to grieve

the other paradox is
i want too much

and
not enough

this is why i’ve
seen the sunset
49
times in the past
two days

as the glimmering
transcendence
marches transient
on my eye lids

it comes all
in shivers in

bone hands
crippled onto
sheets

//

why is it my
eyes are
glass universes
tucked deep
these days

lit from inside
if only
a flicker

dark blue
the color of
grieving
not allowed

here

we stop our
eyes with
salt prayers
cast

heavenward in
soft
silken questions

beaded rosary
dripping simple
sweet

onto naked
wet
chest 

send me their record

i have been thinking
a lot

about what it means
to be

human
these days

to be
a soft thing

scratched on
vinyl soul

skipping
over tracks

stuck in our
grooves

itching to
move

the needle edged
too deep

unable to
eradicate completely

ourselves from
being played

begging them 
listen

knowing they
already have

found everything
they were promised

and we
are not

it

sanctuary

i am not ok maybe
that is the first

step towards

being

ok but it sure

doesn’t make
the whole filled

let me go 

far 

into the woods

where shadows 

eat the hearts 

of those like us

because

maybe 

when roots tangle out of

my mouth 

spill into

the naked air 

ground me

still

maybe then

my eyes will

come to

rest

upon the

birds above flying

small 

crashing high

into

clouds 

reckless abandon

oh what sanctuary

there will be

in jerusalem 

this year

i hate that i think about you

i woke up last night tangled

in thoughts of you

splayed out sick my body

hated 

craved 

begged 

for you

i think about that 

dark drive home

music hitting horizon hitting

your cheeks me thinking

well damn and

you smiling

did i know then

or was it when you were

asleep head on my arm

questions sitting pretty

all crooked

in your brow line

was that when or

ever

i knew

and just hypothetically weren’t we

going to be together 

forever (just

hypothetically)

why

is it so easy to leave behind

your shadow

it’s also like this:

it’s like i plugged in 

too deep 

i always do

but roots grown thick come

out quick when

you yank them 

too hard

i hate that i think about you 

but i can’t hate you

yet

god bless

taking the bus ‘cross the midwest

'cause hell, we’re just that american 

that long bus— ya know the one where 

poor people worry over crosswords and bills 

while windows

streaked with bug splatters

look out on white-washed barns,

flat amber waves

so damn american 

makes you wanna cry

look how tall that corn grow

ready to be smashed into syrup

added to soda drinks

adding to childhood obesity

but look how it grow

so straight and proud

bet it’s voting for mr. trump

can’t be anything but american

looking as good as that

spacious skies abound

just like that promised american dream

reaching unlimited from sea to

shining sea— but please before

pursuit of said dream

match skin and sex to our

blessed forefathers

our forever saints 

washed in lady liberty’s virginal blood  

saw a homeless with a cardboard sign,

don’t he know it ain’t all hopeless?

there’s purple mountains majesty

just on the other side he only 

got to get up and look for them—

but still, god bless 

this really gets me going, ya know?

riding those american roads paved 

with tax dollars—

roads so strong and black

the line cutting thin ‘cross america’s beautiful

back, showing it who’s boss

because we owe it everything

and it owes us even more.

dust

dust eats my tongue

there go my lungs too

swallowed right up whole

eyes clogged blind

filmy earth cataracts 

like i’m in a snow globe but

no snow here just

shake hard down it falls

solid rough 

dissipating dust

legs slogged heavy

nowhere to go but down

unwillingly accompanying

dust drowned hopes

falling head over heels

into the sewer together

lying twisted lying starved

gasping prayers that

take us nowhere— hot air

balloon deliverance to

heaven ended in the 90’s 

the desert was not meant for 

dreamers

no. but for those

who lie sleepy content

watching everything 

they thought they knew

fall sickly sickly

dust-covered and

wheezing sticky red

cough-syrup

and the lord in the desert

heard their prayer

tall

he’s too tall sometimes

six six

"head in the clouds"

she begs him

come down 'cuz

when she looks up

"space cadet"

she don’t 

know what’s there

sometimes all she 

see is shoulders

i mean maybe

 it feel nice

clutching the torso 

holding the hand

but damn it’s just a body

where’d the head go

rocketed all the way

into the clouds

"what's the weather like up there?"

