Tuesday, July 28, 2020

beep eyes

how to keep mapping
all the very relative 
and slippery truths in this world
with a mind/heart like a ball
that rolls down certain slopes
no matter where I set it
bouncing off into the negative space
of conversations
and getting stuck there

in a dream smoking a fake cigarette
on a beach with punks
the roiling waves throw
huge green catfish onto the shore
some just missing us
slamming down dramatically

then a restaurant with radios on every table
that announce how close the holy spirit is
by degrees of latitude and longitude
when it gets within a certain range
everyone scrambles to reign in their sinful behavior

I’ve lost my appetite for complexity
as well as for breakfast
feels like there’s no time for theories
despite tomorrow
and tomorrow

Sunday, July 19, 2020

sunflower painted on a satellite dish

I’m 27 now

I wake up late

we drive to the water gap

mom calls me on the road  

Harry catches a fish big enough to eat

we are shocked

kill it with a stick

it all happened so fast

on the way home a flipped Penske truck blocks the on-ramp 

Harry runs over to assess the injured

keeps them talking until the ambulance shows up 

none of the cops have masks on

circumventing the accident 

I drive, more carefully now, down small roads

until we end up back in time

a Victorian main street

a burnt sugar smell

through cornfields, clover

sprinklers make giant arcs over the corn

a woman plays fetch with a cow

the sun sinks

sign for immaculate conception convent 

down a shadowy road

think about mom

back home Leks and Al come over 

with popsicles and wine

we melt on the balcony in the dark

using the skeleton hand bottle opener

suddenly feeling easy, present (drunk) 

sparkles on my plastic fan

catching the candle light

I’m 27 now

disproportionately hung over 

to what I drank

and mom writes to say she is in fact 

not pregnant sorry to have “worried” me

I wake up later and later

seeing the story 

back and back in time

seeing all the flip sides

ready to file under “pain in the ass” 

and “just swallow”

Tuesday, July 14, 2020

who has acid

tomorrow is unclean
and I’m overcome
by “chance” by was 
by with

this week’s desire 
for alt punctuation

a sloppy/bold shape or
deep negative space 

one of these summer nights

w/ touch


I consider addiction
I dream of jail support
the vibe now is 
dead flowers

something has happened 
to dreaming 

like a blackout curtain

my hair grays in 2 streaks

I waste today in the shape 
      of a        dramatic bridge

approach addicted 
like dreams
my own bad balloon

its happy
hot air

Friday, July 10, 2020

drunk p

resort to play 
in L shapes 
towards      night love

full bottle and shirt bib the war 
on sub sis tence
the L as min imum
in lieu of 
the unfolding palace

sick of, hell

for fun

Tuesday, July 7, 2020


the way tomorrows stay clean
this inside trick 

a clean bone over and—

when my heart clicked
with the rest of me

a big dance hole
a rare deja-vu

the rest of me 
in assembly 

possessing Know

tomorrow, our virgin 
an essential skeleton
I'll translate

rounding the corner
under a gray sky

no one cares
about my excitement

pinning the tail 
on the decoy
the "rest of me"
the end
** ***********

Sunday, July 5, 2020


following Stanley’s trail of ripped newspaper
the first scrap I see says “dissecting” 
and the next one “Searching” 

I put my hand out the car window
palm facing up
in the side mirror I’m holding fireworks
and straight ahead
the full moon

this second covid world
is a shattered mirror
I point the sharp edges at myself 
and the letting go never stops

Stanley’s scraps aren’t a sign
those aren’t my fireworks
it’s not my moon
I flip my palm

Friday, July 3, 2020

santa cruz this time

wait but
the longing
is actually fresh

the clash of
configuring fantasies
on their respective tiers

the deserted island for instance

an uplifting,
flat-bed type of fun

the charred logs were
heels for a second
good for my dizzy eyes
to watch two birds fly

so close to
the water

the chill teen
pumps her fists

together, we
watch the surfers
one came
to kiss her

I envy everyone else's
beach experience
mine being laborious
insecure and

too gay
to pretend
the boy is mine

one beer
and I'm pissed
or auto-corrected, loaded
title, straight notes 
all these blonds in
relationships I'm gonna
head "home"

one tile in the stucco
one fried egg flower
strung like beads
behind me

two dead aliens
one was a bird and
one was pregnant
both insides out

password written
in shit

walked far with
my shirt full of fruit
the sign said "help"

more fried egg flowers