Posts for June 2, 2026

Space leans / Against the back of a store-bought sofa-  

    outside, my toes are ready to take a late-morning coffee lunch… bird whistles clash     against the soaring of our Easter polka-dotted memories…   with threaded iron and     possum lace stitching vines against the exodus of ice-cube harmony in my Mason
    jar glass… sweet, sweet cherry balm… Here, rest I in a wanting state, steeped soft
    in the muddy water romper of my family’s tradition and KY shale mud.  

Time starts / Rest in Peace. A moment of silence for Big Lots.

When cow pie cakes your boots, 
and you stomp across our kitchen, 
I am still here.   

If the bottom riser on the back steps
comes loose again, 
I am still here.   

Though you put empty ice cube trays back in the freezer, 
ignore uneven chair legs  and again
forget to unclog the kitchen drain, 
still I am here.   

When mud puddles, 
the baler breaks, 
the John Deere stalls 
and bottles of homebrew explode in the cellar, 
indeed, I am still here.   

I am here  when Lafferty’s cows come through the fence again – 
me, a white nightgown grabbing my ankles 
as I chase them up the drive.     

When Orion rises in the night sky, 
and your furious voice rattles the teacups, 
I will remain  

                    as long as I can touch the scar on your chin, 
                    the one I put there.     

I have this theme in my latest dreams
  where I lay in your arms,
  un-possessive, but your heart is mine

as I drift to sleep, you morph
  into my own insecurities;
  transformed into a man

I once knew before I met you—
  whose affections mixed with anger,
  his tongue still lashing violence.

To awake, no longer yours,
  left unheld, tending
  to these inherent demons
  that I cannot call mine.

summer afternoons 
tend to feel like mornings 
as spring classes wind down 
and there’s a breath before fall 

the dogs clobber around upstairs 
making their voices known 
the cats meow and beg
even after a big meal

the dollar store blanket
shields the sunlight
from peaking through

not yet ready to face the day
still tired from late night chatting
but cars rev up their engines
leaving for day jobs, errands,
only they know

and we just sit here talking
as the yellowed walls watch us
spots telling their own story

the floor has its own city
cluttered in trinkets
which we swear
we’ll clean this weekend

and here i sit
all cozy in my favorite blanket
ignoring holes that make my legs cold

on our thrifted couch
thrown out by the neighbor
guess that’s why trash can be treasure

we just talk for hours
forgetting about the world
and all its responsibilities

about the rent due in 3 days
the electricity due in 4
the apartment
that’s just falling apart

but who cares?
when this kind of safety
means everything to me
a kind of safety that I’ve never known.

her bittersweet sickness
curls in my chest

lingering.

she twists my mind
into a pile of inarticulate
gibberish.

i hate her.

her poison has no
physicality

it rests in fear
in dark places
my mind refuses to
linger.

i cannot rid myself of her

instead i bask in bitterness,
cling to sweetness
in fleeting spots of sunshine.

Once you were filled with living

The sounds of celebrations and laughter

Snores in the night, arguments and tears

Your walls holding those snuggling within

Adorned with pictures, children’s paintings

Mirrors reflecting passings from room to room

Kitchens let loose smells rising from wood stoves

Replaced by gas and electric ones as years rolled by

Stairs worn by many footfalls, some fast, some slow

Were sanded down, broken steps replaced, later carpeted

Now your roof is sagging, porches fallen, windows broken

Those who lived here as fractured and faded as their memories

You fall into lonely disrepair, no one left to care for you

As time slips into another era where everything is new and fast

And flashy that will ebb and disappear, receding into a distant past of

Lost manifestations to be forgotten when they are no longer of consequence

Father and son working with a trainer
but the father does all the talking,
the kid sitting on the next machine
twisting his hands into strange gyrations,
a generalhy ignored gnat on the edge of a bowl.

Father and trainer move across the gym,
kid follows, hands behind his back,
like a prisoner in tow.  You may remember
a time you felt this way, lagging four steps
behind, wanting to be part of things.

Awake in my dreams,

I’ve been narrating my life.

Do I even sleep?

Strange how much grit it takes
to hold your tongue.

dise, lyzed
foil, sol

tonic, trooper,
shot, doxer

guay, sang
close, veins

magnet, genetic,
dropped, phrase

taxis, graphed,
bola, sitic

noia, gium,
mo, oral

clinical, idol,
normally, language

vertebral, synth,
morphine, olympics

sympathomimetics, bel,
n, d

cho, kou
vai, cas,

xon, matta
morph, legal.

f