untitled

making it alone,
as in a living
a singular tree grows next to
then another

as far as allowed, up
does the heart stop
wincing
see faces in the knot-bark

find a way
to shimmy the trunk
notice through the leaves
out, out,
my fingers fatter than the branch

comfort food


when i was naked
you smiled

w/ hands
for claire

on the line to being cute
because my hand is careless in your hand

picking loose hairs off, picking
the pic-nic-king spot

on a roof,
ask if i have forgotten something

to fly
i think

the largest meth bust in american history

maybe steal some old beers from the garage
of your junior high school counselor
go hide somewhere

maybe throw a bowling ball out the window
of a moving car
watch it hit the curb and fly into the air

drink out by the river
burry your liquor in the sand bar
for another day,

maybe see the truck
that held the largest meth bust
in american history

more story. (EDITED)

tom had been staying at his parents house the past two weeks. it was the house he grew up in for the most part. the house was empty now except for the things left in the storage room upstairs that tom had converted into a guest room. there was an old bed in there, a bicycle, golf clubs, other things.
someone he knew once had called him the other day leaving a message that she was coming to see him. she flew in from kansas city after spending a few days with her parents. tom thought that was funny for some reason. even though she had let him know she was coming tom was still a little surprised she showed up at the door. it was tuesday.
when the doorbell rang, tom sat there not moving. he was in the living room sitting on a folding chair he had put there. there was charred wood in the fire place with ashes scattered on the floor nearby. it had been two weeks.
the doorbell rang again.
tom got up and brushed some crumbs off his pants. he didn't remember eating anything that day. walking to the door he could see her peeking through the small window. she saw him.
the smile was something he had always remembered. he wrote about it, though none of those poems were well received by his editor.
he opened the door, attempting to hide what it was he felt.
she was still smiling, her face and neck blush.
'hello thomas,' she said.
'hello,' he said.
he stepped to the side to let her in, but she approached him to give him a hug. she leaned up and kissed his beard.
'it's nice to see you' she said, quietly.
'it's nice to see you too.'
'really?' she looked at him.
he looked to her side and saw she was carrying a grocery bag.
'what do you got there?'
'supplies,' she smiled again.
'let's go up stairs,' he turned.
'should i take off my boots down here?'
he shook his head and started up the stairs.
'we'll need glasses and ice,' she said.
'i have those up here,' he was halfway up the stairs now.
she didn't know what to say. she couldn't tell what he was thinking, or how he was feeling. she wanted to say something.
he didn't know why she was here, but he was glad in some way.
she came up to him, standing in the hallway waiting for her.
'what are you doing?'
'in here,' he opened a door that was painted over to blend with the wall. it opened to the storage room with the guest bed. he took the bag of supplies from her and started placing them on a card table he found the other day; two oranges; bitters; a bottle of simple syrup; a bottle of makers.
'old fashioned's,' he said.
'still drink them?'
'not since i last saw you' he started mixing a drink.
she didn't know what to say. he wasn’t looking at her.
he pulled out an ice tray from a mini fridge under the table.
'nice dorm room you have,' she said, looking around at all the collected junk, old things.
'yeah,' he poured one cup into the other to mix it. he looked around at the room but didn’t say anything else.
'the weather's really nice here,' she was looking at him again.
'is it?'
'it was dreadful in kansas city. it rained the first three days. stayed cooped up in the house with my parents. it was nice at first, but then i just couldn't wait to go. i couldn't wait to see you," she looked to him for recognition.
'well i'm glad you made it safe,' he handed her a drink. he smiled the way it doesn't look like he was smiling, his lips straightened out.
'me too,' she took the glass from him and took a sip.
'strong,' she made a face that wrinkled the bridge of her nose.
'you still drink it that way?' he was mixing his drink with his finger.
'not since i last saw you.'
he smiled.

the smile was something he had always remembered. he had written about it, though none of those poems were well received by his editor.

