May 2016
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some poems from available collections:
[cripplings ]
touch is a sign of weakness. my father opens his mouth after speaking. meanwhile, miracle, it occurs to me in separate car accidents that bringing me to my son in god is less an undertaking than that of arming the man who transports a stopwatch to a cemetery. do we live the lives of those experimenting? beauty is not alone. suppose it knows.
~
[notes for stimuli]
I start my sentences
like this:
the thing is.
thing is
my son
like yours
is dying. thing is
I was told
by god
to be a man.
I love you all.
I love
but start a fight
with someone
I’ve never met
over what
a *******
poverty
no one
talks to
not
in years.
one must apple boldly in a cornfield of rust.
baby clotheshorse
eats baby
litmus.
taste
keeps my tongue
in the dark.
~
[fasting vision]
to punish my brother
for no reason
I told him
I could see
his stomach’s
shadow
but because
my visions
never
work
I vomited
what my sister
ate
~
[sylvan vision]
nudes
from the circus
of harm
grab
the evolved
handle
of my father’s
apocalypse
and though
I call it easy
what I’ve gone
on the doll ****
I can’t help
but bride
up
a storm
giving oral
to a corncob
from fixation’s
honeymoon
~
[daughteresque]
what would she ask
sadness
that old blindfold
from the future
how did you
get old, how
did my father
eat
and eat
at the same
time
perhaps
you’ve seen it
the mask
that took
my face
~
[forty]
because I wanted the poem
to feel
as rare
as my father’s
anger, and because
a pigeon
is
what it eats, and because
mad with bread
the oven
my brother
buried
took a snapshot
of our dog
bigfoot
sleeping
in hell, and because
my son is not a pattern
his body
can resume: the alien was impressed
but my mother
god love her
was bored
~
[BURNINGS]
~reanimation
it is nothing
compared
to the sobbing
of worms
~outhouse
the bathtub is full of ****
it wants to be
an egg
~frogsong
depression
decorates
a bird
~miracle
a bunk-bed for sister’s hair
some poems from available collections:
[cripplings ]
touch is a sign of weakness. my father opens his mouth after speaking. meanwhile, miracle, it occurs to me in separate car accidents that bringing me to my son in god is less an undertaking than that of arming the man who transports a stopwatch to a cemetery. do we live the lives of those experimenting? beauty is not alone. suppose it knows.
~
[notes for stimuli]
I start my sentences
like this:
the thing is.
thing is
my son
like yours
is dying. thing is
I was told
by god
to be a man.
I love you all.
I love
but start a fight
with someone
I’ve never met
over what
a *******
poverty
no one
talks to
not
in years.
one must apple boldly in a cornfield of rust.
baby clotheshorse
eats baby
litmus.
taste
keeps my tongue
in the dark.
~
[fasting vision]
to punish my brother
for no reason
I told him
I could see
his stomach’s
shadow
but because
my visions
never
work
I vomited
what my sister
ate
~
[sylvan vision]
nudes
from the circus
of harm
grab
the evolved
handle
of my father’s
apocalypse
and though
I call it easy
what I’ve gone
on the doll ****
I can’t help
but bride
up
a storm
giving oral
to a corncob
from fixation’s
honeymoon
~
[daughteresque]
what would she ask
sadness
that old blindfold
from the future
how did you
get old, how
did my father
eat
and eat
at the same
time
perhaps
you’ve seen it
the mask
that took
my face
~
[forty]
because I wanted the poem
to feel
as rare
as my father’s
anger, and because
a pigeon
is
what it eats, and because
mad with bread
the oven
my brother
buried
took a snapshot
of our dog
bigfoot
sleeping
in hell, and because
my son is not a pattern
his body
can resume: the alien was impressed
but my mother
god love her
was bored
~
[BURNINGS]
~reanimation
it is nothing
compared
to the sobbing
of worms
~outhouse
the bathtub is full of ****
it wants to be
an egg
~frogsong
depression
decorates
a bird
~miracle
a bunk-bed for sister’s hair
