What We Mean
Things that are big to say Things that are easy to hear
Things that are big to say Things that are easy to hear
Liberation What even is that word Sounds flighty Preamble to mighty
Her name was Ms. Harper. She was my grandmother but not by blood.
This is where I was when I wasn’t Drifting somewhere between routines Moments of fun dotted along the numb
Snow Blanket. Everything frozen I turn to rock Crease of tequila eyes in snow-bounced light Only possibilities I ruminate
You’ve forgotten every sky that stopped you, stopped everything but your breathing and your blood.
As if to say… this is decay. These stones that I step and balance, I imagine a history.
The little hands across the desert flower On a western trail that’s seen western scenes
To be young again that frequent stop along this passage
Your mother brings us eggs Well she brings egg cartons You brought me eggs Well you brought me fatherhood
The monster’s artist statement
We travel Initially To Lose To Find Ourselves
Two single beds two feet apart Two children bounding around Bunctious before bed Two tired married adults Wife and husband One thousand miles apart
Littered alarm Bleeps across this paved sea Her library’s lot This monotonous jingle Void of humor or soul Pure purposeless audible Of siren’s caution Upon the wait While firetrucks lumber And firemen assess Any books a’burnin’ The winter Sunday unfolds Graying Freezing Evacuees harbor heat One football
To all of our achings we’re a humble servant, Stuck in a house with no means to flee.
She crowns you, so shall she crucify. She waters your soil, so shall she prune your branches.
In the sloping yard of the seminary, there’s a barren tree Despite the winter white it’s radiating, apparently
Over the thrill hill the station wagon glides, you enjoyed getting a rise out of your kids on a rural stretch. Hands off the wheel, knee doing the steering. Stop it dad.
She’s been in two dreams, hopefully zero more.
Poetry
Where we’re going, interstellar, I’m not sure we still need country. Pack the things we need or might need Each other, intercontinental.
Poetry
Artificially algorithmically Alliterated allegory Altered and edited By monotonous machines
four men in their thirties ten years removed from their shared years of college playing in a pool making up a hybrid game
The rolling hum of the airplane's engine, doppler effect and all
La-te-da, la-te-da, Fuck me, fuck me, fuck me, And you’re smiling, me, Why are you smiling