Surprise Street


We wandered through hard-luck places
exchanging change for bits of candy
at corner stores and chasing them
with peach soda under burned out letters
in the humid summer dusk

We’d found a couple couches
and dragged them in to the garage
so most of us could sit comfortably
as we passed the microphone around
putting stupid jokes to worn-out tape
for posterity

the snack food would run out eventually
and quiet would come just before the birds
with bodies snoring softly on every floor
dreaming of promises and plans
that never came when the morning did

One at a time we would come to
pouring 7 kinds of bowls of ceral
gathering in the living room
kicking children’s toys around
waiting for the van to park outside

I left Surprise the following spring
tying shoes and trying my best
not to forget my coat in the warm
my strap on the old classical
my CD in the system near the television

I never went back

“April is the cruelest month”


with flowers springing
ever which way
leading to joy, happiness,
all along the streets
suddenly they appeared,
as if out of nowhere,
coming forth from their dark confines
experiencing the outer-airs
with thoughts of “this is the life”
and unspoken thoughts,
even to themselves, of
“things are going to change,”
leading to springing dreams
of quitting it all,
returning to the wild,
as they cut their grass
trimmed their hedges and
kept the wild at bay,
except for in a memory
of a time when coming over the mountain
they saw a valley
filled with flowers
“red and yellow black and white
they [were] precious in” their sight
and through the flowers flowed
a stream from which they drank,
without fear or tablets,
and felt the icy cold water flow,
making their teeth hurt again
even in the memory
of the water rushing down,
down, down, down, down
through their depths
washing away the inner accumulated filth.

Vernal Vivacity


FUCK the fact
the air’s still cold
the wind still blows
the birch is bare–we
bare our brilliant skin to defy
winter’s withering grasp we
lie in grass as if it were sand we
talk outside of things irrelevant
just to be irreverent we
don’t need leafy green trees just
give us the sun–
we’ll take the ‘verse.



at last winter’s passed, the sleepers awake
at last squirrels, birds, green emerge
blossoms on branches, rivers run fast and high
movement in the bones, music in the eyes

at last there is skin, bare arms bare legs bare feet
at last black blonde brown hair falls free, words spit quick unseen
people step off the sidewalk, swim in the warm grass
the city has emptied, its concrete gravity gone

I smell life, how I long to live
I smell sky, it screams of coasts
I smell sun, we fill our lungs with light
ready to exhale and create new continents

darkness lost as last year’s dream
all is open, outstretched and inviting
like a frisbee, carried by a strong breeze,
we disappear over the horizon.

spring heat burning


it is spring and i want so many things
things that are gothic at the store
or your asian friend
things i must say in code,
things i must talk around,
things touring italy and france
the ones who wear the tank tops
and the short shorts
the things who wear the horizontal
stripes and the thick rimmed
glasses or the ones who play
or speak czech or russian
or german or…french
i want to take them and inject
them into my veins,
i want them to reciprocate
in the backseat of a honda
oh! i want so many things
for it is spring;
my life is rejuvinating and i need
all of these things to fill
the increasing void in the
pit of my stomach,
while the thought
of what my life would be is
eating away at it.