Chlorophyll.

              I ate the grass

                           growing  on your grave –

             An English afternoon

                           filtered through sparse canopy

Our Father 

              on my lips,

                          gentle chewing sounds

              as apophatic gesturing 

                          towards an entropic lineage –

                     

a downwards motion.

             Car parks and cul-de-sacs, 

                             your body has always been 

             beneath my feet sweet wretched sister 

                             pulling me hear to eat your grass. 

A life saved. 

               You saved my life

                             but at what cost, 

               You saved my life 

                             but at what cost.

Light from light

         

            

Nights these days

Half awake or fully in some 

sweat-drenched parallel place where 

the blankets are always half thrown off

The vertigo of a poem, the twisting

Kaleidoscope of memory, the colors

Refusing to take shape, the snow

Pushed down into angels

Rising higher than my head

Refusing to return

 

ferality easy enough to come by
when you forget to make a choice
again and again 
the path tumbles into existence 
with each floppy footfall
may the road rise up to meet me
my ancestors murmured 
hopefully
superstitiously
with an edge of resentment 
scorching sunshine on blossoming freckles
the wind pushing everything 
to a culmination we all wanted to reach
and now
the uneasy silence of nothing left to plan for 

Through the Cracks We Go

Passenger seat sunk in grease,

tape deck spooling

ice cream, stolen, in the back

a gallon of coke shaken with fervour

I hope its victim had my number

but unscrewed its cap anyway.

He answered the door once 

on the floor, k holed down

he took his boxes, slid.

Another time he made a display

of tipping me several p,

such a waste of Friday high.

My car smelled the worst

it had ever been and the

angry cigarettes I drew

and drew and drew,

smoked out on Lamberts

freaked out on weak tea,

and weak tea I was for

all I had ever asked that year

was to be touched.

dialectics of desire - a haiku

I know what I want.

Do you know why you want it?

Good fucking question.

burger joint

fat and salt sizzle like summer

carried on the breeze up to my door

my apartment in the dingbat is up the street

the plaza crooner gestures and flicks

a bolero from his fingers

some coins tossed in his case

the dog hunts for french fries near the man

bruised and unshorn, closing his eyes toward peace

on a mattress stained by sweat and stink

on Friday nights the cars proliferate

they slam their doors, blare their horns

the tuning of the world