working on a story pt. 1

tom had been staying at his parents house the past two weeks. it was the house he grew up in for the most part. the house was empty now except for the things left in the storage room upstairs that tom had converted into a guest room. there was an old bed in there, a bicycle, golf clubs, other things. someone he knew once had called him the other day leaving a message that she was coming to see him.
she flew in from kansas city after spending a few days with her parents. tom thought that was funny for some reason. even though she had let him know she was coming tom was still a little surprised she showed up at the door. it was tuesday.
when the doorbell rang, tom sat there not moving. he was in the livingroom sitting on a folding chair he had put there. there was charred wood in the fire place with ashes scattered on the floor nearby. it had been two weeks.
the doorbell rang again.
tom got up and brushed some crumbs off his pants. he didn't remember eating anything that day. walking to the door he could see her peeking through the small window. she saw him.

nest

wild horses draw the head off
you, razor legs show me
the skin of your bite bones
or where the fir trees grow
down to the night-time water body
so i can be a romantic man
talk generic about the places of you
your body
the off-path covered wagon
dirt boat
my beard dangling w/ twigs
& prairie flower
arranged to remind you

krzyzewski

under the plain swell
can you feel all the earthquakes

the man i know from falls city
saves you sometimes
or so he says

then the rumbling, loud like a boat
but the forest over here
sang it out,
when the garlic mustard killed your garden

with the path cleared of poisonous spiders
the indian graveyard seems safe

but you realize there isn't an end to this
the father still has to have it's kids
& the spiders still come back next summer.

interview

don't work hard enough
move to a new 'world'
excuse
bet on the underdog
& complain when the upperdog
wins
can i get a job w/ gold teeth or
if i wear a t-shirt
w/ all the presidents who had beards
on the front
so what if i hide my face from you
level 2 proficient w/ microsoft office
yes,
will you hold it againt me:
violations after violations
dig out all the bones
& make yourself a bone yard
how many you's does it take to--
stop me if you heard this one before
high school football coach as reference
though i do not know his current phone number
how do you
sleep at night
in your bed made of shatter proof sheets.

canoe #2

bending my near broken buffalo collar
bone down the winding
niobrara
she lays lady finger
between each western rib.
my skin ripples
in pond
telling me which water snake will bite
my face sweet & lonesome
beneath an other-
worldly sun tanning my hide
naked in a boat

pioneers

counting bruises
oh, are we
apples
sail upon trampled fields
of water wheat
you grow gold w/ your soiled hands
she
drinks & i
drink
redberry wine cold behind trails
of bison bur & indian grass
smelling in barberry or
may-apple maybe we
wait
for it to get dark for
our skin to hide

spicer
that marvelous finger
he gave it
after being asked to take back
comments made on ted williams' contribution
to the bosox
i was there he said
i was there when he gave it
but it wasn't worth
a goddamn thing
if you want to win the pennant
and my poetry
does

midwest-voodoo-physics
never ending
sky
not so much the bison
both can be killed to borderline extinction
i
drive faster the further rows grow
between potter/dix
in back country pan-handles where
rain is only a whitewashed
wall never seeming
to fill up dry bed
who can sleep

there is no wind break
& the howling is
mistaken for hungry coyotes
nipping at your feet all
because there are no more
bison to kill

poem
1.

do
i go at it all wrong; on

deck
for the swinging game

more clobber
out of my bones arm--

cast
the throwing of small

boulders or
am i
poet

2.

poet
am i

falling to pieces in my
pieces falling

zone. so girl
turns to stone

inside of my baby
my baby groans

can i
find a small boy named i
& home

light & shadows

a partially blind man
ran into me
on my smoke break at work
carrying a camcorder
he said:
i am taking a video of the city
for friends & family to see
in my left eye
i can see light & shadows
that's how i do it

iowa
for heaven

stretch across a belly flat
or
could i say it in a much more boring way
drive slow
so you do not miss
the largest truck stop in the world
with enough parking space
for the entire state
to park
their semis

heaven
for iowa

a small box the size of iowa
but lets not mix the twain
w/ baseball

there is no gay marriage in heaven
because
there is no heaven
it is called iowa

just blocks
for jon

& so the morning remarks
hello

do i still smoke cigarettes
am i still me, snake

sunshine on the plains is forever

said cedar was a good smellin' wood
the best
other asks
what are those

i do not like detroit
for playoffs

so i cried after
reggie millers last game

does anyone really
laugh like that cackle you got
&
do you know how good
john starks
actually was

file the parts you know
about kidhood
@ madison square garden
or any place you saw on a television set

do we know that these are people
that i am writing a poem
about real people

sand.gravel.limestone

II.

