poetry

Mostly he ate what was put on his plate
snuck coffee grounds or dirt for a snack
Once a zipper Unzipped

Gravel-scatted hell &
we were blessed to be able
to hold on for even a heartbeat

In my universe, my arm carries a heart and flowers,
my back a misguided quote

Any still figure at mid-late evening, when the long shadows make even crumbs appear arranged like furniture.

We stop doing dishes while
a mile unwinds
from the tree outside.

I like to think I’m also sprung,
released from the furnace knocks,
done with the heavy meat stews
and salty soups.

I count my homes—
those of my scattered youth
the sanctuary of our young family
the intermittent rest stops
of apartments and vacations.

I don’t
know why
I’m in the garden
kneeling on dirt

how does an afternoon turn
on its axis?

I suffer visions and many indignities
while looking for the Lobster

this is what I want you to to see:
leaves falling because it is too late for them not to

You said it was okay to blame
what goes wrong on the planet

I am still waiting for the lion

Ghosts for hire, whispers in her mouth,
cysts to feel, the symmetry of a gift.

here is the sky in stop motion, flickering,
a still shot in monochrome

You let the yellow glow
from eye sockets. The building up the street
is burning faster and faster.