Endgame

Each of these stones

is a neck

chain, is a blood

bowl.  Each

of these spider

bites

is retroactive. Is

radio

static.  Each

individual lion

is a limb,

including the head.

The head is where

everything goes

wrong.  Each

time I try, I fall

further into the pit

of me, the epitome

is apostasy.  

Let there be

nothing

& nobody

gets hurt each

time I think

this is it

there’s another

need for

something outside

of me made

better

by half a wit’s

endless brevity

anomie, lethargy

moving in

with their

parents

for some time

off time

to go time

to say hello

Hell--O

goodbye.

Formula

    Don’t distaste

my phrase & fray me

these ways. Don’t groan me

the fire code while I’m

broken from toe

holds. Don’t nod

at my desktop

& tell me I’ll

jaywalk. Don’t

soak up my limestone while

you sell me a snow

cone. Don’t spit on my quips while

you’re nipping my grip.  Don’t cup

my thrupple while calling us

supple.  Don’t grind

my rind while we’re brining our

swine.  Don’t

tread on yourself.  Don’t

not say you say it don’t

spray the shark repellant

at the anti-life

equation which doesn’t add up

to anything being said

without doing the do

not the did or the was isn’t

is the do-over that

never did nothing

but veer.

The Reflex

The politics

of doxxing. The atomic

option for the lucky clover.  The

lonely bruise you try not to lose.  The rag as it covers

your brittling bones.  The right to loan

whatever’s left

to you, dear reader.  The fleeting firsts for the forking

of the tongues.  The love of the clubs

when there’s dubbed

manifestos.  Isn’t that Bizzaro

on the masthead?  Every little thing

you do is law magic.  Question mark

over by the empty park.  

Rubber mallets for your knees

please don’t hide cards

in my shoes i need them to burn full

velvet, silk, &

satin.  It burns a monosyllabic

path through my vocabulary

quiz written as a multiple-choice choose-

your-own downfall windfall against

opportunity.  Neither brawn

nor brain, I’ve got a partner

in nobody & nobody’s ever

thought to wonder

why I wander

when I meant

to make amends.

Powehi

Your face shatters

in a puddle.  A bubble

balancing on a blade

of grass like

a question.  Never

say ever but don’t

sever the connection

betwixt the soul

& the body of water

that will drown

the body.  The mind

body problem is only

a problem if you have

a body.  Why the long

faceplant?  Facets

of disco balls

making constellations

in a party you never

attended in

1977 like time’s arrow

buried under a Forever

21.  Last night

on earth

a few people

fell asleep on the train

& woke up in a station

buried at the

bottom of a tar

pit just outside

of Los Angeles.  Here

there was

a Tower Records.

Here hair metal

went meta & became

a communal piece

of property.  Put

this sidewalk sofa

under the ultraviolet

light & you’ll

see some things

that defy scientific

explanation:

ride the sofa

into the middle

distance--home

sweet home where

candles melt into stubs

on jewel cases

& the sheets haven’t been washed

ever.

I Am Am Alone

Without a paddle or even

a conception of what paddle is

Where is friend?  Where is

anybody?  Everything that was

& will be in my book

until I am woke

by drum-sounds in the early

hours

The duck isn’t real

nor the water but

a water of the mind

To the sea

with me  Where is

wind?  I’m am

a plant a cone

in the shrink

crinkling candy wrappers

as the ships

are listed & your

canoe is not

among them because

you ate

the paperwork

Where is lamp?

I love

dark & night

is when I sleep

without a friend

without a skeleton

with just

snoozing &

snore  Where is

sleeping

cap?  Gas

mask?  Who

these crumbs

adumbrate.

Get sleepy.

Get sleep

perchance

to float all the way

to the octopus’s

hydrothermal electric plant

powering a nation

of cracked phones

God is 7

A raven who pecked

Johnny’s nose hid

in the honeycomb

when the milk

was skimmed.  He was

fortified with iron

& eight essential

oils--motor, canola,

olive, snake, bear,

crude, elegant &

coconut to facilitate

the trotting of the

destriers as they

scour the land for the one

who can untie the plait

in your topknot

like a freak with a fetish

for rubbing bald

heads with jojoba

until they glisten beneath

these geoengineered

weather balloons

built to save us

from our worst

impulses.  Your superpower

is pretending

to be dead

which is more useful

than it would seem,

especially

in this economy.  

There has never been

a bass player

or an atheist

for president but at least

every bursar has

within themselves a secret

birdcage filled

with parakeet excrement

& a copy of the locket

you gave to your

first girlfriend,

its hinges rusted shut

against your enclosed

school photo

from back when your hair

was so lush & majestically

feathered.