i am jealous of the desert
w/ small you

see
there are no stars
over chicago

take places apart
to make
small distances you can hide behind
a cactus
leaves

no matter how much the temperature changes
at night

when bats fly over a desert
to kiss nectar
& move on

to another desert.

sand.gravel.limestone
IV.

crumble the mountain

is it easier to hear dynamite

does the bridge swing

can i ask small favors

put each arm around my

detachable neck

i feel

a shiver through

sand.gravel.limestone
III.

measure the unreal
by those who are not real
emptying eye parts or
i can
pretend not to feel
galaxies forming in the pit of my pitness
& other dark floating
where you can't see
me
does that make sense
see,
there is this machine
there are always these machines
that can carry
voice
or the physical parts
together in my
thought

sand.gravel.limestone

I.

a part of me is not appart of me
voice to lung or wrong tube
a singer & dance

queen annes lace or
do you know all the wild flowers in iowa
the way i know all
the wild flowers in iowa after i see them.

my cell phone does not work well
in the centers of cities
in the centers of cities
you can buy cell phones for cheap

somehow i walked back into
wicker park w/o you

& texted: everything you say to me
makes me smiley.

hello mountain

to trace you
warmer part of the chest skin
feels
my remembering where i brush
my beard
the slopes of your profile
our identical hands

sweater poem

i bought this sweater
because i
fell in love with you
it cost me 70$
& does not even keep me warm
unless i wear it
in the summer.

kansas city poem
for claire

you light up the plains you
scan the great plains--

saw good ol' boy become
& then the kissing word

moves to the softer animals from sea
priced by the moist

you can gum these soft sea monsters
for dollars & the cost or

i could save
all my money
from the open furnace

untitled
for title

in silence the silence finds
it's noise
or my voice is made by teeth
& the flesh i bite
calling the sound gnashing &
raspberry spit/split
the lickity of traveling so far
when my throat can vibrate
i say "simple"
in that way
how i feel
how the crater in my torso
actually feels
vibrating into message of--
that i can't translate
in any real word
so i pretend your ears, painfully
soft
grating into the build of my skeleton
yes
the whole thing
can hear

poem
for face

dont know her or knew her for
just half a day
the way the unknown curls around
a straight part of head hair
then the bending
where you did not know could bend
say money does this
or the kissing words that hold
around the nothing known
until you realize what it is
keeping you up late at night
trying to bring her closer
w/ words only
feel her face form in language
say this is chin
& put your thumb over it
to see again.

part of a poem

see the language of you, danc--
ing word or
fuzzy mumble i
can hear the approach
under arch
born the mississippi quarter
my kansas side of kansas city
moves

poem

the words are hard
sometimes.

nothing is
coming to mind.

i would like to write a poem
today, or

tomorrow,
even yesterday would have been nice

but
i
suuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck.

a famous statue

hide the light from your
light eyes

shade sun on a guest bed i
remove your legs to walk w/

or run along your handsome prancers.
forget direction

on your no-moss thigh,
mars sleeps on us at the same

time the gaps of when i
think your face & still--
you are.

tonights the night
for z.s.

look at us fuddy duddies
talkin bout some love stuff

grow a beard why dont ya
just run off

into the desert-- she say
that furs for hangin on

weaving our faces into
a woman or

parking your car on my lawn
in the morning
we are.

you &
for guest room

telling me don't be so silly
w/ my boy hands. hold--

maybe more of a man w/ man hands
than i want to be

be yours in an instant measured
by the silent minutes

between when the airconditioning unit
clicks on

carry over water
for you

or do i know what i'm doing, with it
said

i know why fog is here.
you're

softest when the rain hasn't stopped
& a small line

can be curved into something
easily held

so my mouth runs over your
collar bone
still.

carry over water
for the other side

but you don't look where you're going
& pass

greener is only temporary, as green can be
for the garden or

just a damn lucky--
going to just turn around

& walk back towards the greenless
things

that we can talk about
when we talk
about

carry over water
for water

& then there is a reality
filled w/ real things

people eat, or
can i see pictures of you

before they changed it.
walking on

hand pads for the feet to rest,
i could walk like this for days

next
to
you.

