self-help
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how the locksmith helped, draft 102120121741
you locked the door behind you what else could i do? you were young, i wanted more. in his suicide note K dreamed about Freddie — admired, envied — never locked silence then, wind and highway lights crawling now i remember you posing against painted brick wall posed as imperfection i had the locksmith come…
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One Long Fucking Question for Michael Robbins
What I’ve learned about long walks of course Was taught by the whiskers of a reservation man Lashing a horse Sterile tracts of pale kentucky blue grey shale Don’t take them Or take them seldom by mail Stretching out like a dying dog between The pickets and Queen Anne For a loss They can’t Be…
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untitled, 092920121223
it’s not enough to be clever; each little sound byte performance padded; deeper philosophies cold, carrying scaly sustenance; what is a poem if not a poem; a hard tea-thin blade dimpling the pink precious flesh of yr mother’s throat oh to bring her back; oh to save her; a poem —
art, audio, depression, desperation, entertainment, journal, lessons, life, literature, loss, love, meaning, media, mom, mother, poem, poetry, sadness, safety, self-doubt, self-help, sound, women -
untitled, 082620120512
keep yr both heels lifted high above yr head work is, we’re all sure, a poor excuse for rules mercy pockets burglar tools but stalks from door to door hopeful wields a rented ford and searches for a little more in spite of the police reports neither will be seen or caught.
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good verbs that aren’t
I can read & read & read but mostly fingers slick with natural oils or grease, one could say (as if sneaking across the DMZ and speaking of the enemy) nothing comes. The tip snaps off under some enormous privilege singular, impregnable & now I’m stealing words slick from Philip Levine’s poem about pubic hair…
wikipoem.org 