a different
Perspective…
When he dreams
I know that he does not exist
In this world
While he dreams…
His incisors
Are perfect utensils
For cutting meat…
He allows me
To take his temperature
Rectally…
When I sing
He harmonizes
In fellowship…
When I scratch his belly
He starts his motorcycle,
And I never ask,
“What’s in it for me?”…
i give you a dress
a stone
a handful of broken glass
nothing that’s ever
enough
and i catch angels
with my bare hands
i pull their wings off
and leave them to bleed
and the days pass slowly
and forcibly
like poured concrete
like rust
two years now
since my father died
and i give you bones
and white light
and a dozen reasons to cry
i drive down
deserted country roads in
the last fading minutes
of the day
i put knives through
the throats
of crippled children
i wait for a sign from
any god
and if i say [i]november[/i]
maybe you picture a grey sky
hung low over darker hills
and maybe this time you’re right
and what if all i have to offer
are these carefully chosen words in
a world full of the sick and
the butchered?
there are worse things than
hearing you are no longer loved
there are reasons men give
for raping their daughters but
none of them matter
and i am tired of being damned
by the fools who want to
force god’s cancerous weight
between my ribs
i’m sorry for tyranny and for
the ignorance that leads to hatred
but i am not the cause or
the cure
this is what i
want my son to understand when
we no longer speak to
each other
it’s what i never understood
about my own father
a coward
is not necessarily a
villain
a starving dog in the right hands
is a weapon
left alone it will only die
or devour the world
we are not old
or dying
but afraid
we are the voice
of the burning girl
after she has dissolved
into nothing but
faded cloth wrapped
tight around old bones
and as the wind finds
all of the holes
in this house
we turn to each other
for warmth
we compare faces
and names
and whether or not
your sister will come live
with us when she finally
pulls herself from
the tar her life
has become
and the killer is free
the trunk of his car
empty
and waiting
and the baby asleep
upstairs
one of us will have to
be the first
to break his heart
