A visit with friends

In anticipation
of my arrival -
the aroma of hops
trickling down.

Late One Friday Night

She suddenly wished
her bed had come
equipped
with
emergency exits.

Family Theatre

The father
embraced the son.

Mother knew
it was a farce
and kicked
them swiftly
for it.

The echo of
a laugh track.

Whack!

A man came to bed
demanding to be loved.
If only heels
made for better
daggers
she remorsed.

A few of them held out
for as long as they could.
The last of furnitures' corners
mangled by the dog.

Honks, Horns, and Sirens Last

While harvesting the sounds
of the passing cars and trucks,
he found his corpse beneath them.
Honks, Horns, and Sirens last.

Obituary

Creativity crept into bed last night,
beating the old woman senselessly.

Boyfriends Talk Too Much

She had heard him say many times,
"The only trouble in pretending
is the inevitability
that what is imagined
becomes real. "

She sighed in knowing
it was just not true of their love.

Her Favorite One

The glass panicked
and threw itself over
the counter's edge.
My daughter asked
if we should say a few
words.

Birthday Celebration

Pieces of my insides
strewn across city streets
paint the stumbling path
of my excessive inebriation

Many Roads to Freedom

While unpacking dishes

my wife threw herself

against the wall,

shattering all the love

that existed between her

and I.

Pencils scratch
at pages lined -
finding words
to leave behind.

More than her

A man walked into his kitchen
and died.

His wife, upon finding his corpse
still smiling,
knew -

the aroma of coffee
he loved much
more than her.

Poetry Thursday

The seams
of the river
flow
so
effortlessly
around
my
intrusion.

It must know I'm here.

Traffic

I am covered in
the perfume of exhaust,
thick like a lung
heaving on
the chop block.

Religious Fervor

A congregation met.
The man with a shoe for a head was the first to speak.
But no one listened.
It was the second time this sort of thing had happened.

Similar Fates

In the gradual transformation
in which I became my shadow –
The creeping recognition
I would die without the sun.

Porch Swing

Smushed bananas
sandwiched
hands

Juicy smiles
and melon
strands.

Teeth that
shine through
mud and smudge

Screams about
the chocolate
fudge

Across a Room (Miles Away)

I take it all
back.

Well you can't,
it's all but done

Then forward I would drag us
on the heels of our love.

Don't.

There's light afar
and hope among

deflected, spent
and dulled.

By choice or fate
I'll carry through

miscarried like
your childish view

With pleasured

pain

efforts

failed

It's time

to put

these thoughts

to bed.

What is learned

Why does it float?
I wondered
if in my
answering
he learned
more
about what
counts --
as a good
explanation
than about
why things
sink or don't.

Pagination

Rifled through once, twice, and now ignored.
Letters on the floor below,
We stare and wonder how they got there.

Dobro

Metal echoes
slide.
blue notes
hunting down
a past not mine.

Royal and St Louis

I am sounds from the streets
of a city almost gone.
Raindrops on shadows
meet washboards and beebop.

Jump upon me
sweet banana-bird
I would not eat
you up so soon.

Concentrate

My brain sludges.
Mud-splattered
drippings on the floor.
Infected remains.
We scoop it all back up
again, in an effort to
stay on task.

Loose Socks

I can smell the over-ripened bananas as
she spreads her knife across the table.
Brown papers bags packed so tightly,
doors that slam against the frame.
She walks away being done.
The Glittering of Pounding away.

The boat and the octopus (Part I)

The whistling encroached upon my breakfast table slowly at first. Yet I sat, spoon in hand, tending to swirls of chaos in a splash of coffee. With the weight of its sound arriving ever faster – a demand to be heard -- I held out for the slightest hope that it was all within the borders of my skull. But then it crashed my southern wall and I knew. Sea water, tentacles and all.

There is an eruption --
Our words, like vomit,
spill on to floor below.

Beyond my house
snow angels
litter the ground

Misled

I pour her over the cliff
and expect nothing to return.
Perhaps the geometry
of our situation has misled us.

An expression of

I struggle with
the slug for some time.
Sliming its way
through my grip,
I pulverize it.
She sighs.

In the Park

Playground slides
and swinging feet.
Swollen-bellied child.
Figures on the shadowed
ground. Giggles. Smiles.
Perfume.
Exhausted, stretched,
and pale among
the dandelion blooms.

Chalk explodes
and rises.
I, too, have
wished for such
levity.

About the whole thing

I throw her to the ground
and she shatters...
I am still finding
fragments of her
in the carpets,
under the couches,
and in my hair.
I feel silly about the whole thing.

Destruction of Lunch

A container emerged from the cupboard
and looked upon the scene
vomiting spaghetti and meatballs.

In Vain

As I drown,
little fish grab me by the arms and legs.
Their attempts to teach me are in vain.

Oh Utility

Salamanders cannot invade me so well

I have kept them at bay with a broom.

Somethings, once useful in one way,

need to be recruited for other functions.

I hope my fate will be the same.

Silent Treatment

Why has the
furniture
rearranged itself?
I ask it.
But there is
little response.

The Burden

She cried into her shoe again last night.
They are heavy with the moisture of her burden.
I can barely carry the weight of them.

Out into the sun to dry I suppose.

An Adventure Across the Floor

I slime my way
across the floor,
leaving a trail
of myself behind.
As it slowly dries
and crusts on the
wooden floors,
I can already hear
her words.

In the Car

We are always thinking,
Her and I,
Of ways to perpetuate
This thing we so
Devote ourselves to
Without ever asking
Why it is we go on.

A difficult task

Giant bumble bees
Are attacking me.
But it is all for good reason
They assure me.
So I remain calm
and wonder how
I will be reconstructed when they are done.
It looks to be an arduous process

Get Sad

She and I look at each other
And sometimes we laugh
We laugh at things we cannot speak of
We laugh at things we can see
We laugh at our laughing
and we laugh at the times spent together
I wonder when things will get sad?

At the Breakfast Table

Between her and I
there are grooves along
a wooden table -
little tunnels
through which maggots
carry our thoughts.
When I speak
her head falls
from the weight of it.
There is not much to say.

Labor Intensive

He watches my work.
To farmer John,
I am just a porcupine,
plowing his fields
as I roll along.

The Clock and I

I should leave
but cannot.
Words flow
and it is now
time to go.
Our hands still
move together
in opposition
to each others' will.

Pearly Whites

There is a collision.
The texture of crunching
in my mouth is nauseating.

The remains

She melts onto the floor,
expecting to be mopped away.
But I will wait for her to dry
and then sweep away the remains.

A Meeting

Water flows
over the kitchen
floor
below me.
It thickens
on approach
and stops at
my feet.
We ache
together.

Evidence of War

She tells me that
mirrors are like
battlefields
I cannot see.

The joy of things

I am overcome
by silly enormous beads.
Oh silly beads,
please stay awhile.

What remains

Father is at it once again --
trying to dismantle the mantle.
It resists him though,
and is all that remains of her.

The way loose

I am twisted within myself again,
wondering how this entangle of neurons
will think its way loose.

The Toast Lover

I am burnt toast,
my dear,
feathered lightly
with the crusty love
of dried up milk.
I can only wonder
why you love me still?

The Sabotage

The tree is sabotaged by my looking.
So willfully it sheds its leaves
for me to pile and unpile again.