Town

Remember that bar up the street,
parking lot teens, patio furniture,
crooked pine trees, broken architecture.
We glanced around, found the corner seat—
Was this the place no other could beat?
(Girls without groove, that gap-toothed creature,
the smell of stale cigarettes and wheat
beer on my shoe.) We had no closure
with friends we found. We now forgot
how many miles of dirt we fought
through to be here—this quiet town
bypassed so many times. Meandering around
vacant ranches at midnight just to find
a point where the road unwinds. 

Bad Weather

We hid in a bathroom
when the lighting came

          it smelt like horses
          and muggy rain

the hay caught my boot
and I imagined a good day
      
          befriending dogs
          and strangers

making the most of it
knowing we could not stay.

I Saw a Canoe

Inside was a man eager
to escape and I asked if I could
take him where he wanted to go.

"Can you leave a poor man alone?"

he shouted turning with disgrace

then whistled away—those rotting cheekbones.

The echo turning me back to the porch
in darkness where I saw no trace
of a man or a boat ever going.

Proximity

Left with spaces that lay between

your eyes, connecting dots around, 

trying to imprint them in mine— 

Be a photographer. Keep it. 

Store on a shelf to catch the dust—

the perfume, the flesh in your cheeks.

Wait for the hues to saturate, 

the streaks of stringy blonde to fade.

The Word

animosity
seems convenient

the way it falls
off the tongue

groups of tiny letters
with swords

rushing towards her
always her.

Collectables

There's something about collectables
how they take form on a shelf 
like still life. 

The glass jug sits empty for months
but you barely notice
the story long forgotten.

Plans

I asked the boy if he had any plans
      for the winter season
and he replied passionately

about the annual vacation he took
      with his family
and how the weather stayed warm

at the beach house, where a dozen gathered
      around a living room,
scattered in small groups.

Images of them kept coming up,
      the uncles laughing, old records playing,
white sand glistening.

The only complaint he spoke about
      made me understand that twenty is an old age
to follow tradition

and I nodded my head,
      with no hesitation
but wondered how frozen the grass would be, here.

Ivory

your skin was mine
to swallow each time

life was death
or something alike

you were my own
to keep and touch

speechless nights
filled by subconscious

he sighed for you
a breath I felt so slight

unaware of the toxin
my bruised organs

purple now fading
so others won't see 

anything beyond
the glow of ivory

Before Leaving

there's a feeling that goes
down with August
the last sunset of summer

such a gray
underbelly of clouds
you don't expect

and seabirds cry
above the ocean
where you stand

holding your salty breath
just for a minute
before the exhalation

Fireflies

it's like nine hundred
smiling around your eyes

and then they pass by
lighting up the night sky

they giggle
high up in a tree

the melody is soft now
fading as a lullaby

you only wish to somehow
be an insect of their kind

Western Travelers

So simple were those summers in the desert
when the sun set but the heat never escaped
and found a way to settle under your skin
and knew how to melt the plastic in a Dodge Caravan
that drove for miles past sillhouettes of mountains
sloping upwards and downwards past the window

You pressed your face against so you could see
the stars seeming close enough to touch
yet never quite approaching as we traveled
around the barns and ranches until we arrived

You couldn't put your finger on the longing
to wander the road by foot and to explore
what past explorers fought for some time ago
but no one wants to understand the scorpion

And why we haven't found what we ought to
discover so we choose to gaze far out
into constellations of the sky and daydream
the impossible ways when it's just beyond our eyes
beyond the village and the darkness
of a valley that swallows and keeps us inside

In Regard to You

You were merely a shadow
in those long dark minutes.

I wanted to lean in to show you
what neither of us know
without shaking you up

but you were merely asleep
and all I thought was I'm sorry about before.

Far from Home

Headlights catch the highway
old thoughts of the day

worthless reasons
he fought for you to stay

the road seems dark
on an aimless journey 

when you hold steady
spiral and crash

wake up to the wall
that man with his flashlight

hanging on to your pulse
more full than empty

the rush of a blood army
keeping you on your feet

while down the street
loud engines accelerate 

making destruction 
worse than what appears 

and with each passing one
you hope to be anywhere

with anybody to take you 
far from home 

Never Arrived

It's too quiet for the cry
of a car crash, playing
over and over again,
but you wouldn't know
the sound if you heard it,

you wouldn't know the lights
of a rescue car, reflecting
off my ghostly face,
wondering how you
never arrived to see.

The Aftermath

Icicles melt like cold drops of blood
from naked roofs, clogged gutters;
they splash into puddles and disperse
with sounds that hush in the frost.

Backyard trees lay motionless;
they stretch diagonally,
divide the raw lawn, and sleep.
Look how they carry

the weight of snow, beautiful mounts;
for hours, it falls, it settles in the arms
of an oak and a maple, making the bark
tear outwards, like fresh fruit peels.

This is the sacrifice of nature,
the sound of quiet death.
These are lazy limbs that lost the fight
against untimely affliction. 

Listen to the aftermath—
souls passing by, saying, "farewell, goodnight."

Dog Years

Speak to the one
who stays home, who barks
when you have a good dream.

He will die on, say, Christmas
or your birthday, where the loss
will seem greater than the gain,

and you'll forget that some loves
never start, that your mother kissed you
from the doorway.

When you have to either bury
or burn him, some might say, 
"it's too bad dogs can't understand."

Ignore them
would be my advice.

Pouring on the Front Porch

For all she knew, he sat to watch
the power-line crows, the red-haired lady,
her sister running in the rain,

and what a shame that she stood too far
to see the blood breaking though his eyes,
the sweat puddling his crooked lip,

the idea

growing toxic
inch by inch,
night by night. 

The Boats at Bay

Two rows of houses diverged from a bay.
I could not see to both sides
and decide which I admired most,
and at the same time, gaze at the boats.

I thought about taking one out to shore,
if only any belonged to me,
with an initial of my name.
I chose to watch the others

load their possessions and ride off,
to where I understood how far I was
from them, and could only turn around
back to the countryside, back home.

Through time, I paced; through I, time passed,
and perhaps it all happened too fast.
If not for today, it would merely make sense,
and I would find myself in a different day.

The Wolf

There is a great, black beast
brushing his fur against the door.

He listens for an answer,
a quivering breath, a whisper.

Sometimes he paces the hall;
sometimes he waits.

I lock my lungs ever so still
for no subtle movement at all

and the clock holds eleven-ten
for eleven whole minutes long.

He knocks once. He knocks twice,
the second louder than its last.

His shadow casts orange light,
like an October moon.

It moves from quarter, to crescent,
to new, and stays as the room darkens.

Before We Die

we are fires
burning in a forest
of wild moose and cabins
tearing bark from old pines 

we are black smoke
in early daylight
disguising the beauty
around us

weeds are tainted yellow
and raw

flowers cry
we hurt what is innocent


and slowly




die