•October 26, 2014 • Leave a Comment

people say witches eat little kids
fatten them up at their cabins
must not be many eagle scouts
with string round their fingers to remember
their hearts, the way home in the dark

children of divorce sing
birthdays are a national holiday
so who cares about the parent trap

I mean we’re all just whoever
roll tape — I’m an actor
picture me as ben savage
though I’m half-hispanic & younger
so maybe picture me off set,
baking croissants at 2 am
or vomiting up red wine
maybe I’m nothing like cory,
only playing idiot, making eyes at the stars

roll tape, decode the moaned spells —
that time I drove you
to providence & back
the cop we drove behind slowing down
& yeah we talked about your hometown
you rolling your eyes in time with my breathing
some lipstick-painted love song on the radio
your parents beating the minotaur
crumbs on the forest floor
katy perry singing you make me feel
like I’m living a teenage dream

hands on the wheel, fingers crossed

oh sweetheart, my bright light
here, roll tape for the hell of it —
you were forever
the pillars carrying the sky
draped in red ribbon
your voice was the first
you could carve the moon
out of my heart, now
I wouldn’t even mind

Unwriting You [a journal entry from 07/21/14]

•October 24, 2014 • Leave a Comment

Dogs are ugly and you
are nothing like an elephant
and you never taught me
anything about sex and your boots
definitely intruded on my personal
space and you never pulled me
out from under the couch that tried
to keep me forever and there is no
ferris wheel in your smile and I
never loved you while you were sick

and no one is ever going to
remember us least of all for our
third-rate romantic comedy
dilemmas and I still get drunk all
the time but not always when I think
of you and the river beside smith
college never smelled like you

and you were never the hunter alive
no never the wild and the sky
has never been full of fire
in your name and you will never
cause me to hear violins and I
am not a fucking Magician and
you are not the boomerang I thought
you were and you are gone.

all girls git killed

•September 14, 2014 • Leave a Comment

in my nightmares lately
the coyotes do the electric slide
spit out my bones like splinters
giggling that my life’s a joke
the places I miss have next year under their belts
the eyes I can’t shut up about say check, please
& my grave will be a shitty tourist attraction
you’ll leave your wallet at home
but it’s okay because “we’re good”
& every Idaho trailer park is orange
an inferno screaming in tribute
I sit there alone, remembering
I never finished those letters
all those girls I thought I loved,
they keep getting lost in my head
next to the bleeding skunk on the freeway
ants crawling in v formation
& the radio’s only playing smooth jazz
& my smile is granite
my smile is actually Halley’s comet
I would burn your headboard
& lie to the officers about where I was last night
it’s funny — when people ask how I am
I just say living the dream

okay, stupid

•September 11, 2014 • Leave a Comment

I never went to medical school
the thought of a bin of limbs, severed
I’d rather just sit in a chair & listen to people
there’s gotta be one high school kid I can save
maybe I only want that
because I’m scared I died when I was 12
my dog lies beside me, gnawing on my shoe
she’s shaking hard, too, like she’s caught in heavy wind
in Yellowstone I almost fell off a cliff
can’t trust the air up there, can’t trust myself
& as much as I want to pretend, the body can’t forgive
the body can’t sing praise or give a third chance
the second is nothing more than black smoke, huh
I loved washing the dishes as a kid
fading into the butchery
of all the clattering metal blades
it felt as crystalline as a mountaintop

gable & monroe a.d.

•September 11, 2014 • Leave a Comment

I walked home from a bar last night
& saw a poster that said trust me,
I’m a Scientologist, & I realized
I was actually holding my breath
while trying to sing the alphabet
backwards, in case a cop forced me
to stop walking before I hurt someone
at the bar, people were talking a lot
of shit they barely cared about
& I felt whole
& I ran up to the room with the pool table
& sang the alphabet out loud
to the tune of die die my darling
& then I yelled fuck yeah glenn
before stepping outside
hunting for my pillow

the mudroom.

•September 11, 2014 • Leave a Comment

we have a new rule
no yoga in the house
definitely no sweatpants
and no shoes after 2 am
it doesn’t really matter
I don’t have any bones
& you haven’t been in my house
to be fair, I’ve only lived here
for one day, & one day
only maybe I can pretend
you will shine through
my curtains in the evening
my atoms are a storm
this town is a pirate ship
& my neighbor todd is a drunk
but the good kind
who takes his car apart
wearing a greasy shirt and bare feet
& then looks at me while laughing
I don’t even remember
where any of this shit goes
I like to laugh with him
because I could say the same
about every heart I’ve left
on the splattered ground

scorpions, dear

•September 11, 2014 • Leave a Comment

it hasn’t rained in Portland
your eyes are a glint off the blue line
& I’m walking up my front steps
the beer in my hand is night falling
it reminds me of your feet, cold
and stretching out beneath our blankets
on a dusty morning last week
I suddenly kicked on, came alive
the scorch of going without, no, of thirst
in our love you were a tree sprouting from clay
& back then I was a cracked book, losing pages
staring out a window into meadowlands
the corn was everywhere, honestly
& you, not so much, but who’s to blame
for that little indecency
I could laugh for days
& still not scratch the surface
of that carnival, that tidal wave
your hands on mine


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