stand-by
for claire

a whim & the fog
rolls, i can say what the fog is. where

smart cats keep breeding
w/o consequence, then love--

knew the sun
would return even when there is no sun

or if it took months becoming more months
so on &

a great distance
that i can push back
behind your ear.

for eyes

dare the rain to
to touch us

with house taps--
scare the dog.

a letter
written with small bumps only

you will read to me words like
hung, & hair lip, push me

back against the wall & i
watch your mouth
move

twenty six
for twenty eight

reached some peak
or at least

thought i touched it.
know my hand is now

your hand,
lost in the land of your

hand parts. connect
to other places

hidden by my limited vision--
& there
people are

west
for west

tell me again--
you are the reason i

move-- freaky fast
when it can be to easy to stay here:

comfort.
gotta get outta this

zone, feel the goddamn dry heat
flush against skin

stretched over the bones
of what lived
here.

for keeps

muddy river, here's that sad face you got.
long baby, reach in to your mouth

with a full arm of sweet things--
im sorry you.

a kiss is. pull away from your wings for
just a fly

know the seasons come when you won't
want this much

when a time like this walks in
to your life
& takes you home.

2010

space you can fill up
with your

lovely noise,
we can lap the humidity

here in nebraska, a gift,
the whole state

from each growth of feed
meant to keep

the fat cows here,
so everyone can eat them,
even other fat cows.

thousands of years

a good look stung
what ever me could be found

pick up the pitter--
or one thing a world has,

patience.
her horns of joshua

enter my jericho-bones,
say

harlot boy
come down to the creek
& see.

no title
for greg

the cancer i write
grows up like a poem

alive it seems, or
everything has happened

he screams at the frozen
pond, head crossed

by several other pond people
who ballance

their child feet
on
water.

for walker

we walk down the street
to become better goers,

im sure you know.
a tuft of fur

glows over
where i want your back--

my hands wrapped;
position

the soft parts where
my teeth
will taste.

on the way

still there's the wander--
stretch your neck

to neck
where she stretches to find

some understandable trait
of connect--

friction in move;
a great distance by any means.

find the spot
where
she knows what you are saying.

for creator

put together new animals
from scratch/no scratchy

is the beard too much
for nature, i mother i

guess i'd better
surprise you w/ bright colored furs

on all the animals i make;
they will be

tiny as this poem
w/ strange smiles all over
their bodies.

be like, etc.

want the ghost of it, is muffle
speak through me spectre

gone from the sh-shaking
my hand did not, seem

touch the face of her, face her
from all angles

passing through
is quick & painless

except for the young ones
who still
live here.

nude poem

that is when you lie
to yourself

about what you forgot to do
before all these people you know

were naked
even in the absence of liquor

even in the absence of god
as if it ever were

that easy to be naked
in front of anyone
when you really loved them.

for friends

& the whisky is there
for your friends

because your friends are there
to kiss you

when the ones who ought, are not.
when the raspberry burn

on your face
feels like a fight you don't remember

but you remember everything
about the kiss
or the one you ought.

saint

boy i, a
catch

me before i, too-
where the eyebrow might not, or

you touch it
when nobody is looking

which is a task
but then

i lean in & don't kiss you
which is
a much harder task.

waiting for mcdonalds to open.


lonely is a loud
way

but the curious is just opening



got the word down somewhere or
got it

rather not know
say no it's not known

invent the rumble bars on the interstate shoulder
on your shoulder it seems



different
.

searching homes for the right
home

meant to go by highway
when the winter sneaks around wisconsin

scared to find the neighbors--
greener on the roof

poem
for paul

do
i go at it all wrong; on

deck
for the swinging game

more clobber
out of my bones arm--

cast
the throwing of small

boulders or
am i
poet

poem
for kyle

poet
am i

falling to pieces in my
pieces falling

zone. so girl
turns to stone

inside of my baby
my baby groans

can i
find a small boy named i
& home

trip, a

& you can sound with your mouth
sounds, i

can't take my--
his eyes fit strange in their eye holes

wish i had seen
or wish i had

wrists for you
to cover with long sleeves

or laugh
about how i can see you
sooner

home

on deck
for the swinging game

clay bits break down
into smaller clay bits

ground grates by the cleats
bone wrap tar babe

gonna find me that sweet spot
dosing on the cube

but these diamonds
are gravy
for the tree i carry.

