Come to me, here, from Furness Vale

To this idle county, where
a dozen stations stand in
wait to loan the City her suits
and collect them, weary, at the day’s end.

Descend the chasm that splits
England’s pleasant pastures
and concrete miles; a balancing
or cancelling act that renders neutral –

but each Spring I watch from my window
the azaleas that blossom in my
neighbours’ garden, the petals peeling,
revealing, coming undone by the swelling heat.

Be here, Scarlett, let me watch
our shadows spread across my wall
as the shifting sky paints the room,
like burning embers.

And, sun sinking, let us go to bed.

The sun sinks differently under an undisturbed skyline.

I wonder if it has something to do with my eye-line,
With the way I want things to happen on my time;
The sun should set when I want and rise only when I co-sign.
Here in suburbia time moves slow.

The sun moves at a half-time pace and so do the days.

I wonder if I’m missing out skipping out looking out for what’s racing past.
In New York all time seems to do is pass
But here it moves
Slow.

I wonder if I wonder too much.

No time to wonder or wander in a city too full of too many too much too fast too busy I have to do do do before the day leaves me behind—
Here, I leave the sun behind. Or it leaves me.
Sometimes, time moves so slow I can’t tell if I’m rushing or dragging
But I know that I’m moving and I think that may be enough.

I look up again and the sun has set. Today, it must be enough.

please marry me. please, oh my god, please marry me,
because i have feelings i need to bury in the backyard
of our really nice house on our quiet gated street. i can
give you slightly above average *** and you can give
me your arm around my waist, boring and boring and
steady, a nice "have you met my wife?" to round off
the pleasant evening. we're friends, we're friends, you
tell your stories to an adoring audience, but you're only
looking at me, and i draw the shape of your head over
and over, trying to get it right. we can be alright, isn't
that what we all want in the end? i can give you those
chubby hands, a gummy smile, through the bars of the
crib, and you can be the voice over in the first birthday
party home movie, the proof that it's not just me. i roll
over in the dark and my arm hits you and it's not just me.
and when you get too drunk i can be the stern hands on
the steering wheel of our sensible car, and when i get
too sad, you can help me fill out doctor's office forms.
relation: spouse. tell me we don't have to be in love. i
don't want to be in love, i want the beige place mats, the
suburban nothing, the pb&j cut into triangles, a life of
april tuesdays. we can get a ****** golden retriever and
make our baby wear one of those flower headbands from
etsy and you can say, "i don't think you've met my wife,"
and when i roll over in the dark, you'll be there, boring boring steady, and
we can be alright.

85 and off the ladder

picking leaves from the gutter

Wife soon after

They found her dentures

on the kitchen tile


A few weeks later the neighbor

still in her sunhat and green gloves

hose running in her hand

Felled by a bee hiding in her marigolds.

Then her dog,

Went to live with someone else

But wouldn’t eat.

Wasn’t long before the flowers went too.

Eaten up in the dried, cracked soil.


The houses went up for sale

Little signs sitting innocently

In the front lawns:

“So & So Realty”


Pretty soon

some lovely young couples moved in

Had children

Bought a dog

Cleaned gutters

Planted more marigolds

Watched the rain run down

The window

And the reaper grinned

A little More than usual.

When she became the prom queen,
She was the prettiest thing they’d ever seen.
Soft gold curls spill over her back,
Bright green eyes, no sign of decay inside.
A spotlight shines down enhancing her cream-colored gown.
She beams as she accepts the crown.  

She kneels down and throws up blood.
Her head comes up in a white marble tiled bathroom,
Starting to stench.
Staring deep into the reflection in her mother’s mirror,
Slowly withering away.

Pills spill around the room
Sitting by the window
She stares into the sun.
Waiting for a crimson bouquet,
And a plastic tiara  

She powders her face,
Peachy pink cheeks on pale white skin.
She colors her lips and paints on a smile
Slips on a dress that flows to the floor.

They call out her name,
Lost in a daze she walks out on stage,
Stands all alone.
And when they crowned me the prom queen
I was the ugliest girl I’d ever seen.

-Inside on the Other side

i dream of domestication
while being nailed to the picket fence of perfection.
six figures;
i hold his hand in my right.
my reflection in the mirror is split in two
because i threw stones and ruined your view.
in my left, her hand is warm,
and we're making less than the man twenty stories up.
i've been kicked to the bottom,
but she tastes so sweet.
you see, it's bitter;
i'm two halves
and they're begging me to be whole.
call it what you want, but i'll hold them both.