For the first time in a long time I’m listening to the radio – I am new to this city and familiar with only my body – the DJs are still beat up over the unearthing of jazzy Lazarus.
What defense for having spent six minutes of life watching Dog Hand-Fed Corn on the Cob three times? That I viewed Japanese Girl Coaxing Elephant to Poop Her Smart Phone just once?
Beside me you stir, sigh as you stretch. Outside, clouds roll past like your breath, crossing the sky between my shoulders. I’ve got places to be, but there’s still a little time, so I settle into the heaven of
I want the cure for ordinary days. Once I searched for it in a bottle, drank my way to oblivion but always woke up where I’d begun, hung-over, scraping for seeds in the bird feeder like all the other
Or are they straining to be chosen? It’s one day possible to ask. Piling slowly over each other’s rust Green skeletons, uncertain Eyes and heavy claws that open Useless against one wall and close Probing shells of living
many hats, not all at the same time. No Bartholomew was he. Every day a new one, sometimes two. His ears may ache, and his hair hurt, but the pattern continues. Always his head is covered. Even while asleep.
with all the people I’ll never be: local legend, glad-hander, open armer, yah boy The virtuoso, soft heart, mystery Magnet, statue, prairie fire Coyote, salmon, creek, midnight wish An apophatic prayer, Whispered in Times Square Start walking, In
The whole drive back, we say nothing. The dead, brown grasslands roll by, bleakly faded by the southern sun. Alan, out of drugs, dry-mouthed, and frowning, drowns in the glare of the bleached white road. Jack, holding a
I met a lamppost gargoyle wrought-iron bristles wreathed his chin. He was rusted, tarnished, and riddled with pockmarked bronze and gold skin. I asked, “What warms the lamppost man?” And through grit-laced lungs he creaked to me,