He’s my Collar

What is this secret persona that you sing about?  The garbage kitchen you squall in, old songs you regurgitate  for microphones and strangers, the name given to you and  the way you miss the inflection of my voice when I say it incorrectly, Not a single person knows you the way that I do,  and…

Mari

Mari does not know what a painting does but dissolves into your head until you are seeing you seeing you tongue palette knife, the lovers – & arms she orchestrated – & reversed, rather be red with rain – & thrown into boiling earth not condemning competency to earshot odd oblong geriatric artificial afro bike…

Some Loves

It is not for me to coddle what is left of this raging, wild hope some loves turn tricks – some loves swallow you like pills and nestle the flush in your cheeks like pillows – some loves disaster love, purposely – some loves pause with anxiety that leads to adultery and the return of…

Franišek Kupka

I cracked back my jaw to feign an old life and it sounded like you old man eucalyptus, myth – František Kupka in a fog somewhere between Venice Beach and Notting Hill just outside of Crazy Horse between dry pines and consequential fire, maybe the skeltons of rainier cherries have tracked you with temper and…

Five Thousand Cancers

Palm Springs, an envious devil scratching my skin with sand scum and cactus soap – still I love desert kin and a 97° shade of palm, the way two lovers sing broken off psalms with the crests of mouths reminiscent in palate of blackberry dessert in a grandmother’s kitchen How deep did you center yourself…

Adonis, The Identity 

Adonis, I call you – in every poem where you are mentioned without name. Adonis, the heartbreak. Adonis, the trapezoid. Adonis. Adonis. Full force. Sticky fingers, Adonis, judgmental jubilee emancipated by scientific opera. Adonis, the unknown. Adonis of the Vikings. Adonis, and starving, estranged, enabling entropy with phallic dust and influencing Enoch with singular gasps….

Amygdalai Lama

Time stood still somewhere inside of Sedona. Ripped up jeans and stale chicharrons plunging from your mouth as your voice box echoed ruins aside Chapel of the Holy Cross. You expected God to rip herself from the dirt and kick you in the shins, as all women – kissing you mouth to mouth so hard…

Tart Smack

I keep bubblegum wrappers with notations, your vice villanelle cherry pop and pancreas Polyjuice, an exchange of habits and horror story whores emasculated by the way you tiptoe around the side of a wet pool, avoiding splinters and slips of nipples with your bad knees    bad vibes    bad juju. I’m jealousy. Full-bodied jealousy. Full-bodied and…

F SHARP

A girl once said (about you) that “D***n will sing in a way that makes me feel like he has his hand in my chest cavity gently caressing my dying heart.” This was some time last week, and I remember stopping and rereading those two short lines over and over – considering stealing part of…

REPETITION

You are the epitome of “back on my bullshit” only falling into fads of the moment when you cross my mind, regurgitating bad habits with every phone call – I can’t even look at your picture without frustration of anticipation of what dumb shit I’ll do next when it comes to you               how dare you…