two hours slept in the past two days
& aren’t we too old for this
Worst. Therapy. Couch. Ever. I got off
my stool at The Android’s Dungeon
for this? Allow me to introduce myself.
She molders. Shrouded in seabirds and the stink
of the sand. Dynamite, leeward heave-ho
tucked beneath her ribs, a jail for urchins.
Where through the window can god see this
catastrophe of love? I want him to see it. I want
to show him my kneecaps so he’ll know he’s a fraud.
I want to emulate the timbre
of Newman’s squeal,
There was nothing in that drawer
except for what we would put there.
Those were the spare years. An annuity
of silence. Allow them that space. Allow
the years to collect like barrels of rain,
an oily and blue backdrop in the yard.
I stand stiff as a sparrow,
cane hard as a tree branch
in my hand.
Little boy full of beetles,
girl with lightning hair,
It’s like being in love All he wants are dogs
The author tells us how he feels stoned in his
You will go between swift ships, tall ships, my friend—a blackbird on the battlements, ready to risk your life for Caesar’s. Maecenas, what about us?
Read MoreSometimes, I see a man standing
with his back to me, and I read
youth in the slant of his spine,
We’re warned all water drains to sewers.
In rivers, fathers who escape
the house wash hands after weeding.
At night, the fission loves us, lathers us over,
makes our teeth glow like low watt lanterns in the dark of our beds.
coming to some crooked
sense here in the end room,
a currency,
Just row houses roped in with seatbelts,
No hope but an answer of a riddle.
Now I’m supposed to love myself,
clasp these hands together
as if they weren’t made to cup
Why do Chopin’s fingers slip into the piano keys
seamlessly as gondolas into a canal? The étude
of our loneliness begins with rainfall and dwindles to sand.
I spy, I spy that dream I should not be watching.
On each red rope of the swimming pool, dicks,
dicks, and more dicks. I swim and try to hold my breath