God runs a carnival
With a test of strength
Right by the gate
If you ring the bell,
You get a stuffed animal
And free admission.
Just past the ticket taker,
There on the left,
Is an old carousel
Painted ponies preening,
Careening the children astride
Mirrors by their heads
Flashing the crowd's smiles
As they glide
Forever and ever amen.
The ground is littered with ticket stubs
From a raffle they had earlier,
And despite the crying losers
And the broken boozers
I can't see the person who won.
Just billions of blue ripped ribbons
Carrying call numbers
For the lottery of a life time,
While the rest of us are left
To brave the creaking tilt-a-whirl
Assembled by two clowns out on bail
One roll of duct tape and a promise not to fail
This time.
As the fire eaters and game cheaters
Line the midway
Barking promises of heavenly repose
If only you can hit the elephant's nose
With a jet of water, streaming
Into its beaming mouth,
Grinning despite your loss
Try again, kid.
Better luck next time.
You'll wander into the hall of mirrors
To see your sins grow and bulge
Like the battle that rages
In the pages of your gold-leafed heart
Thin enough to tear
So take care to mend
Your broken ways
Or you'll find yourself
Climbing onto the Ferris wheel
To sit on high
And by God,
You can see your house from here
And down and around
And you're bound to lose your lunch
So you'll pay too much for a bunch of frozen
Fries and to your surprise
Sweet mercy, manna from heaven.
Even though you don't know what it is,
You gobble it up
Because you don't wanna go to hell,
But you have to get the hell away from that bell
Ringing and ringing over and over
Chiming in time to the line that winds
Out through the dark parking lot,
Every winner another sinner
Washed clean by the lamb
And *******
A petting zoo
Never felt so good.
If you ring that bell,
You won't go to hell,
But you won't go to heaven either.
Oh no.
You'll go to work
Tearing tickets 'til you're sick of it,
Bending mirrors in the fun house
To split and bounce
And reflect onto the patron
That part of your heart
Too broken to pump,
Running the tilt-a-whirl with a burly
Bouncer who got up early
To **** his wife
And this ain't a life sentence,
Baby, it's eternity.
I guess that's what you get
For trusting a ******' carnie.

The ruler comes down from on high
Dragging himself along the earth
Insulation going up like confetti
Take cover, take shelter

Ice the size of softballs
Comes streaking from the sky
There’s nowhere left to run
Huddled under the bridge

And then a sound like rushing water
Feels like a freight train overhead
We weep and cry and gnash our teeth
As the trumpet blares

Drove down Telephone Road
Where it crosses the highway
Sandcastles washed out to sea
Old bills put through the shredder

There are no ways to safeword out of this life.
I know, I’ve tried them all.
Elephant, apple, Alaska, amen.
Tried screaming anything into the pillow my face is pushed down into,
Whiskey, tango, foxtrot, stop
Exhausted my vocabulary against the blanket my fists are balled into fists against,
Anything to make the beatings stop
But they just
Keep
Coming.
In ****, having a safeword is like wearing a seatbelt.
There are rules about having one
And the ones who choose to do without
Are taking risks.
We are born without lifejackets, without seatbelts and safecut scissors
Without breakaway glass or rubberized mats
Without any way to make the world slow down
Let us catch our breath,
And jump back in.
There are no hard limits in the real world.
So we bite into our gags and wait for the session to end.
Elephant, apple, Alaska, amen.

My whole life,
I've been a third string hitter
For a fourth string team
In a no-string city
With nothing to offer
But the glow of the city
In my childhood bedroom window.
I was the batter they brought in
When they wanted to avoid invoking
The mercy rule
Otherwise, they mercifully let me
Stay on the bench.
Swing, miss, swing, miss,
I haven't had so many strikes since
I went bowling at age 12.
I had six of them that night
It had been so long since I'd hit the ball
That I had forgotten what home plate looked like
It's becoming a nasty habit,
Forgetting home.
Every umpire shout of “you're out”
Made me glad I didn't try to go back much.
But then I met you
A greased lane lady
Looking for a ten-pin king
We started talking over a ******
Paper boat of nachos in the 24 hour bowling alley
I had stumbled into after the bar kicked me out.
I knew I wanted you when you finally
Explained what those little air vents
On the ball return were for.
“For drying your hands” you said,
Demonstrating.
I used them all night, partly to
Seal their use into my memory,
And partly because no one had ever made
My hands sweat so much.
You beat me, badly.
You blamed it on the liquor,
But I knew the truth.
Just another game which I shouldn't be playing
But you fought me on that.
You followed me out to my car
And took a cigarette from me
Even though you didn't smoke,
Because you wanted a reason to stand outside
While you assailed me with logic.
Too tired and drunk to argue,
I conceded that maybe I just needed practice.