he’ll be happier

just you see

because there

he don’t have to

say nothing or be

anything 

he ain’t.

she wants to shoot 

firecrackers up see

if we can get his

attention i tell her

not great not great

what if he catches 

fire what then

his whole head might

implode given

his ponderous deep

oil wells of

thought all bubbling

up inside. 

she tell me she not

sure she can keep

up, so i say drill

a hole in

real deep where

the flesh weak

you know like

behind the knee cap

drain it like sapping a 

syrup tree in Canada

except we not in 

Canada. we in 

Arizona and 

he still way up

in the clouds.

the bee keeper

i tilt my beer back thirsty thoughts

flowing out of me sloshing

the liquid down my throat gurgles

quiet with impatience the cat

sleeps in the corner with 

as much dignity as leaning against 

a scratching posts slumbering grants

one

i wish i wish to be content as

her to not be filled with plaguing doubts

that rush with constant rattling throughout my

blood knock around my 

head i wish i wish

but ah to be a wisher is to have

the dreams that shove me over

break me into tiny pieces

or fly me whole as a kite

away into the dusty heavens

i do not know which until it comes 

let me wish for now --

un-garbled words

cheese melted in the middle of our sandwich

long desert nights that don’t dry my

insides clear into my marrow

tail tucked soft under, cat waits 

i know not for what but

i’m starting to think that you 

had the right idea, you know,

when you said you were going to be a bee

keeper and i laughed at you? i’m sorry

i laughed because i wish i could

be something that simple

but the ideas buzzing vicious around

my head would

cloud me dead and not so you

so please please for the sake of

the innocence still left—

be the best bee keeper you can be. 

charades

that night alcohol smoothed

metaphysical questions away like

running my arm over a wrinkled sheet

bar lights beat us to the end of the universe

flashing heady truths

masquerading as stars intent on keeping us

sedated, pushing & pulling our way through
non-ironically

wanting everything we could have.

the word I drew on your lips

was my only fear, when

I kissed you it oozed down my chest

heavy with the weight of sainthood not

that I want a personalized halo but

promises go down easier than curses these days--

the cure feels grittier than sipping gin

& tonic, pebbles stick soft into flesh

as I skin my elbow bloody on the hardness

of being 22 and young and thirsty

to see real stars for once

not over-painted charades.

permanent

the roots are showing through

where I dyed my hair

impulse dye

straight out of the bottle

permanent

soft pillow

pink except it

didn’t take, my hair

just turned a different

color blonde, brassy but

still roots show like

shameful acknowledgement

of that afternoon I was

so tired of being me,

roots show like tracks in

the snow, pull me back

into my head where

I find myself

before I dye.

wrestling

the words aren’t coming

which is odd because

words always come for me,

I pull them slick from my tongue

or squeeze them out of my blood like

juicing a tangerine, pulp catching

sticky in-between my fingers glinting like

semiprecious citrus jewels.

but tonight no words come.

the fear makes them crawl back cold into

my molars, huddled fetal position shaking.

I tell them there is no need to worry--

they don’t believe me they are scared

of something but they don’t

know what and that is more terrifying

than actually having something to be

afraid of.

my poetry sucks without you

I say. they giggle and laugh before

growing solemn and grim pointing

out across the night sky like

look look don’t you see the

stars have been sucked into the

blackness and the cold Chicago smog,

soon everything will be

drunken up and in by the greedy night

sky and we will go swirling into

this black hole of oblivion crystalized

like star gods but not ourselves.