mud

forget about the another--
other, touch where the callous hide

her elbows
ice ball, no not a snow ball

like clay, for making
the best of/of a situation

say this, yell yell mad
ha, no

do-
n't be
ridiculous

i got myself a job-job, dear
getting into your swimming pools

bake your skin hot springs
to be your friend's brown--

don't mention it.
your dirt field is all over

the mountain babies
say now

you are a mountain baby
just like
her baby was.

an enormous closet

there's enough space, moons etc.
you landing on me

no i said,
are you landing on me

when the truth of something is
an untruth

how do you?
believe in the endless void,

&
that i can make it
there.

a lakes

my jean shorts cut for summer
& poetry for weapons, ha

you distance are a beauti--
ful bitch of a son,

god, i would like that.
more of a motion--

back stroke or just float there
all damn pretty

the water i mean,
you know, when it
ripples

softer

maybe grass isn't a garden here,
greener in the roll-around

but my isn'ts just go sometimes
at the walking you walk, or

grass seems greener on my pant's knees--
sleep/wake, cold rooftop gardens.

away from the mouth you command
the night to carve a poem into us:

the stars you said
would be there
& my hands--

wind wind & wind
for the late greg kuzma

& the grass growing, smells like grass
or you watch it

take individual pieces from the dead
buried

watch the dead lift themselves up
floating to the top of the

world.
they are babies.

we will keep them in zoos
& no-one
will save them.

hey girl

you are the baby in the barn
your fingers nubbed

from feeding too much sugar
to those damn horses

nay! are my arms not long enough
to love; you

cave in my face
the hoof with metal lips

dripping milk down your throat
with the tip
of my nipple is wine.

my africa

the birth was a miracle,
the baby was a

miracle baby--
tall as a man straight out;

my baby has flag poles for legs, mom says,
waving its bright teeth

at the planets you think are stars--
a jealous heaven.

his arms, are beautiful trees throwing
figs at gibbons
who can no longer climb his white body.

on a bus

the quickness is not what scares me it's
i am your moon landing--

trapped next to rotation,
we stop &

wait, & wait some more
wondering where the polish tourists

ran off to.
or how someone would suddenly decide

hey,
lets go to
utah.

mississippi

poke your beard into
the rivers breast

a thin baby splips
out of here, all pig

no grease, just mud
for miles, is all you see

walking on a thick current
feeling the drown come

where the catfish
are
waiting.

an enormous closet

i don't care if you ever see
my naked body

w/ the tip of your tongue,
smell the dirt & dead skin in my finger nails

when i forget to take
good care

make the most of the empty sound
that sits between what i assume is you

& then there is me
sitting in a room
no bigger than your stomach.

tree poem

DO KIDS WHO LIVE IN NEIGHBOR HOODS
WITH OLD TREES

DRIVE THEIR MUSTANGS
AROUND NEWER NEIGHBORHOODS

THAT HAVE YOUNG TREES &
THROW INSULTS AT THE KIDS IN THESE NEIGHBORHOODS

LIKE HEY!
NICE BABY TREES!

EVEN IF THE OTHER KIDS ARE DRIVING
MUCH NICER CARS
LIKE A GOLD ROLLS ROYCE

trees

WHEN A TREE SINGS THE NATIONAL ANTHEM
OF TREES

IN A FOREST OF TREES
DO

THE OTHER TREES HEAR HIM/HER
W/ THEIR TREE EARS

& WOULD
THEY ALL LOAD LEAF BULLETS INTO THEIR TREE RIFLES

TO FIGHT ME
WHEN I SWING MY MAN AXE
AT THEIR ELDERLY.

the week before i saw the last airbender 3D IMAX


the important part is what i say
when i don't even know

they call that faith
in the south

which they call the bible belt
which holds

up florida
which kind of looks like a flaccid penis

if you think that way or if
you haven't seen the last airbender
3D IMAX yet.

