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.

Impossible blue clouds

“You’re kidding me” and “no, thanks,” are
her most favorite words, easily. Tom had

informed me prior to the get-together that she
was a killer at yoga; an absolute beast, he phrased

it, about. So she wore jeans and vest
that had to be nineties made, and it was hard to

avoid a glance at those toned, tan arms crossed,
attached to a hand attached to a drink. Her smile

is like a spring sky, with impossible blue clouds and
a variety of song birds about the trees. It makes me spit

my drink nearly, just conversing with her, and
every once

and again my eye line hits some angelic

angle: like on a titled-head laugh, or a superior wink,
or brief grin and brush of my arm with her hand.

shivers and slightly slitted lips, this meet up
has got me all mixed. mega waves hit me when she

grabbed my wrist, twisted my eyes into hers and said
“I have a storage unit I need to unpack; will you help me?”

Waiting to get taken back to my home planet

Eight hours between two beds
& this is where it falls apart.
I’ve never felt more rested though.

***

Not everyone has a light behind
them. Not everyone is lovely. There
are shambles and people who live in
them & become shambles
themselves. These are the destitute

in spirit, the lost from love & drive.

They exist, in the countless, by the scores.

A suburb is a collection of shambles.
The projects are neglected monuments
for those keeping track. Don’t ask what
for, I did not build them.

***

“…heading out to the property” oh! the property.
Who’s properly partying with you on your goddamn property?
Wife, kids, a nice dog. Keep up
the path and in less than a decade you too can fuck
a young, buoyant intern on “the property.”

***

I feel like I’m the only one on this world who thinks it’s macabre
to get married on a plantation. “People do it all the time.”
What? Would you get married on a murder site? In a gas chamber?
What if outside it were pretty? Would you get married where
people were raped? What if it happened 200 years ago?
What if the ghosts were quiet? I guess ghosts are quiet here.

I want to get married in a graveyard full of confederate corpses,
& we can dance on their graves to ‘The Night They Drove Old Dixie Down,’
& then we can try to conceive something in a copse of thin trees
near a headstone,
& I’ll ask you if you know about the Allen curve, & you’ll just grin,
& you’ll pull back on your wedding skirt & adjust it,
& the spacecraft will appear in a moonless, starless sky and beam us up
already.