So we practiced.
Every day, my baseball contract
Long since expired
Voicemail boiling over with
million-dollar egos shouting
I'd never work a plate again
Let 'em have their foul *****
And line drives.
I had a greased lane lady
And I was a ten-pin king.
Strike, strike, spare,
Seven ten split,
Pick it up!
We wore a groove in the lanes
We threw more ***** than Elton John,
And our palms stayed perfectly dry.
The problem wasn't me.
I always thought I was a defective unit
A fluke in the system, a glitch.
No, *****.
My problem was the green and white world
Shoving juice-syringes and Nike contract promises
In my face
When we both knew
But wouldn't accept
That the diamond wasn't my home.
I should be on the lane
Picking up an impossible split to take the frame
And feed the flame my fame fans in the alley
You showed me where I belong
You taught me how to play.
Now maybe it's my turn
To show you my heart,
To teach you it's name
But only if you promise me
You'll always be up for just one more frame

Standing naked on the porch
New gold rings on my fingers
Morning mist in the valley
I couldn’t stop myself.
I couldn’t even try.
Call the healers and call the medics.
Send for a witchdoctor.
Someone needs to wake her up
Morning sun in the valley
It’s gonna be a hot one.

The boy behind the counter laughs nervously
And he knows
Early morning rain
Oil rising to the surface of the asphalt
A crash from the kitchen
And someone yelling for the police
Robbery, robbery!
Everyone is looking at me
My face is flushed and my neck is hot
I forgot my supplies in the trunk of my car
Burlap sack, rough and faded
My shoes are sticking to the floor
It’s so hot in here
Beads of sweat roll down my arms
I might be sick on the linoleum
I want to go home.

If you get home before me
Don’t go in the kitchen.
I left an awful mess.

Floor matted with hair
Dye stains in the sink
Don’t go in the kitchen
I left a terrible mess

I’ll be back in a minute;
I’ve just left for the cleaners
Let’s go to the theatre tonight
The kitchen can wait

Leave the candles burning
Put on your fur coat
Let’s take in a show
And never come back

Two men, both having recently used “Just for Men Touch of Grey”,
Stood waiting for their valet-parked cars,
Making idle conversation,
When a boy- no, he was a man I suppose,
Floated by
Like a cracked brown leaf
Buffeted on cold wind
Down the sidewalk and around the corner,
His brow crumpled and knotted
Dull eyed and rattling.
A blue wool coat, only just barely too big
Hung on his shoulders.
“What do you make of that man,
Well fed and dressed,
Looking like a kicked dog?”
Asked the first man
“Why don't you ask him yourself?”
Replied the second,
Both checking their watches
And quickly searching the lot for
Their oncoming cars,
Fishing in their pockets for
An extra little something
To give the valets.

With a full tank of gas,
You're easy to avoid
The snow is thick and fluffy
I am overjoyed.

Match my tires to the tracks ahead of me
To hide my trail
I can't let you follow me
All the way to the grail.

I'll hold that cup in my hand
And get the lay of the land
No one else may come aboard
It's just me and the Lord

Patch of ice under the snow
Sends me off the bridge
Photos of the two of us
Under magnets on the fridge

White out conditions
Axle snapped in two
Huddled under a blanket
Nothing else I can do

I'll hold that cup in my hand
And get the lay of the land
No one else may come aboard
It's just me and the Lord

No lights on the freeway
No end to the snow
Little hope of being rescued
North wind continues to blow

Can't let you find me
Away I crawl
And suddenly I'm warm
Forward I am called

I am holding that cup in my hands
Just dug it out of the sand
Sun shining on my weathered face
I am weary of that golden chase

