I'd like to cut my heart open
to take you out
or maybe
to see you one more time

I am going to dig through
dumpsters today; alone or
with a fellow aluminum
cowboy. Our treasure is
cans. Thank God for
redemption. Each can is
worth a nickel, and if
we get enough of these
shiny miracles, we can
get a pint of *****,
our oasis in the desert.

I sift through trash bags
full of cat **** and broken dreams.
I find: losing lottery tickets,
broken costume jewelry, unwanted
books, and a ***** magazine.
I examine the jewelry closely,
hoping for a diamond or real pearls;
some silver or gold, something I
can pawn or sell and turn into
liquor- no such luck.
The whole thing smells like
death, and ****, and a
city dump in July.

Sometimes I think it
would be easier to just
quit drinking, but to do it
abruptly could **** me,
the withdrawal seizures can be deadly.
As the sun begins to set
on Iowa City, the sky
looks like a butterfly melting.
I haul my black garbage bag, full
of cans, over my shoulder
down the railroad tracks, and
across Highway 6.
I stop to ***** behind
a building, then wipe my
face and continue to
the store- to be redeemed.

Tucked away in my thermal eclipse, the party raves without my flamboyant
inner monologue. tampering with the DJ on some esoteric frequency..
Everyone is safe to assume the Ecstasy is pure…. but no ones the wiser.
My wallflowers blossom on irrigated stilts, leaning into the background-
of my fraudulent approach from a shy Port of Call.
I Rehearse the Unrehearsable, as throngs cavort in laser spawn shadows
anointed in Eurythmic debauch…
as I spurn my teeming
collapse
with a positively gauche
Panic…

the champion of introverts.


a ton of thunder in a quiet place, where the Dubstep ruffles
the fringes of my agile anonymity…
swiving with soot ravens as liquid
as a Pause in a drop of Time.

I Almost Noticed You despite my Private Life


Then i woke up
In your arms.

Astonished.

Your tattoos like golden calligraphy
galloping across the serrated horizon
improbable...
where a woman’s heart is the width
of a manly surrender
to a Fantastic… Suspense.

As all my demented departures
Gather Where I Go-
From Zero to Hit Me
In Wine Seconds

We remembered each other when we met.
Amen.

is your boyfriend a witch?
he seems nice, rather nice, the way
all strange young men are,
i spoke to him once- he left me
puzzled and poised, i spent the rest of
the day pondering impossibilities
so then tell me

is your boyfriend a witch? is he.
is he? it is fine if he is, but you must
tell me, because if he is
maybe then we would have
cold sharp metallic nature brushing our
house, maybe then we will see the
lights flicker on in an excuse for the
inexplicable, maybe then there would be some-
thing else in our lives besides the dull
and drudgery,

is your boyfriend a witch? if he is
i will open the garden
make sure there are mushrooms- is he friends
with the fair folk or does he make
the enemy out of them-
if he is a witch i will make special
cakes for halloween i imagine witches must
love halloween, for what a great time to be
as witchy as as possible, do witches
care if you find out they are witches-
most times

i think your boyfriend is a witch, i’ve watched
him slip from between walls and
from the ceiling to visit you, sometimes
when i see him leave he doesn't really
leave you, he seems at odds with the
neighbour’s cats-
and spirits;
is your boyfriend a witch?

for if he isn't,
i just don't know what
i’ll do
with all this lovely
witch’s brew