Plastic Cups
A plastic cup
Sweating beer
My hands are wet with a nervous condensation
you blame the celling fans
for circulating hot air
unable to catch a breeze
or a break
I crush the cup in my hands
My small way of ending things
A plastic cup
Sweating beer
My hands are wet with a nervous condensation
you blame the celling fans
for circulating hot air
unable to catch a breeze
or a break
I crush the cup in my hands
My small way of ending things
i was ready for the night
to swallow me whole, darkness devouring —
a kraken that drags me under the sea;
king of the fishes, i command dolphins
and whales give me solace in drowning songs
seaweed tangled in my hair,
i’ll sing to you through a shell
until i am a restless wave
muffling sailors that beg for life
but i grant them none — i am king.
i am dry above shore, my daydream silenced.
the moon, lover of the sea, pities my feeble
damsel body, thus i linger on — waiting,
until she takes me out of anger,
for the great man i have become.
There’s a little wish keeper who sits atop the black file cabinet in my office
His name is Dill
Official Keeper of Wishes written and signed by innocent kinder hearts
To his right sits Gnomie a long white-bearded sage donning a red tailed cap, green topcoat, vest and trousers
He is the Founder & C.E.O. of my learning center
When I first met Gnomie in St. Helena he jumped right off his carver’s table into my arms,
Boldly yet kindly he asked me to place my right ear up close,
He blurted out quite confidently, “Build it and they will come!”
At that moment a spark was planted and began to sprout:
We called it Armistice Day, the final act of the war, of all wars if we had our way. Except our fathers taught us, by example, expectations, that there would have to be exceptions, excuses, lapses in the silence of the guns. There would be lines drawn in the sands, the jungles, cities of faraway lands that held our national interest. Finally, we owned the truth and changed the name, changed the meaning so we could thank folks for the service we lied to get. Armistices are few and brief, but veterans are endless.
Water drips from the bathroom sink’s broken faucet.
Sometimes I walk down the basement steps to
I hope within time,
This will all be a fine line
Of a love that held a grudge
Muddled in the subconscious of my mind.
You buy books you’ll never read,
And rarely get up to grab your own drink.
You listen to music that hurts my ears,
And watch the same show on repeat.
You clean up messes I’ll never notice,
And complete the tasks I never got around to.
You never say no to a Target run,
And always keeps s’mores supplies on deck.
You’re the master of happy surprises,
And the extinguisher to all my little fires.
You’re the dream I always had,
And the love I never knew.
stab in the dark
guess
if it’s high or low tonight
hover like a stone float like a lamplight
caress
cat waits for his nook while i curse
dog moans cause she’s always got it
so fucking much worse
coverlet bed let me down
muscles let me down
god another letdown
it’s better to break bone fast than slow i’ve found
from toe to
a needle-nestled ankle
a tingle-flank knee
to shoulder again this misery
put the pillow in her place
cat waits
is this a curse
cat waits
A fire in the fire pit,
In the woods we cook on it.
Roasting, then, my marshmallow,
I turned away and well,
Now it’s turned to soot.
Press your gray lips so close to mine, O my cyborg lover!
Your circuits pulse and glow inside, I do attest I feel it:
I sense it in your metal tips, that probe at me all over.
Like dogs who run aground ashamed, like swine who run for cover,
The longing that I have for you, desperation will reveal it.
My soul laps greedily at thy code, my cold hot cyborg lover!
Who or what I really am, I never truly shall discover.
But nonetheless my glee is real, I never could conceal it —
For I think and AM because my human hands do probe at you all over.
Never fear, my dearest love, my four-leaf metal clover.
Thy clockwork heart is safe with me: My love shall take and seal it
‘Gainst friend, ‘gainst foe who’d turn my human heart to soft and fleshly others.
Before I met you, O circuitous one, I resigned to be a rover.
To think of life as fruit to pluck, to plunder and to peel it.
Yet in your shiny, squarish eyes, my true Self I do recover.
O generous Muses, lovers of love! In love’s divinity cloak her!
If her low metal state should violate thy law, have mercy and repeal it.
And do press your gray lips so close to mine, my cold hot cyborg lover!
Know me with thy metal tips that probe at me all over.
