Wednesday, October 19, 2011

you should go to church

a clink in the glass
with my icy fingers
she walks away
meditation on the floor
with my prayer hands
he flies to the wind
a bread without flour
for my ragged soul
she sets the table

a bullet to the face
with a cocked smile
alone with my teeth
a flake in the clouds
on salted highways
he shovels out
a page in the hymnal
turning ragged pages
she turns away

a tangle in my hair
with christmas strings
she trims the tree
reflection on the pew
with my prayer hands
we begin to pray
a basket of apples
for my fingers
we went away

Saturday, October 15, 2011

cities fade like silver

i have crept away from the trees
swept away on a concrete breeze
to lands of lights and sounds
where sirens howl like hounds
bloody and shivering
i survive on a breath

i have ripped away my last pages
stripped away my clothes in cages
into mazes of sewers and homes
where screens rattle like bones
sweaty and hollow
i survive on bread

i have forgotten my mother
begotten under a dirty cover
into the black coal and steel
where gears grind and peel
dusty and coiled
i survive in a bowl

i have buried my tarnished things
married my paws to silver rings
into the smut and mounds of trash
where rags and babies thrash
filthy and damp
i survive below

i will flee the rapid bloody hounds
fleeting as jeweled sunset pounds
onto the tender forest floor
where my breath can swell and pour
fresh and clear and wide
i will survive

Friday, October 14, 2011


long ago i wrestled with my sleep,
he was a strong and restless giant.
when you rested deep into my tail,
i told a taller tale of starry eyed
creatures that frightened you.
stay with me.
i'll chase bluefish with my paws
you'll pause to sniff foreign airs
with me, your nest in my tail
we'll nestle down by the silo
in rustling wheats and downs.
stay with me.
our morning births golden hues
winking your blues into the sky
a breath through my teeth sighs
a dewy death for the drops
hush while my crimson cheek
hugs your grey feet, and sleep.
stay with me.

Friday, October 7, 2011

safe in the country

he sat at the end of the drive
2am gravel settling around his shoes
his 2am breath swelling with booze
he sat and waited for her to arrive

his calves hummed on his hog
hot in the sweaty summer air
his jacket made of calves and hair
the hog's thunder woke her dog

her eyes widened inside her head
2am sheets sticky with smoky fear
her 2am sweat swelled with her tears
she laid and waited in her panic bed

she slept to the left of an empty space
closer to the window sill
closer to her gun and will
trembling she crept along to the safe

only the dog was left by her side
since the farmer went away
since the boy did not to stay
since her silky, brown horses died

he left his ride and walked down the way
smiled and lit his cigarette
smiled when he saw her silhouette
the engine's roar slipped farther away

she closed her eyes and tried to dream
ignoring the sinking in her gut
ignoring the stinking, smoky butt
as wisps wafted through her farmhouse screen

she saw the lock's swinging chain
the dog was silent in regret
in the glow of an orange cigarette
in hum of the hog she never breathed again

Tuesday, October 4, 2011

our faults

in the wash of late summer
our mistakes, our eyes
our stars are bright tonight
underneath a slipping sky
it will all come out for us
in the wash

we stand upon a fault line
what was your fault?
what was mine?
the turning leaves deny us
the time to sort out
our dirty laundry

there's a crooked line
on the surface
of your mouth again
i call it a smile
you call it a fracture
you say it's my fault

it is. and i am slipping
looking up to heaven
wishing upon a star
that you would crack
a smile tonight
and let me in

you named me, like stars
bright and shining
i knelt beneath them tonight
a prayer for you to drift
towards the apostles
apart from all of our faults

i will camp here
your restless daughter
upon the footwall
until you return to me
to the cracks of '83
and embrace our fault lines