I pull into my driveway and
my neighbor is standing in
front of his door wearing a
wife beater and basketball shorts
that go to his mid calf with
his bare feet shoved into
slides that are too small
and he's owned since 2005.
nearly every part of him is
large, except he's 5'7:
his beer belly protrudes
from his ribbed cotton shirt
his his ego escapes from
his perpetually messy house
(his door is wide open, all the
cold air is escaping, it smells like
cigarettes and being ******* over it).
he watches me park
his woman (I have to set this picture, there is no better term)
stands up straight at right
underneath his eyebrow
and glares at me in unison
I let my hand trace the chair sitting
on my front porch for a few seconds
and wonder why I’ve never sat here before,
residue rain falls from the outside banister
and I feel as at home as I’ve ever felt in this
stupid god forsaken ******* apartment
my neighbors are still watching me and
I realize it’s because they don’t recognize me
because I'm really never here
with the hair on my arms all
standing up in unison
I unlock my door and step inside
drop my money and count my keys
my knees are rusty, I feel small
there’s only so many times you can do this
and only so many times I can too

two floor fans
perched side by side

one at full blast
******* in air
blowing it out
without a care
who's there
to receive

the other
half the height
black as night
silver blades silenced
unstirring
gazing into the distance
in solemn stillness
metallic meditation

three empty chairs around an empty table

sometimes filled with food
filled with people
filled with life

but now just ghosts
relics of the
(whatever came before
whatever comes after)

in the moment
nothing more than a waste of hard plastic
and glossy green paint
fossil fuels drawn from deep within the earth
so much life destroyed
so three ugly four-legged lifeless objects
can sit around a table
and share in the quiet nothingness

cat curled up asleep underneath
indifferent to the chairs' lack of conversation
indifferent to the fans' competing notions
of making the most of lifeless life
indifferent to everything
as only cats
and fans
and chairs
can be

door opened
door shut, then locked
first morning urges
body greets the dawn

toilet seat up
pants unzipped
waste tube carefully aimed
flow turned on

trickling stream
becomes rushed torrent
small splashes
leave no mark

on steep polished porcelain walls
water slowly turning
clear to yellow
light to dark

liquid waste
flushed down the drain
shows signs
of dehydration

advising body
drink more water
restart the cycle
of urination

Drunk. That tilt-o-whirl
feeling to like; remember
childhood and spinning
around in circles to get dizzy.

Myopia. All’s fuzzy around
the edges, but softened
reality isn’t any prettier.
Not impressed.

Indelible stamp, maybe, on your mind,
if not on mine. Hateful bonding.
Moldy melted bones where there's nothing sharp
to cut through. Inarticulate shame.
Inauthentically uninhibited. Laughing and waiting.

Blanket smoke, the breath of someone else's life.
Daytime: fools apart,
with no excuse, so...
Nighttime: fools together.
A fish or a bird pretending
to be each other can feel stupid.
What of those who won't fly or swim?

through little roads tired car pokes
on the track to Ordinary Joe's
gatecrasher, purple shuttered, fort
between two white picket fence houses
tucked up half-pint box out of line on the line
in cold, squeezed, lemonade
sweet spring ambrosia to the lip
of deep green blanket children sit on, play on
running around shoes and socks
thrown on sidewalk hot as frying pan
crack an egg/hear it sizzle
dotted trees all the same side to side
rooms hide in cramped spaces like cubbies
slips of lip like butter roll off snake tongues
daggers pointed
circus act on display or an animal in the zoo
that doesn't fit in this topsy-turvy slide-show
called life
hackneyed stares glued in place on childish faces
like a match of heads or tails
cupped hands carry quarters for crank candy jars
at mall, or pick-up sticks snatched from floor

Thumbs hooked through jean belt loops,

pulling her to you.

You kiss.

Over and over again, you kiss:

so many quick little pecks in a row.

I hope you don't

kiss your mother like that,

but is SHE your mama bird?

It's like you take nourishment

from her kisses.

Is she dropping

food into your mouth?



So greedy,

can't get enough.

Of her time, either.

The odd purity that comes

from being complemented

for the first time this way.

How she leans against your knee,

she's the missing puzzle piece.

The crook of her neck, there,

just there.

The pressure where she uses you

for a chin rest.

During any violent-as-you-wish

T.V. show and

she'd even be

cool to chill with you when

you're with your bro's.

Though alone time is the best.



All that you could ask for,

through hills and valleys

you ride along.

Everything is smooth and firm,

smooth and firm.

Smooth, no hiccup in the road.

Firm is the belief in

the reliability of the course.

They're hot;

the heat

rushes through them,

complete.

Ain't never gonna feel

this way again.

Not with anybody else.

You two could lie in bed all day.



We're making relationship flambe.

A secret recipe of

inside jokes and

somebody finally wanting your ingredients,

lit afire by some mystery combustible.

You'd deny 'til you were hoarse

that it's only flash in the pan.



Until one day, it seems like-

how can you have

all these shared memories,

all this love,

yet it's still as if the person standing there

is barely the same person from before?



No more pulling her frontward or backward

by her belt loops,

always pulling her toward

the pulse of your passion.

But  the beat of love's life, at least,

grows faint, and she threatens

to take you out with it.

He'd seen her raise the gun,

for all the good it did.

A bullet hole in his forehead

And it's like his third eye's crying blood.



He didn't want to see

what he saw too long ago.

And he just delayed their misery.

Do you take your meat rare?

This cut's dripping in disillusion,

the animal neutralized, a dead

bag of blood and bones.

No; you're still

all-too human, though.

Alone in a room, it's all you can do

to remember to breathe.

But that's step one.

You know it's funny--
our late nights when we're chasing
the dawn. I think we're waiting,
we're thinking
if we can just make it
for long enough, a big red sun
will clear squinting red eyes.
We're staying up for a revelation.
The new day will tell us
that we were wise
for chasing the light.
That it's all alright.
After all our dark nights.
Dancing our feet off for it.
Arguing with each other,
familiarity breeding contempt,
when it's 3 a.m. and we've been together
since Friday night dinner.
When a demon named Insomnia
whispers to keep our eyes open,
we do it because we don't want to lose.
In the morning, we pray,
we'll know what we should do.

Blood-soaked, too close, unspoke words.
Your mom's eyes, but never her ear.
Dad's words of wisdom, but you know
next to nothing about his life experiences.
Granddaddy calls your brother by gay slurs
Still, when you talk to him, you're expected
to say, “Yes, sir.” Share a room,
share your clothes with your sister.
She won't share why she stays
with a boyfriend who hits her.
There's been too much agression
already, so you don't want to pry,
you don't want to push.
Family functional means carrying on,
harmony at the expense of heart.