I tell them not to be silly this is all nonsense

but they stuff their ears with cotton

to my siren call of normality

clean each other’s tears off

tell me it’s coming—can’t I

smell the burnt rosemary

swirling change that drifts thick as

church incense past my

forehead worry lines.

stretching stiff fears into 90 degree angles on the ever-eternal cosmos

I force my breath to behave,

slow-easing tension into downward 

dog as upside down blood 

rushes to my head like fears

 

I forgot pinched cold my skin at night--

yoga makes me realize where I’m not opening up--

I topple onto the mat because my

left leg gave out but so did my

memories. cloudy light cuts

dust into a million small things

and cuts into me like who are 

you, precious worrier

nostrils flared with exertion, stretching 

arched foot to ceiling, pressing palms so heavy

into ground, one would think you’re

holding back water from flooding

a dam (maybe I am), stomach

tightening with weak inability--

what have you to be worried of

you flesh and bone, 

you synapses and fleeting sadness?

the tension hinged in my elbows catches

me soft as I remember how

vastness swallows us all.

printed on my skin: the map 

of the cosmos that trails

heavy onward, spirals into my

hip-bones, does not let me

follow as it takes each soul

heavenward and perhaps

(who are we to say)

beyond.

51

splattered heady red on

concrete straight up

those secret shadows who

lurked silent

in the catacombs of my soul,

my downy paper towl doing no damage

as the stains eat

my fingers blushing sin.

such standard of righteousness

scrawled with magic marker

on Sunday school wall:

behold you desire truth

I am not sure I can provide--

behold you desire wisdom

I am not sure I hold.

stop. you want of me

what I cannot give—

see, it’s already poured onto the

desert sand, drying putrid

in the heat; my bones

are too whole I love

these hidden parts too much--

oh god.

at least hide your face as

you touch the purple hyssop branch

to my quivering lips

--purify, wash

my chest cavity,

aching anxious dark

the hole still gaping

sin poured out.

oh god!

deliver me of my blood guilt--

let my naked tongue

sing, my cracked lips

praise, the bones you

broke rejoice. 

I will sacrifice not ram

nor ox

but this spirit

split in two like a cracked

open mango, fragrant.

do not despise it,

but deliver us from

evil for thine is the kingdom

or at least this

I pray.

in those days

too often a lowing ox

grunting hooves stubborn

into thick dark mud, I fight for

ground against guiding hands,

full-body quivers shaking

dank ox-flesh when the sky

darkens, when valleys

crumble in, when

vultures scrape bones sleek 

with smooth cruel beaks. 

carry me home, good father,

my legs have been broken

in shame.

why didn’t you make me a sheep.

dumb submissive beasts

falling over themselves but

not too stubborn, not

born on the backs of

solid will.

the prophets say

“return to your god,”

they say 

“pay with the vows of your lips.”

but we are thick lipped people,

slurring as we cross ourselves, 

dipping holy water onto chapped lips,

fingers charred by Marlboro cigarettes.

fingertip filtering

when your head is on my lap,

i swear

there are a million little words that come

flooding into my fingertips.

i want to brush them onto you,

glaze your hair back sweet & sincere--

but they stick hard. buzz in my bones,

catch in my knuckles,

swirl deftly around my fingerprints so

like water boiling i feel their

fervor, percolating steady 

in delicate echoes

through this earnest quiet blood, 

unable to reach you

because words are not warm

enough to explain this hushed

heat between us, still & simmering & soft.

in the lamplight i trace your

profile, watch your face because 

it translates life in a way i

can put these small hands

around. catch the smile wrinkles

that squint your eyes,

hold them as they filter beneath

my buzzing thoughts:

heady white stuff seeping into

brain space that soaks

like tea leaves, spreading rich

& thick onto pastel dream worlds 

where i find the words

as i stroke your hair with

speechless fingers.

there, i know how to say everything we need,

there, i am not this bad at writing love poems.