I wanted to cry
but couldn't—22 year old American male—
so I laced up running shoes
no jacket
just shorts
12 degree punishment.

I needed to get away
from a silent phone,
an empty inbox
so I could scream out my coward

sprinting over hills
in the full moon's
telling light.
I try to curdle blood
but choke

on vocal cords
bolted in place
by modern modesty

too scared
to sound my barbaric yawp
I yelp
like a coyote

the size of a wolf pup
that only has breath enough
for half a call.

I stop to catch the wind
and with it
howl over and over

again and again
until I scream,
freezing every heartbeat
within earshot.
A single tear
drops on the fire.

Breathing heavier now
in the moon's empty landscape
I begin dragging my feet
slowly toward the agony of a silent phone
and an empty inbox, trying to calm myself
because one tear is not enough.

My nose runs through plastic flowers,
dad close behind, brother
somewhere— camouflaged— in front of me.

Our prey is close.
The savanna grasses
dried and woven into baskets
but we stalk through them all the same.

As we close in, crouched among hippos
crocodiles and wildebeests
pushing orange shopping carts, we crack up,
roar, our prey hears us and we duck

into the nearest aisle of knickknacks
before she turns around,
all the other animals glaring
but Dad doesn’t care

because his cubs aren’t fighting
or fussing
they’re hunting with their father.

As our prey nears the checkout
we pounce
and she gives Dad that look:

I thought it was Mom’s “I can’t believe
you made the kids **** me” look
but it was the
“Everyone’s staring at us” look

As Dad just smiles
mane waving in the air conditioning
and pretended to eat Mom’s neck.

The wino took the corner like a 4 year old performs surgery.

His eyes roll into glue
and dry on her instantly.
She notices and
they rip away. Blurry

He swerves to avoid the railing.  Dizzy

Intoxicated, they forget it’s not polite to stare
but his possession is met with a smile
he panics, puts his eyes on the road
and smiles back

                       while driving

                                          off the mountain

Walk by all the flowers.
strong orchids, dark lilacs, dim roses
potted perfectly
on familiar porches

Breathe deeply as you pass them
bruise the petals with a touch goodbye
because Summer is coming
and with it, you’re going

Walk by the yellow graffiti
rooted in the lawns
                                but stop.
if only for a moment
      to see the white

      the dead dandelion, whose unborn roots
             wish to fall from their ovule.
              They wait trembling in Spring’s
                                  cruel sunny breeze

                                             Waiting for you to blow
                                                   because with your breath
                                                             the wind blows too, and the wind
                                                                                     can carry me with you.

I apologize,
I have not kissed a woman--
most certainly a ****** too--
which might shed light on why
you’ve become my muse,
merely at the thought,
of someday loving you.

I wear my hunger like a badge of honor
every stomach’s groan and garble is victory
wrapped in lettuce, hold the beef
and bun.

My manly appetite shrinks
from triumphant buttons bursting
to greens garnished with greens
after salads, please no dressing
or any cheese.

Beer drunk pizzas parties
turn tomato sauce on egg white omelets
scantly sprinkled with fat free
turkey pepperoni, and all fake
dairy Cheesus.

A good idea
becomes chocolate dipped
peanut butter Twinkies
served with stomach ache
covered in batter fried bits of bacon.

Trophies are knuckles
cheekbones and ribs
once buried by doughnuts
frosted with funnel cakes
served in soda pop.

So I hang my badge of hunger on bones
happily sitting behind baggy skin and habits
wrapped in clothes, I never thought
would fit.

there’s more
than 1 theory
in string theory, more than 1 dimension too
sometimes 4, others 26
all of which but few
are flat

genus 2 donuts would have less dough
some things are super
symmetrical, quarks
didn’t exist ‘til 1968, my attention span
shortens
to 5 feet 2 inches, when a String smiles back.

it’s intuitive
that 2 quarks attract
when pulled apart.  a tachyon
fits cross legged
in a chair.  gum pops sing
and the theory is boring without fermions.

strings absorb in the D-branes
of blue eyes
and matching glasses. stray
hairs, electrified with brilliance
warrant cats
that even Schrodinger knows are alive