For a day, Mr. Bukowski, just a day
take me to the races in your convertible. We'll bet on the losing horse and drink the winners under the table. I won't make you talk about poetry like all the others. Just horses and beer.
Feb 14, 2019
Feb 14, 2019 at 2:09 PM UTC
You said you didn't like
the song.
"It's for the religious."
But you missed the thankfulness
of longing, the shirt sleeve pulled
forward with two fingers, the killjoy
night ending
again
and
again, and a good
friend swallowing
hard, breathing
deep and accepting
endings, long drives,
and a fun house reflection
whispering
"Ha."
Feb 14, 2019
Feb 14, 2019 at 10:06 AM UTC
You tried to be a soul pirate
I saw you almost board the vessel of her mind
A plank of gypsy songs in tongues of men
pretending to be angels
and you crossed
cannons roaring
flags hoisted
wood splintering her side
my captain trembled
but grinned.
Feb 4, 2019
Feb 4, 2019 at 4:21 PM UTC
For Karen
This isn’t the body I wanted,
sickness in my blood river
that’s sunk the bravery rafts
that patrolled my surrender
and kept my coward in check -
so my puny hands
could steady the coffee mug
in the mornings and pour
your rich brew to its brim –
so my fingers could comb your
arm like a good lover that won’t leave
you inhaling alone.
I think you know
this isn’t the body I wanted
when I run my brittle nails
through my hair like the TV model
and create another spot balding for you-
you to kiss while I sleep in gasps
for your breath in darkness.
Baby, this temple is quaking
from the inside where the choir-
lungs used to sing and the preacher-
heart used to preach,
now has dust coated hymnal-
veins and mold frosting the bell-
throat that loved to ring sweet
in your ears.
This isn’t the body you loved
when your eyes swept this holy
cathedral like a sinner
in need of saving.
My church-going cells
have backslid against
the time we promised
each other…
This isn’t the body we wanted.
Jan 30, 2019
Jan 30, 2019 at 6:46 PM UTC