There’s a dog on the bench

By the car on the sidewalk 

She won’t move — 

She wants to stay dry 

And stay on the sidewalk.

I am paved in gold & the

Parts that make up a radiator 

A rigid source of heat 

In the cabin.

Like a ligament at the crook

Of your, her, leg — I am bathed 

In the light of the fireplace 

Waning from the moon. 

I am afraid of the moon 

It may render me a wolf caught

In a bear trap;

I howl.

I howl like the dog perched

Upon the bench by the car

Crashed upon the sidewalk. 

She nor I will move for fear

Of straining the safety of dry fur.

Dear Rabbits & Rabies & Silence & Bones so hollow they can break upon landing & Sleep & Teeth & Being radiation free & Radiation for being clean energy & Dieting & Headphones & Lightning & The Sky & Thirty-Thousand US Dollars, really it’s closer to Twenty-Eight but let’s round up to be Safe & Playing with Blocks as a kid & Starting my car with a screwdriver & Learning from failure & Failing quizzes but passing classes & Teachers who need to chill the **** out (because they’re excited and I don’t get excited so it scares me when people get excited) & my mother and father and brother and unborn sister (she might have been named after Bob Marley like I almost was) & Clever titles & Bad titles for making clever titles seem more clever & Robots for making life easier & Robots for taking over the future & Passing cars & ****** bars & Oil Tycoons ******* straws from MotherEarth, bleeding her dry just in time for winter

You’re all okay—
I have a lot of feelings
That I don’t like feeling all that often
And you’re vital, pivotal to the waking world
But you’re also ruining my life; I’m no good at math
But I’m trying anyways and slowly learning that
Good & Evil are pretty much the same side of the
Same battle if you’re standing far enough away but I
Am not quite that far away yet.
The world is a clock and without every gear in locking place
Time would stop altogether—a redundant thought,
Yet still relevant upon revisiting.

If I am a cloud then you are a storm, a billowing hurricane
With sugar for blood and wire-tapped veins, broken
Like I ought to be except I am afraid
To truly really break like the love of my life
Did when she was seventeen or eighteen—I don’t
Quite remember when it all started but how it pains me
Every day that you (not you, reader, but an old friend)
Did this and do this to yourself still.
No matter where I go and no matter how much
Powder you buy just to look at (it’s comforting—
I want to believe you) You will always be
At the front of my mind & for that,
I owe you.

My Father's mother wrote me a check
And though she has a checkbook
with her name on it
From four years ago,
She sent me the decadent sum
of twenty-five dollars
On a slip of paper with a name
that was of her husband,
My Father's Father,
And still is.

When I look at this check pinned to my wall
I am reminded of the man,
The eighteen-wheeling man,
And how a few years ago I was afraid
and unamused
So I did not peek into his open casket.

It was a year since I had seen him,
And 'goodbye' escaped my lips (which were sealed
incredibly) until he was lowered.

I hope he went to heaven; if he did not
I am sure I will say 'hello'
After I cash this check,
But not yet.

The child fell in mid-July
When he held three rings
Rippling out from his bones.
His knew smiled a toothless
grin that dropped guts & goo
While the child screamed
Hoping that mother would set
Down her dishes and break
In half her paint brush. He hoped
That mother would stitch him back
Together. A scarecrow wears a costume
Of a strong superhero three months
Later with the help of rubber bands
And metal barbs.
The child fell in mid-July &
Left a scar but not a bruise.

I am composed of so many
Different Shapes
That while I am touching
Myself in the dark
I do not recognize
Who is in the room

Well, not we
But you alone delayed
Those blurry red lines
That poured from
An officers light.

He pulled you from the grave
In the way
You pulled those stones
From the ground,
Pillbugs and all,
To call them boys
And count their fingertips.

Each had ten
While you had twelve
After the crash.
The car wrapped around the sharpest
Pole you could reach
(The car wrapped around,
Twisted like a cobra,
With poisonous barbs ready at will)
and spit you out towards the top.

You slowly slid down
Peg by peg, full with splinters,
Then the officer came
And let down his hair
To weave into yours.

After we went camping
The forest swallowed you whole
And the belly of the world
Was swollen with guilt.

After we went exploring
You swallowed your tongue
And your belly was swollen
With rage and your
******* with milk and metal.

It was the wild
(About which you had forgotten)
Which drove you to madness
And
It was the madness
That drove you to
Crash the car
Once before

And though I hope otherwise
We fear it will drive you
To crash again.

Well, not we
But I still fear for you.

Watch this
You mumbled deep in slumber
Took your hand
Unzipped the skin just beneath
Your occupying ribs,
Slipped four fingers behind the walls
Of your cage (what does it hold
Does it protect or alienify?)
And wiggled them between the bars
Look at what I can do
I almost have it all figured out
If you tried
So would you