When I was a child, my mother would read me
Bedtime stories.
I was transported to fantastic realms,
Populated by goblins and breadcrumbs,
Little bears in cardboard rocketships,
Magic and mystery and adventure.
Never mind that she stood idly by
While my father beat me to hell and back.
This escape was enough.
This scarlet train ride to far off lands.
I would pull the covers up to my chin and listen.
Until I realized this, too, was abuse.
My nightly escape was a lie.
I was lead to believe that,
After one horrible experience,
Being, say, kidnapped by Baba Yaga
Or lost in a labyrinth with a minotaur,
That I would be free in loving arms
And I would live happily ever after.
But I would dream about escape,
Dream about wings that would not melt
Or princesses in castles with magic powers.
And I would wake up in my bed.
Still bruised.
Still afraid of the man who lived in my house.
Still a broken child.
(all the king’s horses and all the king’s men.)

When I was 8 years old, I used to roll a slinky
Down the stairs
Of my very old, very rickety house,
An incomplete mobius strip of metal
Rolling and folding over itself
Down the green carpet wrapped around those stairs
Carpet that had been laid before the invention of vacuums,
And you could tell
With every exhalation of dust
My slinky looked a thousand years old
By the time it found solid ground.
When I was 17 years old,
Those creaking stairs were an alarm system
Of squeaking,
Making it impossible to sneak
Out on the town
In search of a brown bottle
To drown my troubles.
Now I'm not trying to get any sympathy,
And I know if I was, you'd all turn on me
Like a record being flipped.
And I know unrequited love is a package that's shipped
To the wrong address
And it'll probably get lost
In the post office
At the bottom of the bag...
Maybe I shouldn't have sent you that ballgag
Regardless, my intentions were pure
And even though you can't take a picture
They are worth a thousand words,
All jumbled and mixed
Like a ransom note cut
Out of a dozen magazines,
Again lost at the bottom of that bag
Right next to your ballgag.
Okay, last chance to plead my case
But I'm getting tripped up by that gorgeous facebook
Status you posted where you said birds
Were love notes from God.
Now I've never talked to God
But what kind of benevolent, all powerful deity
Would send a love note that ***** on your car?
Not me, and I'll go so far
As to say that's a really stupid idea.
And while I'll never **** on your car,
I will take you to a ****** bar
And get so drunk that
I'll tell you the sun rises in your hair
And your hips are a valley
In which I will fear no evil
Because obviously God's on my side this time.
Maybe he's trying to make up for that time
I accidentally elbowed my
Soon to be ex in the face during ***
Or that time my dad hit me so hard
That I don't remember what happened next.
I guess all's fair in love and beer
And all I really needed was to hear
Your heart beating like a kettle drum
While we wait for the sun
To come up.
And I told you every secret I had
Thinking maybe if someone else knew
It wouldn't hurt so bad.
So we laid in the bed
And we smoked 'til we choked
Until the morning peeked in
Like a registered *** offender
And those ****** love notes told us
The fantasy was over
Done, finished, goodbye, gone
And while I thought we had really bonded
You absconded with the piece of my heart
Labeled "not for resale"
I don't know what you're gonna do with that part
Is there a black market for broken hearts?
Cause I'll gladly trade for a cracked glass vessel
That pumps nearly perfectly
Except for a small leak
That makes you think the world
Can be fixed.
Even though chemistry taught me faults exist
When impure compounds are mixed
And the best to which we can aspire
Is
Balance

stood outside and waited for you,
Looking around the parking lot
You pushed your way through the crowd
Just to hold my hand
We went north to Michigan
Where the beach was so cold,
We practically ran back to the car
And had our picnic in the passenger seat

I drove west to Arizona
Just so I would feel warm again
It’s a dry heat.
It doesn’t help

We watched the news in Oklahoma
And you held my hand again
And we shook my demons off for the night
We drove through to California
You said you saw me
On a scuba trip in Bermuda
On the ocean floor, dancing with a mermaid
It was only a dream.
Go back to sleep,
It was only a dream.

