When It Comes

Stay calm, relax, and open wide when it comes;
this shot won’t hurt; you’ll be fine when it comes.

A thunderstorm is rolling in, let’s sit outside
with a bottle of wine when it comes.

He thrashes and moans like he’s having a seizure,
But she’s always quiet and shy when she comes.

The center cannot hold as things fall apart; will
the falcon be lost in the gyre when it comes?

Californians know from summers before but
they’re never prepared for the fire when it comes.

If you dare to look into a gun’s barrel it won’t
matter if you close your eye when it comes.

I don’t believe in Jesus, but millions do who
will drop to their knees and cry if he comes.

If aliens land seeking voluntary space travelers,
Sarah will be first in line when they come.

The Place Where I Sleep

must be black, impenetrable
so that open eyes
cannot see what closed
eyes cannot see
or else
moonlight coaxes silver
hairs from each temple
glowing like bioluminescent
tentacles, pulsing, dragging me
down into the deep
sleepless sea

Long Lost

an envelope
marked with our family name
in quotation marks

holds a tiny photograph of
a little girl
framed from the shoulders
in a flowered, sleeveless top
hair is bowl-cut
that familiar flat smile

a hand-written letter
from Reno
long, scratchy script
warm, uncertain words
decipherable only by mother

paper echoing through
forty years of silence
exhuming memories of
a child

separated from siblings
the cruel foster family
flashing moments
beginning to surface

this fear, this hope I see
reflecting from her tears
released by her quivering chin

fear

passing faces carry thoughts
basic emotions
finding me
winding muscles like guitar strings
a fevered rash
I sleep through days
I drag psychic weight

red and black tentacles
from an unnamed enmity
invisible, whip and curl
lick and lash

I was a vibrant prism
now I'm made of mud

in dreams
they are screaming, choking
hiding red pupils
it is always night
awake
I can sense their dark
around corners

in crowds, eyes closed
sharp angles extend inward
an iron maiden
trapping out light
not quite reaching
too much, suffocating
my aura

Bedwetter I

In her dreams, all bathrroms are labyrinths. Each one is different. Sometimes with white square tiles spanning endlessly in a network of private stalls. Sometimes with dirty wet floors; urinals and stalls separated by moats of septic refuse. She searches for the perfect toilet. Once found and seated, she's often partially, if not totally, exposed to those passing by. It takes a long time to get a trickle going, if at all. Then she wakes up in her own warm puddle.

Snappy

I use bare fingers
to pull back flaps of skin
to probe lifeless organs
Embalmed cat muscles
are a shade darker than
cooked chicken meat
I've gotten used to the smell

I dig, we dig
The coveted pregnant cat
We replace her matted fur
coat after each session
Her name is Snappy

Impetus

too many teeth
crowding
words crowding
mouthful of spit

mechanical clockwork repetition
in-FLECK-shun
in-fleck-SHUN?

has a puppet
silent
similar in movement
begging
kiss me
kiss me
denied

in private
secret exchanges
middle finger tickling
brown puckered
secret

host swells
EGO
inflated nothing

Untitled

You're standing outside, watching. Her silhouette glides between the two windows, opening and closing the curtains and blinds. The lights switch on and off without pattern, alternately fast and slow. You can't tell if she's naked or clothed, smiling or stoic--she must be smiling; this is torture. It's impossible to know when she'll stop, if she'll stop. But you wait.

I hate Kevin Bacon

Roses are red
violets are blue
Fuck you
I hate Kevin Bacon


(by popular demand)

Breastfeeder

Two men are led to a prominent, well-lit

table underneath an elk’s head.

One carries an impossibly large

infant three times normal size.

I know him. It’s not his child. He

drops it on the thick, lacquered

table with a thud. Flash to

the man now shirtless, picking

up the baby, cradling it to his chest.

It balances on his corpulent belly,

squirming and gurgling close to

his breast. It’s suckling. Like

a tea kettle’s whistle, I

explode. I pound my fist,

rattling dishes and glass.

Untitled

sticky thickness
sluggish
clogged veins like molasses
blood candied

I burden, I drag
lethargic prison-walk
hardened by the hot red sun
trying to expel molecules

dream land
cotton clouds
slick candy roads
marbled palaces

glassy watchface patterns

in ab laetia
cum urbis paucis dat
subito curo
et numquam viro ad
tace puer tui

blind gesture
closer lion’s den
less,
decomposed

grids gritting
bleating cleanse
wrought defense

agent curtain
lonely swing

dough tree door
horse’s shadow
towards

the guilt pig
the pony hold
the peacock