I always felt so close to her
when she would lay beside me
asleep at night.
And I would want to text you
the next day
and tell you
“I love her so much”
as if it were a secret
or a sickness,
because I thought
you were the only person
who knew what it meant
to love someone else
that deeply.
And I hoped
you could tell me
what to do
with this
deep, deep
ache.
in the morning the sun
is pink in your hair, in my
hair too. the dry frosted
grass has more life than
you think. we’re like
black cows yawning
on February dew
we can’t ever just
touch, especially
when we’re so blue
your neck bends, extends
a Picasso painting
in my corner
I mirror my hair a waterfall
though it not yet spring
could you please grab the scissors so I can be
a little pool of a pond, please?
could you please tell me
why i let it grow so long?
could you please cut it, cut it out
the dreamer girl is gone
wasn’t pity though
was it it was
a nod
to possibility,
that near beyond
ol em herself’s
dwelling place;
see ol grumpfuss bluehair didn’t know
how to find lightning outside of the sky
but the lady gazed a spark in a poor shepherd’s eye, got all zingy with hope and the maybe just maybe this might work like in star trek when the only option is blah blah blah
and lo, the bridle is ours
let us separate the saucer section
onward and on and such second star to the right stuff we have to be lucky right and ready–
but it ain’t looking good hoss.
all the books say pity, it was pity
(a lie i sort of made up without looking. a captain’s hunch, a flamboozle)
the gods are gonna have to go
no contact or gray rock
the reins were not for us
to conquer stuff, but for a sad man
to ride a pegasus
what say you
did it work?
athens is burning
ice sheets are crumbling
faster than we thought
there’s just not enough god
damn poetry in these poems
not enough hamburgers
in my bunker the locusts
have waited 17 years to click
and grind this summer down
someone just died alone.
someone else. and another
another. turns out nobody
cares that there’s aliens
they are trying to make
a more human mouse
Layers upon layers upon layers, each covers a tiny crack in the one below.
More prominent and painful than a pea beneath mattresses,
the slivers run deep.
Sometimes she forgets which cover she wears.
Sometimes you can catch a glimpse of her without one: the exoskeleton of armor removed, dirt along her brow.
She raises her face to the sun.
Fresh Blood sits stagnant
On bullets
On unscratched shields
On dog’s savage teeth
On badges stripped of numbers
On cameras that were never recording
On shaky screens from a dozen different angles
Soap and water alone can not remove what has already been saturated.
The brotherhood of injustice pleads mercy from onlookers
We didn’t know
We were following orders
We made a mistake
We stand with you, wearing platitudes and crocodile tears.
We regret that this happened
( and tomorrow we will do it again )
Making names in the sand,
a finger trailing
lost in thought
but thoughts were lost
in the oceans of self-doubt
of unecessary concern
of unfulfilled desire.
It is hard to put a finger on
this particular hue of confusion.
But it’s just a name,
nothing special about it.
Except that it repeats over and over
a record worn with time
never connecting right with the needle.
Eventually you have to let it go
Her go, him go
Whatever go.
Thick evening air
presses against my skin.
One lonely whippoorwill
calls out, and I know the
history books won’t matter
in the end.
I ride waves of
unpredictable weather
and even more erratic
politics – the riots for
change decades too late.
We’ve spent too much time
mad for the wrong reasons
turned on each other while
the world burns, and those
with money placed their bets,
growing richer.
We wait for it to settle
back to normal and back
to our daily grind, but
Mother Nature has other
plans compensating for
the holes we’ve made
looking for our fortunes.
