Trophy to show all the people
At my birthday party that glass
& I are pretty much the same
Thing. It’s made me think
About it a bit more. Both
Billy Joel & Iron Maiden—
Even that one-armed drummer
From Def Leppard—say only
The good die young, right?
So, what about being a bit
Of both? Containing more
Than they want me to?
I know, I know, who do I
Think I am? I can hardly
Fathom the one thing I want
To know: when I flatten a hand
Against my sleeping boy’s belly
Why do I feel a tiny paradise howling
Through my ribs? The way we fawn over
The untarnished beauty of skin
Is precious & cancerous, I suppose.
What is he, but a pulsing sack
Of wheeze? Help me, please.
Tell me, please. I will beg.
What is this rough magic
That fills me, this blaze
That keeps pushing us on?
Still Life With Birthday Cake & Dynamite
I was alive when this started
But now, well, who knows
What you’d call this pretty
Little place now? Even after all
That E. coli, I’ve still got one
Leg that kicks. I’ve never been
To Waco. I’ve never been
To Baton Rouge. But I’ve lived
In an apartment where something
The realtor wouldn’t speak
About happened. It was amazing,
How life was altered as I sat
In the living room eating a bowl
Of rice, imagining what kind of
Butchery happened—the stained
Hardwood beneath my coffee
Table. Just like today’s clouds.
Plumes of acrid smoke are
Wafting above the city & somehow,
I woke with good vibes, thinking
Today was still going to be
A good day. All of the ghosts
Were creep-crawling around
The sugar bowl, right where
I can keep an eye on them.
& that rusty spoon, that bent
Up piece of scrap? Hold the warm
Metal to your lips, my little man.
It’s been burning, buried
In my chest for years.
At the very bottom
Of my spirit I have
Bright scissors & a
Deep despair, knowing
The panty-clad gods enjoy
Each our selfish moments—
All the slumber-party-
Handcuffs. The slow dancing
With pillheads. O to smash
Up this endless hallway—
Life’s swelling sickness.
This hate mansion filled
With hospital moans.
O to be unsure in any
Flesh. I’m right here
Beside you. Don’t cry.
Let us be true
To our own
Oblivions, the
Atom bomb
Cradled in
Our mouths.
How the heat
That blooms
When talking
About graves
Collapses the
Room each
Of us carries
Inside. O perfect
Beasts. O raunchy
Goodness. It
Only hurts when
The heart purrs.
I stare out the window, dead-
Weighted with the ghosts
Of all the pretty voices
I’ve known. Waiting: there’s
No loneliness more pure.
Just close your eyes & then
Where’d everybody go?
Each moment growing
More & more full. Swaying
Husks of the forever-standing
Sunflowers. Shade giving
Purple to black as the hours
Pass. Echoes of last night’s rain
Fingertip over the birdbath’s edge.
Sparkling ropes of light, the drops
Dazzle through the nearer dark.
Maybe You’ll Be Young & Pretty Forever
Afternoon sunlight
Hammocks through
The rain-laden
Lilacs, beautifully—
But it’s no balm.
Daylight carves—humidity
Curdles the air—sharp-
Edging our shapes,
Illumining our despair,
The wretched beasts
Inside us. I know