How to break a block

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?

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.

ooh, romance

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?

Everyday ennui

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.

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.