Poetry

Most poetry is sitting in plain sight—

a cigarette on the lips of a line cook, 

skateboarders rattling on the bricks as they glide past Seattle Central,

shepherds’ purse and kale growing in the sidewalk seams

In spite of this abundance 

my eyes turned milky,

cataracts shielding me from the beauty of the world:

a nursing mother bent over her baby hidden by a blanket,

sticky beer rings on an amber table,

driver of bus #358, ever treating drunks with dignity 

now even the most poetic image doesn’t stir me

I’m a dead man sleepwalking through the living

I want and take and have and want again

ears stopped against the cries of the hurting

But I ran through fields with burrs on my hem

Slept with my arms cradling mastiffs

Saw the glowing algae by moonlight

Swam naked

Was robbed, drunk, robbed again

Possessed of an urgent question 

and a delicate flower of pain 

all that was a long time ago, I remember,

when I used to memorize Eliot and Keats…

but don’t worry too much about any of this

 

I’ll just reach for my phone 

one more time

before I fall asleep

NEW YEAR DREAM

the opposite of going for broke.

saving and resting, staying in.

put something away everyday.

think about the dance parties

we could have, the fireplace,

the primary bedroom veranda,

an overflow suite for an aging parent or two,

anyone recovering from a fall. 

another child 

if we decide soon enough

we can conceive on the same bed

upstairs in the attic like newlyweds

then upgrade the mattress when we move

after I catch the baby myself in the living room

soft round head

into my waiting hands.

all our births and deaths contained here, not there.

there is a new house where nothing will be 

born or die. 

Torn

 

Natalie Imbruglia on the radio!

What a Monday delight.

No one believes me when I explain

How evidently this song is about Jesus!

You should have seen what was there,

Not some holy light!

How different would it be if we were

Raised to believe in Sumac and Burdock 

And the power of dirt under our nails?

​The resurrection of spring and the

​Oozing communion under a sap moon?

No, no, we're bound and broken

Needing to be shown what it is to cry.

to be soothed is sacred

anything in unison
in school gymnasium
or auditorium
and cleansing tears
will brim in my eyes

Black Lines (Don't Do It)

Dozen strong peanut gallery,

but cursed by the baker's dozen,

to forever howl at the moon 

in desperate hope of a 

lottery bug in the code

crowning you king for a day.

Dead tired, falling back on 

the basement or is it sexual,

into the aether and aether,

fruit of the loins and the

gods will breathe it they will.

Deep commitment to thoughts

that land wrong, shocked that

they landed at all, shocked that

I found them, shocked that the

slapped arse blushed them life,

er hives, evolution, bad faith.

 

One, two, three… 

binge dreaming, bleach humidifier.

Two hours of sleep are too much 

to keep up this haughtiness. 

And I want to be haughty, 

I fucking want it so bad. 

chemical peel sheep. say uncle, nerd. 

free haiku #2

precipice of sleep

car window smashed on Edgecliffe

i get up to see

I have a recurring dream

I have a recurring dream: 

I am at a boring party

Trying to eat guacamole

But the chips shatter in my hands.

I told my therapist 

And she hugged me

Like in Good Will Hunting.