I Can't Remember What You Used to Cook AnymoreSummer ended with a phone callMore Like This
“You need to come to the hospital”
“Is it bad?”
“Yes, it’s bad”
The storm had passed, it was quiet now
But the world had shifted, warped
Everything was out of place
Unable to keep my footing
I fell into the darkness
every chance i didn't take IIYou tell him about your cancer on a Sunday,More Like This
in the shower of all places, in between brunch plans
and speculations about whether or not the weather
will ever get any colder - hasn't it been the strangest November?
Just the strangest.
You casually mention that somewhere
deep in the secret space between your hips
your own cells are proliferating uncontrollably,
whispering treason and passing down forgeries,
teaching each other the steps of mitosis with alarming intent.
You don't miss a beat as you drop survival percentages
mixed in with tomorrow's rain forecast
and predictions about the game later that afternoon -
easy as breathing, even as counterfeit armies
shred through the soft tissue just below
his favorite place on your spine.
And as you stand there
calmly making conversation
and sharing the last of the soap,
he watches the water
run quiet rivers
through your hair.
Hunting CoyotesHunting CoyotesMore Like This
Footfall of a frost-faced hunter
heavy with a winter kind of hope;
one paw raised above the stream.
You thought I would shatter with the sharp bark
of the gun, but moonlight still sparkles
in a spray of wet pearls along my sides.
I am cold teeth, I am the blood-stopping stare.
Mistake MakingDakota's nephew is a week oldMore Like This
and he has already cast the infant
out of his life and he tells me
how his mom was in tears with him,
that he's just a newborn needing family
and I understand how it is hard to forgive
when they want him to forget.
The fact that someday her child
will do the math and find out his mom
was sixteen when he was born,
ask what his father was like,
to which his mom will say "a mistake"
and direct him to hipster selfies.
I never was a horny teen
thinking in terms of sluts and studs,
but I've still had that conversation.
For four generations my predecessors
got pregnant before they could buy
the alcohol to go through with it.
Now I have passed the threshold,
can walk up to that corner-store counter
and proceed to drown sorrows
I don't have.
I don't want a child in my life. Yet.
But my parents made mistakes.
I want to make them too.
I criedG DMore Like This
Smiling at your stubborn faces,
walking upright through the ashes,
smiling, until beat at night.
Giving you all hopes for fortune
Living life prone to demotion
Singing crumbled joy to you.
a lot of times, a lot of times
Visible to you, I was not
Telling you the truth, I could not
Captive in a net of lies
Have you ever heard my crying?
wildfires burn snow transparent and i adore youremember there is no justice,More Like This
it’s just us, just ice cold
stares and no just love
in dead winter glares
or frozen snow season gloves.
and i am an epicurean hologram
stating the obvious
to a person who doesn’t really
have it all figured out
but to be honest,
no one really does
so don’t take that personally.
i only know you
from poetic endeavors
and while you claim
there is nothing to see here,
your living organisms
juxtapose your mantra
from the mouth are not still
and if we forget who we are,
then we can remember
we were born actual.
stillborn kill cords
and discord wave around
dissonance from far-away places
but my antennae need
the, the, the, the-- my message
to reach radiowaves
with wildfire pen ink tips.
part two comes unexpectedly
because this is more
stream of acuity
with mercurial rhythm pitches
than a well thought-out
planned of attack.
i just know you inspire
and i aspire to write
words that persp
HeadwatersAlmost 30.More Like This
Where did I sleep the decade away?
Under a desk.
In a factory.
Stone frozen in the cascades.
I fell prey to cow songs,
the nightly lowing.
Some christ called me back.
Not my sister in red canyons,
not my cousin in the gumbo of my youth.
Nor did the honeysuckle siren trill me
my lover, I woke to find you
down the well
three paces from the patio door.
At first when I heard you
it was a mosquito in my ear.
You called and called and
I had to break open the well cap
The bucket and rope
I threw down in front of me,
Pulley and rod tossed deep
into the tall bermuda grass.
Now I have jumped into the water,
into the rich black earth
and there will
be no ascent.
Cooking With MomBetween sauteing the onions, before the beefMore Like This
is seared; after the mushrooms are stuffed,
mom turns and touches my chest.
over my left lung is
She says "I remembers terror."
My crawling into the Elephants' enclosure.
An ape in diapers
awestruck, adoring those kind planet-eyes
hoping a long trunk would wrap around me,
"I don't remember ever feeling safer."
Crawling between the feet of
Mom insists I wailed,
"I wanted them
to raise me."
When the wine is poured over the beef and the rice
gets to steaming, she says, "your instinct might've been right,
Maybe you would have turned out better,
joining their herd."
I look the stove in the eye demanding
Tell me how to make dead things taste alive,
reach out your coiled arms and take my hands,
whisper your bread trickery, let me join
your yeast dance of sugar fairies.
I need to know ho
to you, to youwell this could be okay, thisMore Like This
could be all right, i can be bitter
like lime to you, sun burn
on your neck to you, a
heat mirage, a sand grit
lullaby in the sticky hateful
nights to you
yeah this could be good, a
thousand little ways i
can hurt you, a thousand little
blood-tipped feathers i
can give you (sweet thing)
a thousand little winces
i can collect from you, a thousand
little flinches as you pull
the needles from
not enough of me left to
tear myself to pieces over you,
and someone’s gotta burn
this time around, friend
it’s gotta be you,
Touchand given that my life is not so much a lifeMore Like This
as it is a void, and not so much a void
as a transposition,
three steps away from the
truth of things,
a smear of grease-paint vision,
given that i have spent hours with
my back on the asphalt spine
staring at the pale shell of the sky and
imagining myself as nothing but the
nothing i saw,
the paper-bone annulment of life,
some misstep between
‘born’ and ‘die’,
given all this, i had no choice
but to throw myself down
at the temple of incarnation,
and say before i drowned:
‘oh lord, save me, for i have
lost it all, and i am floating,
and i am falling,
and i am gone’.
at first i offered him blood sacrifice,
or close enough,
stinging tallies of the days
when i could not remember
what it felt like to be alive –
i decorated my skim-milk thighs
and waited for fruit,
or stars, to burst
behind my eyes.
but then i learnt better ways, gentler ways,
things that he gave me, or perhaps
things that i gave him