Tuesday, September 2, 2014


And what did you hope to find when you thrust
your hand into the side of born-again Jesus? 
Would the kidneys be diamonds, now, large

and smooth as river stones, the sweetbreads
all gone to rubies, warm and red? You had it made,
right, the guy who held in his hand the amaranthine

entrails of our resurrected Lord? Who would believe
that even as your fingertips next felt the nail holes
in His hands, a megajoule jolt running through you

like lightning, part of you wanted to hold up
to the light the emerald of His spleen for one
quick appraisal of color, cut, and clarity?


So I’m walking to the doughnut shop
when this guy comes up to me. He has
those loose eyes, you know, like the bolts
and washers need to be snugged up?
and I can’t tell if he wants to stab me
or ask for a dollar or elucidate the dangers
of refined sugar. Before I can find out,
a car slows close to the sidewalk
and someone chucks a fully-loaded
fluorescent-blue Slurpee at me. It’s only
a glancing blow, enough to Pollock me
up pretty good, but that’s not the thing.
The thing is that while I am stunned
and trying to think of something to yell
about their mothers, you approach
in your lavender skirt and remove
your matching scarf, using it to dab
at my blue-daubed chest, all the while
saying how people are the worst, and then
walking me to Blintzes where you let me
buy you a chocolate Bavarian cream,
a dollop of which falls into cleavage
as delicate as puff pastry, meaning
all means of extraction must be explored.

Thursday, August 28, 2014

Like There's No Tomorrow

Burnt buckwheat. Stonecrop
crisped. Salsify opened wide
and offered up. Rose hips
bloom like finger pricks. One
chickadee calls from the willows,
and waits.  One flicker left atop
latticed fireweed gone white
as ash. A rumpled moose rounds
into form, browsing young birch,
grazing, razing green to the ground.