My brother brought me Bhiman on a December
evening through his phone. Some video with
only seven thousand views, but he was big by now.
Maybe I can be like him. His songs hit so hard
like a smooth rock against a car window. Maybe
I can namedrop more and place picture perfect
similes in and stop rhyming; I’ll use alliteration for
a punch up.
People are beautiful to us when everything seems
to come easy for them. Even the pain. We think,
“look how hard, and still they go on,” and we admire.
Okay, I should bean a poor person’s fender
with a bat, see how they suffer so they can be beautiful
to me. But real songwriters don’t have to hurt someone
to produce. I spin ‘Moving to Brussels’ again.
How does one get inspiration to shake loose?
all that’s left in my fruit box,
reds, orange, purple from watermelon
radish, roasted carrots, grapes, cherry
the brown bottom of the box.
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
my brain feels broken.
I find myself moved to tears too
& others. most days.
too many things were coming to me;
I had to put down the poetry
& write some.
some dusty springfield playing off a dusty
disc of vinyl; dusty in memphis. a classic.
you’ve got some rings on your ears.
move some hair away, you scoot in,
my hand moves through…
do you like the way they pick up
sound? I like the way yours taste,
when we’re embraced in each other’s
embrace, and my mouth is at your
neck and it goes up, at a lobe: metal,
skin, and your taste, your ear, just
slightly salty because, yes, didn’t you,
yes you biked here, dear?
Two young men
chat the domestic. They can’t
be older than me, by much.
Maybe they’re younger.
A dishwasher installed in a home
kitchen is the savior of one’s relationship. They both chuckle.
Gently talking shop (which is life, obviously) they seem so content.
One is doing yoga with his girlfriend, who is very serious; they talk
finances now, savings, insurance, rent — something I can’t make out.
I wish the world would swallow us all.
contrary to koyczan’s theory,
people fall for each other at
vastly different speeds. you have
sudden crushes, minor collapses,
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
a dungeon of doors.
metal, wood, metal
and wood; glass
what a terrible adventure.
over & over again
& 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
right now,” I’m not. but the stars.
that’s them colliding. dead stars.
ghost stars colliding.
there’s gold in there.
“what?” she asked.
nothing leads to nothing
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.
ugh, girl of some dreams
mirita. dressed up,
what a still night, what a weird still night
lightening right above you, that doesn’t happen
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
waiting for the bathroom
a line of one:
you’re probably wondering
how I got here…
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.