an enormous closet



look at the extremes, say:
i am an extremely normal person

or say an exit sentence like
don't go.

think of the power you might have
when you make requests

as if you can sprout plants
out of

the rib of my brother
by saying two words when
you mean to say three

an enormous closet

name a river after yourself because you
found it

& this tree next to another tree
starts to close in until you axe them

put a coin in your pocket w. several other
coins to let

bums hear you jingle
while you lie to them about what you have

when the truth is
there's so much
you won't give.

an enormous closet

be a real sneaky--
sneak the new jc penney catalog

into your room.
at this point in your life

you have never had
your own bed, but

this is your room, & it has
a room inside of it

where you can look at women
in their matching underwear
with a flashlight.

the bed i have fits
& i thought it wouldn't

nothing else can

an enormous closet

well i echo but won't write that--
that david bowie

t-shirt might fit
if i was actually you

if i was actually you
in the dark

where i might be afraid.
i might be afraid

of the dark
where nothing will find you,
where nothing will find.

an enormous closet

saw what you thought was me
portioning out the arm i use less

but the shadows are tricky even
in tight spaces, maybe

that's your arm
you see

& then a her-arm you thought
wasn't either of ours, much

less to do w/ why i make
believe
there is time to blink to.

karate
for mikey

why don't you just wear a hat
that matches your other hats you have

carve a wooden
figurine

out of spruce or something
more spruced

ask me again why i dont just
chop down

all of these
legs w/ my
karate.

poem

sticking is what i'm not good at
remember

me as a line
goes on much longer than i'd like

to see
words that draw out the

taste of
what you do taste like

oh yeah
this is why
i wanted to say:

punches

crazy where you put yourself, question
the dots you find

around your perfect skin
sitting

or does it stand where the young boys see
more to learn

than the books we can give them
packing up our saids and does

for the older boys
who know where to
look

bomb it

cumbersome face, rough you
up

scratch my scalp like a dog
until my ears

want to hug each other
always naked

touch me nude, a fat baby
my eyes stay blue--

up, where your hands hold
excited
to wrap around my it.

sp ce
for kyle

your skin grows back,
but those curls you got to stick with

cut your arm real bad or
be safe on your fence sits

peaceful is the car-ride
talk speak to the wind-boys--

your arm is my arm,
long & grabbing for my arms

you don't surf
to get away from
surfing.

slip, slip,

maybe i am a piece of your face
when you remember me; a small boy under

these skins & beard, a devil hugging every inch;
feeling much like water

cooling whatever loneliness i can find.
i'm smiling sometimes

is what you don't see. helpless
to what you miss about

when i told you how i feel
or the other times
that i said anything.

vandal

can hear bugs drop from the window
thudding against the floor in the dark

my blood under naked leg seems delicious but
they don't want that--

left teeth marks on my neck i made up
where the sex really is

exciting like my hands can be
wandering through your rows

breaking off milkweed plants
along the canal
until we get to the iron bridge.

deer

the apples in my palms don't float, or
i'm just a bad swimmer kid.

dark colors make you a shiny bit,
spider arms lay down a long stick

dangle over me with my mouth; open
dream you'd just let me go

stand on the other side of the river
without any clothes on; sailing.

maybe keep my pants up
because knees look funny
when they buck.

did you hear what im saying
im never leaving space
i said im never leaving space
do you want my car
you can have my car
i have no need for a car because
i am never leaving space

-paul

a poem for paul

put a clean shirt on
make plans to give a damn

does it sound funny when i say
fuck-machine,

or when the window is wide open
a crater, or a whistle gap that you

whistle through,
about the leg pumping you can do

with all of these
fuck-machines
that i told you about.

the replacement for your top beams make
a good support,

the old top beams can be reused

panhandle

smell nebraska under my shirt
where your hands reach, am i

a field is a place to work
you can make things live w/

those hands.
step off into a darker part of the state

that doesn't keep track
of how many people it takes to live here

keep moving in that direction
towards something, maybe
a mountain.

