beneath covers we
kiss and
touch and
speak memories

and upon reentering the
world remember that
time—unlike our hearts—
does not stop on each occasion that
my hand
slides
past
your
hips.

dr. jay ellis says you should
have kept your job as an edit-

or and never have moved into
the world of writing but he

was one of eight self proclai-
med cormac mcarthy-ists and we

all know how much that validat-
es his opinion but i wish that

i could invite you back from
the grave to come and stop by

my local barnes and noble and
do a simple reading of your fine-

est work and share with us just
how brilliant each of your well

picked words was and laugh at
those who’ve survived you like

one mccarthy-loving-poetry-hate-
ing-extremely-sad-and-confused-dr.

the neighbor’s dog
is shitting on my lawn
again.

i want to write a poem
and then speak it like a spell
causing all those who hear it
to go home and compose their own

like glass
shattering
with each
shard then expanding

only to
break again:
infinitely expanding and infinitely shattering

until our world is a stained glass window
reflecting the sun’s light through
our careful words.

you see
hack and slash
murder and slice
sound better with a beat

i have to offer an
uhpalluhgee

you see
my words sound much better
with a sweet. slow. melody.

and i uh
pall er
jize

because today the music is staying
in my head
today the music is staying
in my head

in my head
but the chorus is sweet.
and you’re missing the slow
melody
and my words sound much better
with the melody

or with flatulence.

either one.

and there goes the beat.

   the bike of my youth was

brilliant

green

          regardless of where it was taken

   with pedals stout for legs

eager

stop

          to jump left from right around again

 

   now it is sleek and made

moving

fast

          granting newly tempted with fervor:

   it may pedal back though

cruelly

so

          as it hurls forward and further