10/27/2015

the morning darker now,
day's opaquement growing and foreign, a lichen on the stratosphere,
  furry and colonial,
draping the blue in a gray wolf fur color moss—
I used to think this was a metaphor for living,    
    and it stayed consistent,
the mold ***** into my ears  and eyes
  I remembered reading once
  in ancient Egypt a hook used through the nose was to extract the brain

    my cerebellum quells and throbs
Its own moldy dogged lobotomy.

after anne sexton*

12/3/2015

Here is a vivisection,
my dull operation,
  cutting into my epidermis,
pulling out maggots and rat pups,
scuttling across the scalpel,
Armillaria inside of my tendons
this itself is: a deposession,
a sort of pneumic
   inquisition, the
paucity of the gold striking someone
   sick running down my shoulders
quadriplegic in motion,
  temperament boiling
hissing now stovetop unattended
foaming at the mouth falling into the hot ,
  moving and finally
over the edge the foam sick bile like
Sliding onto the voided floor

stitch me back up.

11/29/2015

I haven't eaten in three days.
The enamel sticks to the pearl and strips away

swift current of stomach acid
throwing up something I don't
have,

rejecting something I don't have,
clear puddle
that seems like an extension of
saliva

I wish I wasn't a coward,
and I sure as hell wish I was
a person

But it doesn't work,
never does and never did
I stare at the bowl
blood mixes in

it's pink now
and foamy
if I didn't know any better I'd say

It looked like shorefoam
across the banks of an African lake.

11/15/2015


i am fetid and
spewing rabid motions rapid little

impulses
I want to debase
I scoop my iris out with a spoon

11/15/2015

it has been a while since
i've been to the wetland coppice
teetering close to the neck of
a somerset sourland hummock

soft rushes and pickerel ****,
wild lavender and marsh elder
a Canadian goose choking on a

birch branch
it died.
it has been a time since I've been there

timber rattler and weasel
playing in the grounsel
September,

like Wallace Stevens: lonely in
Jersey city.
November dead
cold bright annihilating days

i sometimes walk a mile
cutting across dead garden snakes
they sit in the living room, playing

the Nile is full of waste and bile
i wait alone by this little grove,
hoping that my fickleness of

Conversation topics
can help me now
but my mind, it raced

like a dead horse at a betting show
Sunday morning,
Saturday night really

I read Wallace Stevens in the field
And dream about jersey city

It's Libra season
and I forgot who my friends were
                           I think they forgot me too

I said no to a pity party this year

so instead I drank a bottle of champagne

plus some
plus some

It hurts so much when you call, it hurts so much when
                  you say you miss me
it hurts all over when I throw up the next day
and no one rubs my back

no one kisses me anymore
no tenderness is afforded on my body

and my weakness is seen as weakness

I get no
relief for hours, the day after

I wish underneath my sobriety I wasn't scared
     I wish I understood love the way I understand drunk speech
and mixed drinks and lonely afternoons and trashcans

10/15/2015

down by the ravine twisted woods,
By boxelder and sweetgum,
a timber rattler in the field over,

you say "those are dangerous"

"Mhm" all I mumble, stifling in the memorial of that sticky sunny summer in the forest

you say sooner or later
"Barely is enough sometimes"