long branch

but i didn't watch the tornado break,
or the van with all those antenna on it--

you said i could last,
but different points on my skin are starting to

rub off.
friends from high school come by to remember me,

& that's nice too.
but the shaking of where the joints

take up &
are thrown into the next county
makes me realize what comes next.

dance

taste the coin in the vein, someone
said you could change out the useless

parts for parts you can see from down the block,
the inward curve

of your rib & hip
where my head fits perfectly into

& can smell where you might have been
the past few days

wandering
around in the wooded areas or
where ever you go with your light steps.

invention

edge of the chair cuts off circulation in your legs
these are my legs that get puffy with blood in them

when you walk it feels funny, numb parts hurt
& that doesn't make any sense

needles dig past your teeth into those
pink gums

you can smile now
the easy part has already been done

& you know
when they touch your face to make freckles
i get weak.

soft parts

write down oh my gods in a sequence
like, oh my god more than one god

you used to call, or what name you
used to say was me, say me again

i forgot that i love you is all, is in it--
invite me down to your apartment for

a kiss; what we want is awful
or what we want is all for the friendship,

so i kiss you
& write words on your hip
about why i remember things.

oregon

so the trees aren't enough to soothe
your forgetfulness of my color-

fullness. a rain grab bag of sorts
outs my joking demeanor

or how i wryly draw a pretty face
like yours out of my arm

gray is what you called it,
but i'm telling you

there were
bright yellows
wrapped around me.

lumber

press the bark against words still
in your neck; rough the feathers or

sweat smear on roughneck leathers
to find a softer word for bark

& listen to the wrong tree make
sounds of barking up it. then

soft birds fall onto a bed of feathers
when your speaking became an axe

with out asking if it was the wrong tree
or thinking to check
for birds in it.

gambling with effort

a apple chin, an apple us mash
the ferment sister pair, or does it slice the seed

you chew them easily as if your molars
dig,

beneath the tree that lays, i sleep about your name--
walk down the row when sun rain comes

for the friends you thought you hid, your naked parts;
maybe clay is a shapeless; mole it--

or the fatty part of your upper leg
that leaves the imprint,
& my jeans.

out of--

& i spelled that wrong
& i can call you any time in the a.m.

even if it mutes dawn, or an age & i
crave the warm rain & i

know the neck of you & i
map out each one & i fret the rock formations

& i smell the gaps of us
& i put my cheek next to the silhouette on the wall

or i--
make up words about you,
& i say:

glow

witness incision for the turn, or
were those your lips i sought,

listen to the cattle mew
for any electric fence, spiral necking

to see you
pour other drinks in the pink lemon--

read novels about evolving mothmen
& hear the dust land on

your bare feet
that shine in the sun-light
of my beard.

off shore; oh

followed the filling out of your
parts, notice the depth around grin craters

convex to the hollow hands, where round things
roll off when the window is open,

because the mold is growing black
& needs to be dried out, so it rains--

take you behind the backyard tree
to say:

i will pick up the dust of your bones
with my finger
tips.

hairy ass

the speed of my ambulance to your
ambulance takes time,

but i wasn't even alive for a long time
before i became, say ambulance.

hey, where did your teeth go,
don't worry, these things grow back; happen.

or locked in that cabin, maybe what it was,
thinking about the height of us,

strapped down to the bed covered in sweat,
while those tan people
laughed at things.

turn

polished broad, rub the soft parts of my feet
along your neck, hey grape ape,

maybe your apple will be; say we try this
again; maybe your apple will be apples.

know that when i might have kissed you,
small hairs on your wrist

the color of dust
stand up, dancing in the dark corner

of whatever room
we might have been in for
whatever reason.

arizona

brace yourself from the teeth; smiling
when the magic actually works, on us

forget to blink or eat the wind, bye bye
pass us through each pore, out one

body made of fleshy greens & in
the other,

carve the butter from fat baby arms,
fat lady arms break off in water,

but when all these movements
move
you,

i want to write another poem,
but i have to go to sleep.

know it

maybe drink more water than empty belly,
let you touch my thighs like he does,

carve the history of a wild tree,
lady i could name all of these forests

with my sharper teeth, choice for the sex
or i didn't know what kind of boy i would be

before my girl hands said, ya know
maybe we could be manly man hands

& i took a hammer
to mend
them.