fucking hipsters

It was a rough fall and an even harder
winter, but now spring is here. The mumble

manic emo rappers are still raining down from
the SoundCloud, and she’s one of them; green

long hair with with pink wisps strewn about:
lil lex, no caps, except her album is called A PRO.

_+_+_+_

Billy and lex got married in a chunk of trees,
and I only got an invite because back in

high school I made out with the bride behind some
bleachers at a football game. Who remembers who won?

You had a black Run-DMC shirt that was cut up and sleeveless
with a scarlet bra that didn’t have any wire; you had a flute

of something that bubbled, but I never saw any glassware around.
after the ceremony everyone partied in the greenbelt, and Sasha

stayed around not drinking, but picking up trash with a plastic bag.
We smoked a joint together and I asked her your name, “who, her?”

“yeah,”
“I dunno,” and then I helped her pick up trash for a bit as the light faded

behind the mixed native and invasive trees. She had yellow flats
with a blue flower print; I had black chucks, predictably, horribly–I wore slacks,
and my shirt had had a collar, but it would not stay tucked.

later, in firelight, lil lex threw off her wedding day tube top
and Billy laughed and poured Prosecco

all over himself. they kissed, and we all applauded and you were still
there, a wry and joyous look on your face, your bangs banging against

my blurred, drunk vision. There was a milky, full moon and a clear sky,
and it was a blessedly cool night. Billy started to howl, you yawped,

and song-of-myself I swear, that made me stumble. No, it wasn’t the booze
or drugs, it was that noise from your mouth. I heard your voice and fell.

the H.E.B.

that drunk man without a home is yelling
“happy new years” but it’s only the day
after christmas. for him, what’s the difference?
automatic doors open for me, the security officer
does not bat an eye.

later,
while placing produce on the conveyor
I got distracted and
some little inkling of a poem slipped out
my mind, off my earlobe, and smacked
the ground. it flipped like a fish, wriggled

for some other undeserving wretch to receive.

now here I am, fuming;
the cashier lady won’t make small talk,
because she’s too busy talking to the person
in front of me, and also working.
I have some strong feelings
on this coffee I’m about to buy.
bad shit in Burma all week, but this ground
bean bag contains cayenne and dark chocolate.
it is fair trade, organic, and allied with the rain
forest so don’t you dare say I’m not a hero.

the cashier still won’t talk to me, but I listen
to public radio, and we all know that the world
is awful. just, wow, look into her eyes. look into mine.
eventually we’ll start crying and I think that means we’re in love.

feel good song of the summer

all that’s left in my fruit box,
reds, orange, purple from watermelon
radish, roasted carrots, grapes, cherry
tomatoes &

the brown bottom of the box.

paper
tissue paper
paper airplane
flown straight
into the butt.
what? this is poetry.
don’t roll your eyes at me.

I’m a god damn luminary.

***

the necropolis doesn’t have
nearly enough bones laying around.

take out your skinning knife, honey.
let’s see what we can do about this
bloodless fact.

***

my brain feels broken.
I find myself moved to tears too
often today,
& others. most days.

***

too many things were coming to me;
I had to put down the poetry
& write some.

skulking around

contrary to koyczan’s theory,
people fall for each other at

vastly different speeds. you have
sudden crushes, minor collapses,
dead drops.

***

A skulk is a group of foxes.

***

through the door dungeon

a spider, a monkey, a holy spirit,
a man you once loved, and just
like,

a dungeon of doors.
metal, wood, metal
and wood; glass
even.

what a terrible adventure.

***

over & over again
is life
& off the swivel chair
into traffic & then back to the office
over & over again.

researching gold, the wiki
page is an information mine.

they say the element was
produced in a supernova:
nucleosynthesis. you know
those tiny dots in the sky?
the stars, silly. “don’t talk
about work

right now,” I’m not. but the stars.
that’s them colliding. dead stars.
ghost stars colliding.
& after,
the dust,
there’s gold in there.
“what?” she asked.

***

nothing leads to nothing

french holidays

happy easter, honey.

I hope your sister doesn’t get abused
by her husband, your brother-in-law.

hopefully you find some eggs today with
candy, and I hope your new boyfriend

likes going down on you, and you figure
out how to cum. later, I hope that when you get

pregnant it’s because you wanted to,
and not that your husband just really needed

a boy, (“and anyway, he travels so much!”)
and I hope labor is easy and there are

no complications. I hope your kids are great

and I hope that I never meet them.

it comes in threes

ugh, girl of some dreams
mirita. dressed up,

craiglist hookup

***

what a still night, what a weird still night
lightening right above you, that doesn’t happen
often.

why can’t I see you more?

the storm was all around us, but there was not wind.
the trees did not move. the light up above moved
that was all.

I think a tornado is coming.

***

writing stuff on a post-it
wasting time
waiting for the bathroom

a line of one:
that’s me.
you’re probably wondering
how I got here…

freeze frame,
(laughter)

haha, that was a good joke
–hope I don’t piss my pants–

sometimes things go in reverse.
sometimes the end was the beginning.

this is one of those times.

after the hiatus

would I wake up at 430 am to go meet you
at the gym at 530 am, in the rain, only to work
out for two hours and then part ways, just
a glance, and a wave, and a ‘bye’ (no hugs;
we’re both so sweaty) and then separate breakfasts
and then I’m thinking of you all day, and you
forget we had even worked out in the morning,
(even though you were the one who suggested it)
you’re just too busy with the plans for the ski
trip, which is understandable because it will be
very fun but needs a lot of pre-thought, and Chris
wants you to know he can’t make lunch but he’ll
see you tonight, and it’s almost 4 pm and I’m still
wondering when you got those new neon green and pink
sneakers and thinking about when I made that joke
about that sports anchor, and you laughed while on
the treadmill, and oh, god I need a shot of something?

yes, of course, I’m trying to keep up healthy habits these days.