it explodes painfully

It felt like belonging, like being needed.

The terrains alien, the people / Extra terrestrial / Make sense do not.

My wife and I run around the tables in our moisture-wicking workout clothes for the entire 177-minute runtime of the masterful, twenty-nine-track album.

writing like someone might care

according to some, no unicorns were on noah’s ark 

“Pull over,” I said, “I’m finna yerk.”

A Small Gift

…is awareness, at first,

and then it may take over,

for a while, and also recede

if it must, and at times, it must.

That sometimes gentle ebb and flow,

and sometimes

There areThree parts to any start. A Triptych. Trust me.  

I want my gentlemen taken care of, kids nonexistent, my money on the table and it’s black on first spin.

looking up at me with eyes like dogs
who’ve humped too many pillows
and now it’s time to pay the price

When a lover doesn't know your name

I could swim inside a seafoam green field. 
I could have cigarette breath again. 

He lies there, crumpled and ragged—
a pile of unwashed laundry.

[It began when I learned]

It began when I learned to sit                                       I began when I burned and sat
in my boredom, our poverty with                                in my

The world might 
not be here tomorrow,
but she still draws 
a perfect outline 
around her 
lips and eyes. 

Death is not a proper noun.

There were all these portraits of me hung on the walls and they would dance on the frames,
 the shadow people that spiritually strapped my body to the mattress.

Un día me iré sin decir adiós.

Snow misted, or so I remember
I was awake, but only partly
Somewhere beyond dreams
In my space between nightmares
Laying in the dark
And lying that things were still light
Outside, the city sat

There are two breeds of love in the world / but I forget what they are.

standing around in my underwear
in the kitchen Christmas Eve

journal entry #3

the birds ministered from tall pines

        our eyes were

sites of excavation effaced by inner winters

went blind

                  amid the gorge the

gargoyles
and sorries

See, I’m too stupid to write a poem. 
Remember when I said this, that afternoon by the lake 
in our purple & yellow short shorts,