27 February 2010

it off

nicks in your hands pads
pick out the gravel bits

tethered to what i am tethered to,
or what you were about to say.

26 February 2010


i slur my words
because my lack of teeth
replaced with the things i now use as teeth
or when i was young & don't remember
the side of my head hit cement & damaged my ear drum.
the cartilage in my right ear is smashed to pieces.
the cartilage in my nose is similarly broken,
but for other reasons;
it might still affect the slur in my words
because i cannot breathe through my nose
very well.
several times in any given year,
i have to explain to people why i cannot eat apples,
unless i cut them up into slices
like this.

25 February 2010


the dark blotches of skin
just above your hips
where the hormones are working
to keep you in season,

small hairs that grow down the middle
of your chest, around your nipples,
& rabbit trail.

gone from where i saw you
or is where i saw you there.

staining things on my hands
now stain the pant legs of my pants.

shower when you might come by
i do not shower often.

the soft wet dirt you want
is under the hard dry earth.

you put this seed over here, over here
& cherries grow out of me.

21 February 2010

this is not a poem fyi

when i was in grade four--
my sister & i would get rides to school
from my sisters friends sister
who lived on our block,
though it wasn't a true block,
but they lived near by,
& i forget their names, i'm sure
my sister would remember. so
this girl, she was in high school
she would give us rides
in her maroon camaro
& every single morning from the time
she started the car
til the time she dropped us off
we would listen to what if god
was one of us, every single morning. & all
i remember is that car, that song, & the back of her head,
but for some reason, i loved her in some way.

16 February 2010

i had this dream that i loved you
in the dream,
but i couldn't say it
so i climbed the black walnut,
that grows in the backyard
of my dream,
to hunt song birds
with my bear hands,
leaping from the high branches
& falling,
because this is what i do.
almost break my knees,
but only break both of my ankles,
crawl for days to where you're at,

i lay on my side for hours,
the way my father would on the living-room floor
while he watched matlock or gunsmoke or
something more grey.
a vessel or maybe a nerve starts twitching
& it bothers me so my toes curl,
i tilt my head to the side where my leaned shoulder
then my belly sleeps out, a pulling ooze
that buries the differences that were there before
i got older &
he still stays the same.

15 February 2010


hear me, i'm
not here. following the line of flight
along the pacific coast of mexico.
so i am,
not too soon,
that you might take off for this other,
i will tell you to look for me there, i'm still.
haiku 19

separate the thicker parts from what i can
swallow with a spoon
held tight against the rim as the sour cream

11 February 2010

comfort food

when i was naked,
you smiled.

long as the platte river &
then some.

there are knees here,

swim for the sand bar,
taste of current.

scores of places hewn from maple nut
that i am surprised to see

this far inland
sturdy as a house.
your eyes

hangman's noose, you glance
lean across what i'm looking at,
touch the harbor around bat-wing,
think the words you wrote
with your feet in the sand, will
reach the sleeping gods you know.

10 February 2010


hard on the ears, she says
my voice
enters the room & ignores everyone,
a glass put here then
picked up,
feel the room move to this room,
keep the lips & tongue
so she feels it,
& knows where i put it.

09 February 2010

i was hoping i would write a poem tonight, but have nothing. there is absolutely nothing in me to give right now. i figured saying that might make it easier for me to go to sleep.
i was hoping i would write a poem tonight, but have nothing. there is absolutely nothing in me to give right now.
i was hoping i would write a poem tonight, but have nothing. there is absolutely nothing in me to give.

08 February 2010


thank your thighs, alright
so i say things like;
your hair isn't curly,
when you wear white socks &
black shoes i keep my thoughts
to myself, put one hand below
your rib cage & still kiss places
of you that look like boys.

06 February 2010


i break as the east wall
because i have to,
you see this.
the wet leak curves the wood,
so it seems to be a globe,
or some
world i spell with a slang.
& even though you devote
your entire life
to something,
it still leads you
over the edge
& into the next room.

we, linked at the pearls
desperate because we have to be.
you knowing
where you put the keys
when i don't know where the keys
cheating on her,
or i cheat on this one,
because things are easier
when we can both be half way.
the cost of this
drains you from the eyes
where sleep sits
& waits for tomorrow to take.

04 February 2010

we moved in

shotgun shells over there by the mound of dirt--
he plays in.
whether you're going here, or
here, or there, it's gravel road for miles. then more dirt.

when humid summer suffocates
drenching you in sweat
you can feel the acrid reek of the sheep farm
a country mile to the east,
as it seeps between the cracks of your leather

half indian boy in the corn field
stepping on fresh manure.
the walls you can hear through, feel
the expanding plain
stretch you from genoa to scottsbluff.

but the whip of wind against white washed walls
is nothing to trouble you
or the pioneer family that drags behind,
because this is a temporary stay,
all of it will pass. all of it.