Today's News

A son is out beheading dandelions.
Two lovers are opening champagne.
A ball is rolling in the street.
A man is hanging himself in the basement.

He found a piece of her
stuck to the edge of the sink,
and stalled
for just a moment,
before washing it down.

The Dig

A young man is burying his father,
heaving clumps of dirt over his shoulders,
thrusting a shovel into the ground.
His arms are tired.
Clouds are rolling by.
He can feel the sweat between his fingers
and on his forehead.
He thinks how he is becoming like his father,
and turns to dig a second hole

Along a road

She and I carry cement blocks
back and forth along a road
back and forth along a road

Speaking of what is not spoken about

She spits up her disgust
until the kitchen
is just full of it.

Without a mop
or a bucket,
we watch over days
as it begins to turn,
wondering who
will be the first
to say something.

Just today
the unexpected
was expecting me.

Threads

She is a long string dangling,
twisting round and round.

I struggle to find a face.

Origami

I watch
as a young lady
folds herself in half
and then in half again,
hoping
that she'll disappear.

OCD

I pick at this pineapple
like picking at a scab,
wondering what juices
lie beneath.

It simply fades away
in the efficacy
of sleeping it off.

I wish
I could stay annoyed
for longer

She bites
into the granny smith
in slow motion
as if she was tearing
the flesh from his head.
She lets the juice
run down her chin
and drip to the floor

I wish things were different...

How ironic that you would speak
those words to me now,
for it was years ago
when we first met
that I said
that those words would mean
it was time to
say goodbye.

Words sprinkled into the air.
They settle like algae
on the surface of pond water,
blinding us to what lies beneath.

From the bed
I watch her undress
and then
settle down
like herbs in a teapot
Her limbs move
like the slow unfurling
of tea leaves.

What was at first
just silence
through the woods became
the voices of many cicada
bemoaning the one
I was crunching
underneath my foot

Buried Together

I will tell you
that in life
I was no less rotten.

She was
only to spoil
after years
of my refusing
to love her

A slug clings to the walls
of my lungs

A forceful tug
and inch by inch

the salty creature plops
from my mouth
to the floor

The boundaries
of a brisk water
bending green pines
so near
to a wisping sun.

On the couch alone

Sadness peeks around the corner
wondering if I would mind the company.
I am to shy to speak up...

The page turner

While she yelled at a face
(which was his),
he thought to himself
how she had always turned
to the last page
of all of the books she read,
so that she could experience
the end
from the very beginning.

He wondered if that, too,
was happening now.

Turbulence

Every morning they find him
tangled in a tree
like folds of a damp newspaper.

I am going to try an experiment with how people engage with the content of my blog. Here are five (short) poems that exist on my blog from May. What I would appreciate from anyone willing is two things - your favorite and least favorite poem of the five, and more importantly an explanation as to what you think it is that makes the better one better, and the worst one worst. Thanks to anyone who contributes (and I promise to return such a favor for anyone willing to participate on their own blog with their own poetry. make sure you let me know)

1) Pearly Whites
2) Destruction of Lunch
3) (Untitled)
4) Concentrate
5) Her Favorite One

The exercising of frustration,
so strong from the hours
of sweat I've put in.

Can I possibly post more than 77 poems in the month of august?