—THE DAYS HAVE NO NUMBERS  

               

                                  Shredding the Birds

The songs can be ballads or anthems, but to her they’re always starlings crashing into a bedroom window, her mother oblivious in a slow swivel saying, “What was that that?” while never bothering to look.

Her dad taught her guitar, wrap-around arms/melody and hairy disharmony. This was always alone.

“You did good,” he’d say when he finished.

Tonight, she flings her pick into the crowd, shreds a chord and belts her lyrics to all the birds about to die in the rafters.

—IT’S TOUGH TRYING TO SPIN SILENCE INTO GOLD

i’m not that

  good

at breathing

   in

fuck the

french

exit

the irish

goodbye

crush my

fickle skin

again

tell me when

i’m resin

your rusty needle

is such a sweet

pluck

of glory

and unfair

goodness

i’ll take it

any day

any way

doggie or

dutch treat

yeah

i’m handing

the keys

over

buttfuck me

but fuck

me

with a

chainsaw

or jagged

switchblade

i’ll never tell

why

would i

i’ve got a

dead

marsupial

for a voice

box

and my

toes are

turning cross-eyed

staring at

the collapsed

ceiling

spiders parachuting

from cracks

eating their

own deviled

eggs

these walls

are hypochondriacs

whining for weeks

but I’m

not breathing

there’s too much

back to back

black on black

it gives me

the creeps

how easy

it is to

console

the wrong

consoles  

amending nothing

but you are

most always

incorrect

synchronized

and calcified

your corset

couldn’t be

farther away

though

i can

feel the

blush of

herniated air

sluice through

me

when you cinch

your gold

molecules

as if it’s

the best

orgasm

ever

i hope you

hear my hollow

bones pop

and snap

all the way

over there

because

i can’t 

inhale or

exhale right

now

it’s as if

i’m dead

and always

have been

the road

signs

in my eyes

flashing

warning

   trip hazard

warning

   beware of dog

warning

   danger:

 watch for

 falling objects

—IF I’M A BROKEN RECORD, WRITE IT IN THE DUST

                                                dolphin love

i lose you    in winter melon soup    under a broth of cloud cover    ginger slices floating    where your    eyes once did    no chance for extradition    the weight of absence and imbalance    prepping a slow fade    to nowhere    i find a hairline    fracture in the china    resembling lost nerve    my spoon clanging    like a warped    church bell    swinging lonesome as    a weed in concrete     streetlight shining down    awaiting an answer    or your reappearance    which never comes    even a shallow joy    could get me    through tonight    suspend and arrest me    the way you’d laugh    like a dolphin in love    you said    i may be a cancer    but    i’m never getting it    fuck that    i’ll smoke when i want    there’s too much life left    too much     you and me left    but now the stock is    cold and congealed    a sump for suckers    and non-believers    while you are    parsing the ether tubeless    hospital gown rotting    in the dirt    i can’t eat    think    breathe    correct    for the record    my bones are also dust    heaped in your   old ash tray    waiting for the next    hard breeze    to blow