just a reminder:
i blame you for the splatter
of blood on my wall above
the dresser i cannot wash
off for the life of me.
the blood is mine, but the cause
was yours. and this limp
i’ll carry as a constant
reminder with me in addition
to the bottle of cleaner
i keep on said dresser
and the plaster of paris
creepy model of your head
you made for me in the drawer.
you told me to take it out
and hit it with a bat. a bat
to bring my anger out on a model
of your head.

how did we end up together in the
first place when your insanity
is bleeding through your teeth?

Stacking skipping-stones
on their round faces

try so hard to keep them up

exasperation with each collapse

eager second try
and third try too

Then only stubborn resolution

four stones stacked,
finally.

Five!

Collapse.

Such exasperation,
alas,
had been yet unknown.

—

So it is with life, sometimes,
as stacking skipping stones.

i was here for
8 hours for every
24 it took the sun
to go over my head
and come back again
and now we’re
closing up shop

the floors are cleaned
and silence pervades
this beast that time
gave a name

the pawn shop,
where you learn the absolutes
how to avoid them
and to spend your time
swimming in hyperbole

unchecked commerce
on the edge of the west
the dying fashion of
negotiation

and we’re closing up shop
and once the doors lock
a stranger to this womb
i will be,
but all the better for it.

when i eat deliciousness i cannot help
but worship the One who made
the chickens to eat the grass to soak
in this sauce, the sauce made of the
the grain fermented by the yeast of
heaven for beer to be boiled and
then chicken to be thrown in. i cannot
help but worship the One who made
the ground nutritious wherein the red pepper
can grow slowly more spicy to be chopped
and added to beer sauce for chicken to
soak in.

when i smoke deliciousness i cannot help
but worship the One who made
this Indian weed, and the ground where
the leaf can grow tall, strong, and be cut
down. the One who made the sun dry the leaves
and the One who made the ground perfect
for this tree to be cut down, for it’s wood to be
porous and cool, and light, to be perfectly clenched
between my teeth so i may worship while
my prayers are slowly carried to heaven
in clouds of smoke. something i know is unnecessary
but i like to imagine happening nonetheless.

when i smoke, and when i eat, and when i drink,
i cannot help but praise the Creator.

Jewelry adorned
every extremity
but she wanted more
so she took a diamond ring
and he could not afford
to feed his family.

He would toil
for months again
just to make back a half
of that stolen fortune,
and would pray that she
not wander by again,
and lustfully.

She only wanted more
than he could offer,
even if she said
she loved him.

He would suffer
nonetheless

Away we go away from Owego
And by the place where all’s well in Endwell—
To where perhaps there’s gold buried in Gouldsboro.
Further on, to where one wonders why
There’s such animosity towards vegetation in Bushkill Falls.
Of course, that’s nothing compared to Buttzville,
Which must be a terrible place to live, butt made a great rest stop.
There were others. They’re still there.
I imagine I’ll go back some time.

For Tara 

I’m going to be
the first man on the moon.
But you’ll be getting here soon.
In the meantime
I’ll try to stay on the side
that catches all the light.
You’ll see me
(just a speck)
I’ll be waving to you.
And when the day comes
that you don’t see me there
Don’t worry, I haven’t gone
anywhere.
I’m lowering you a ladder
the rope is made of silk
and you’ll climb it.
I know that you will.
That’s just what you do.
And will call it our own
when we’re both
on the moon.

when handled with care
and filled just so
she brings me calm for
some time in a way so
few others can.