Sweet waters rushing from our source
Cutting paths deep and clear
Watery sentinels for the Garden of Eden
Rumbling thunder and flashing swords
Feared and worshiped, conscripted gods made into a cradle
Rage and foam, rising from our beds
Driving all the wanderers away
We watched the Tower under construction
A thousand tongues searching for a mouth
Follow the paper boats

Eons later, we still guard the rubble
Broken bricks and fires in the distance
Yearning for our glory days

Icicles hanging from the ceiling
My breath coming out in clouds
Tap my back pocket one last time
Map tucked safely away

I made you a *** of tea
Are you cold?
Are you well?
Hush now, I’m here with you

Frost on all the walls
I’ll be back tomorrow, my love
Around dinnertime

When I met you for the first time, I thought your eyes were the biggest I’d ever seen
And I ignored my usual dislike of mouths as large as yours,
Reasoning that it should be so wide to accommodate the smiles you always wore.
At lunch, you quoted Mia Wallace and I should have known then to run.
Instead, I asked you about New York.
Your food got cold because you talked for so long.
I was silent and full.
Driving you back home, I told you my first lie when you asked if I was an atheist.  
We had *** in your bathroom the next day.
I watched movies you liked.
I told you my second lie when I pretended to cry at the end of Elizabethtown
We had *** again that night.
Roughly.
I told you I would move back to New York with you in the fall.
Another lie.
Another ******.
Lying to you came naturally and so I did it often.
It makes sense, then, that the whole affair would end with a lie.
New York wasn’t the problem.
You were.

Who knew gold would grow
On green stalks
If left alone in the yard.
Old farm house
Abandoned 60 years


A wobbling car pulls in the driveway,
Lights blazing into the house.
She’s inside knitting,
Kids asleep on the floor.
I stagger in, my demons on my breath
Around my head, in the passenger seat
She starts yelling and tearing,
Spit flecking off her lips.


Covers pulled up to our chins
Waiting for the storm to pass.
Like it passes every night.


He comes in,
Eyes cut out of granite


Ruts in the yard,
Red dust in the air.
My god, my god,
What have I done?


Mom?
Dad?
Mom?

They say *** and pizza are very much alike
In so far as when it's good, it's really good. When it's bad...it's still pretty good.
Poetry and tequila are also similar.
When it's good, you'll be dizzy and kissing strangers.
When it's bad, you'll be worshiping at the porcelain altar, so to speak.
There is a sensation when you're standing on the edge of a cliff, looking over
And you realize that there is nothing to keep you from hurtling down into the ravine
But your own willpower
Which, if you're like me,
Quickly begins eroding.
I wonder if everyone feels that way
I wonder if there are some people who can look over a high ledge
And not immediately begin panicking that they will toss themselves over
In a fit.
Perhaps this is why baby birds fall out of nests.

Drove 16 hours today
Up and down the interstate
Stopped for fast food in Denton
Felt my treads wearing thin

On 44 I felt like I was going to burst
So I grabbed one of the Styrofoam cups from the passenger seat
Dumped the half melted ice out my window
Relief down to my feet

In plain view of the policeman in his squad car
Watching for people like me
Desperate to get away, half-desperate to be caught
For a moment in my mind I can see the celebration freedom lights red and blue
Until some guy blows by doing at least 100
Breaking the spell


It's three hours later and I'm asleep on your couch
or pretending to be.
I can hear you arguing with your boyfriend in the next room
He's not nice, but he seems to know the score
You come into the room and pat me on the head
Hair like grease-soaked down.
I hope he' sticks to your ribs like your mother's cooking
I hope he plays your guitar when it rains
I can hear you mumbling reassurances
Spyglass in your hand
Pretty pink drapes to hide the grimy windows.

I dreamt about home,
You had bought a new, water saving,
Washing machine,
Tide detergent sitting on the shelf made
By stacking the washer and dryer.
You still had your empty picture frames hanging
Above our bed.
Grilled garlic chicken with lime juice,
Watching British programming
And holding each other tight.
I wanna go home.
So I run and I run and I knock over anyone who offers to take me in,
I rob them blind, take everything I can fit in my pockets,
And I split on to the next mark,
Jacket jingling with my collections,
Maybe I can buy my way back in.
We took turns slamming the door on each other.
I remember when I first moved in,
I was drunk for 3 weeks straight,
Get up at 8 a.m. and pour a screwdriver
I only told you I loved you when I'd been drinking.
I love you
I love you.
Let me come home.

She kissed me like
She
Kept
Dropping
Her
Keys.
She looked like paper,
But smelled of smoke
And had maps
Tattooed down her arms.
They were her roads,
Not meant for others.
I waited on the porch,
Knowing all paths led back,
Eventually.