1 through 7

1

the orange net means safety.  the orange cones mean rest.  the sky over the concrete wall suggests the ocean

2

coupled people using tinder for the first time

3

my aunt and flowers and my grandmother's legs

4

my grandmother's legs and shoes and a chair and newspaper

5

beatrice in the wooden rocker on the porch, wearing a checked dress and holding an egg

6

(part of) the bust of alexander skene

7

below, a white guy in a toyota stuck waiting to cross the road, caught digging in his nose for gold while he thinks no one is watching him

Show up

Showing up to one's life is to groom at a never ending wedding,
watching life approach, her long past dragging like a bride's train.
Every day I fear the depth of her fullness, just as men do.
Just as I imagine men do.
How lonely I am
when I listen to myself.


I did not kiss a woman. 
I kissed her discarded man,
and it was like crinkling the wrapping of her.
Or she Hook
and he the Smee of her.
Or the handler of her.
The lion tamer. 
And through the tamer
the audience can be with the lion. 

#2 (neither of us hit it)

little baby man moving a dead bear out of the road

appropriately serious putting on gloves from the trunk

eyes saying a dead bear is crazy powerful and strange

i agree although it doesn’t feel very separate to me

from whatever my fucking problem is in the car

feels accurate for big power to appear and other things shouldn't stop

you knew it was there and not separate from messier forces

Nest

Young 
softer than snail
grease of feathers
sight as feel 

Sleep
heart whirring
against the mud wall
bed you made with your body

Flight alas seems down
only
from up here
where our noses
meet, this room
of your breath

Please don't let me
fall 
til I have wings.

relationship status?

she told you a secret
but you're bad at keeping secrets
I had a dream you guys broke up
and I cried
and when you told him
he said something you can't remember now
and then added
but in a good way
you laughed
and then you wondered
wait, are you my boyfriend?
but said nothing.

EVERYTHING I LOVE IS BROKEN

I’ve laughed more and looked sadder every year

I haven’t felt tired til I’ve stopped dancing

and then I’ve been a deadweight

I’ve herded my family to the car

I’ve tugged my friends down the sidewalk

I’ve flown across countries at inopportune times

I’ve done whatever it takes to get home

and I’ve carried a rock in my pocket the whole time

I’ve cried at the beach, in the shower, on the bike

I’ve hidden in bed, in the trees, in plain sight

I’ve called and was never called back

and then I’ve called again

everything but the rock I’ve carried in my pocket

is broken

everything but the rock I’ve carried in my pocket

is jagged and awkward from where it broke

everything but the rock I’ve carried in my pocket

doesn’t know how to live in this world

doesn’t know where to sit at the party

doesn’t know what to say to relatives

doesn’t know when to say goodbye

I’ve split my face apart trying

and then I’ve refused to keep secrets

I’ve stayed when I could have left

I’ve picked things up when they weren’t mine

and put things down when they were

I’ve carried this rock in my pocket because I can’t change it

and I’ve never wanted to

for a long time now I’ve known

everything I love is broken
and I’ve just wanted to go home

A POEM FOR A.S.

purring, we sat

two cats on either side of the bed

mirrored images

of sucking on teeth and slight raises

of the corners of the mouth, twitching

proud whiskers.

we sang, we crowed

we side glanced at each other over

the rims of cups filled with whiskey and melted ice,

your hands weaving to

the sounds of Patsy Cline on the tape deck and

my own grainy voice.

night fell, slowly

dripping inky stains across the sky and you

remained backlit

I could barely see your luminescent bones

as you pulled on your shirt collar

to draw attention to your favourite parts.

purring, we sat.

poem for whole productivity

a day where all I want to do is trim the dead skin off the soles of my feet
a night where all I do is sit in warm water until my fingers prune
and somewhere
in the accumulation
I grew

Grunt

Back to the door,
curtains drawn,
and no way to gather information
from the reflection of your face in the window,
it does not arch back over shoulders and the lip of the chair.
Newcastle vs Blackburn ricochets in tin. 
Are you picking it up with your fillings,
or is your Walkman piping it in,
how should I proceed,
your headphone wires do not trail down your neck,
as your hair once did. 

Temperate Times

A beautiful day and several deaths
later I remembered seeing her start
to fall, to faint remembered not seeing
it at all in fact, but being told. She
was fine, reminder of the horrible day
upcoming soon but not today, a beautiful day.

Between edges of weather reminders
of any season's early moments, a day
like today, the future is the fainting,
the end of joy, the five year plan and health
like what i might remember had it been...
not today, though, not then either

Cherry blossoms sure, but also snow
remembering my sentiment which is now
as once but 10, 11 years ago, this time
of year is springlike in its winter -
my spring is mellowed and less literate
remembering another's fears as fact; today -

SIDE EYES IN A FUR LINED HOOD

I am seeing us older,

lines crossing easier,

us caring less.

Trash overflow becomes

miniature golf course,

or is just added

to the bath.

7. UNEXPECTED

My life by water

a flat
     rock cove
edged
     in pines
s  t  r  e  t  c  h  e  d              u   s                   o  u  t


in days
     when beyond
an arm's width
     wasn't     d  r  i  f  t  i  n  g      
heresy
   
but the    s  p  r  e a  d      
     of tight,
hot atoms


still finding
     a special stone
with an
     unbroken line
meant:
     stow it in your pocket
and tell no
                one