may 2022


three days dead.
I am his tomb,
despaired his only friend.
he is buried inside me.


I shot that soft doe deer
to cure its chronic wasting
it'd been gnawing itself to the bone
and I just couldn't watch it anymore


my heart is an open tome in the sky
look up and see how
the sun shines through its pages
you knew me before you met me


spring is a revolver loaded with
fear and hope and distrust and warmth
the cylinder spins as you realize
how much this could matter in ten years


only in my dreams, now
do I watch that ceiling fan
whip time into a creamy bliss
for me to savor while you sleep


Medusa lives in my mirror.
she turns my heart to brittle shale
anytime I put on earrings for girls
who aren't you


I'm hitting every branch
on the way down,
bruising my belly
on the promise of fruit


there's a miniature solution
to every problem in my pocket.
if I cannot fix myself
I will fix everything around me


when the lonely sea is flecked
by islands seven years apart,
yet only seven months buoyant,
do you stop swimming?


why must fishermen drown
to save their rippling dreams?
time as a river erodes memory uncollected
but swallows whole those who wade


our monuments
to great and good things
are only made of tender flesh
and rot if not eternally remade


I am the outlaw of the moment,
the devil in the details,
molding the dust of things long dead
into solid shadows that linger


when I think of history
I see bleached bone seas and
rivers of fire extending their arms
to hold us softly


we are the brilliant undead
we who have endured doom unending,
yet can still see the sun
from six feet underground


today is the future I once pondered.
those faraway roses are blooming and
dreaming in lovely pastels
I remember when they bloomed for me


they say to eat heartily
following a catastrophic haemorrhage
I have the stomach for it, all of it
I am hungry for life


now the formless thing has a name.
the thing that lurks quietly
like a reflex, or a dormant virus
that cannot be evicted.


wound and gore me always
keep my heart's raw flesh
torn and tender in wide open welcome
for the goodness to come


during my earliest fever dream
a light of terrible substance visited me
it spake: fear not, I live in you
I fear the things that save me


ride the wave
flotsam cares not
whether it will be salvaged or
whether it is useful


in this new genre of horror
there is no blood or catastrophe
it is a neglected ulcer, necrotic and
rotting in gentle, wakeful silence


I keep
throwing myself against the rocks
hoping my bones will break
and heal into new shapes


life is my abusive lover
that I won't leave
however much I threaten.
I love the way it whispers hope to me


the world is a prism
light shines a sacred beauty
on stormy days
but you have to be in the mist to see it


they cannot touch me
my body is a phantom
wherever malice exacts its hands
I pass through them