From October, 2018

Winter darkening, waiting

Midnight owled past on a cloud drift, snowploughed high, never rumbled to let me know. No text no call no hoot. It is the weather they say. It dampens the transmissions, makes them crash to the powdered shroudfields lost among flakes. After, I wait at the window, my face an aldis lamp of random messages…

Kitsch-Value

The horses sleep in luxury stalls. We roll past subdivided mansions and loud domestic cars while a man in a nightshirt whispers “dope” to the swaying foam of his plastic cup. Gaslights flick and buzz. On the reddish frieze, the boxer’s cracked coconut face leaks. Me neat, you rocks, we skim a flotsam of bow…

The Professor

Barrel-chested, keg-bellied and (from his drinking-capacity) seemingly hollow-legged, he had cut his usual affable swathe through the lively Friday-night pubs of the old university town, and now was striding merrily homewards with a capacious bladderful of beer and an agile, unexhausted brainful of bon mots and eloquent repartee. Although a full professor, he was not…

Neon Love

Locked out, again. Neon didn’t bother pounding on the door. She leant her auburn ions against its flaking paint. Her body buzzed with electric sorrow. He had no idea how much energy she’d put into being who he wanted. Before he mooched into that lab, smelling of unlaundered clothes, bits of half-chewed chewing gum sticking…

Pathway

Eastern box turtles are said to wander widely until encountering a mate. How can that work within funnels of suburban curbs? If not eaten after hatching, pancaked crossing roads, or caught in yards to die as pets, some live 30 years within the clutter on a forest floor. Two years ago, near the porch out…

Bus

The oversized rearview mirror had become unavoidable, an insistent, relentless draw that Craig could not go thirty-seconds without checking. Each time the boy appeared younger, somehow smaller and more innocent, but the bus driver knew this was a trick of the mind, a mental adjustment to help his conscience. The boy stayed quiet, with no…

Abecedarian for Convalescence

angels speak from my open wound where the light leaks out and the blossoms in my mouth cut my tongue the way needles bled my skin for art. the dregs in the teapot remind me of every twist behind the praise and so I down the lot, flicking my tongue to catch every gritty bit.…

Trying to Explain Why I Am Not Sad

that my dad is dead – and it’s not because he hit me or worse, in fact he barely touched me at all, or ever said anything personal, though he was full of dictums (he who has the gold makes the rules) and knee-slappers (too long to fit into a poem – how he coughed…

Drained

Indianola, TX Seagulls splinter the night of salted squalls, driving rain stinging our skin. I wish I was more willing to stay here with you than I am but as lightning scripts clouds and light bulbs buzz out the dock shop shuts down. Behind us the owner locks the door and sloshes through the parking…

Battle Rhythm

The call to morning prayer coincided with the convoy brief. They called the speakers mounted on the mosque minaret electronic ayatollahs. The house of worship was several kilometers from the convoy staging area, but the wind and direction allowed the sound to travel much further than a map would have suggested. The sound was a…