hunger

the moon
is an
open-faced
sandwich
waiting
to be
dunked
in au jus

do it
take a bite
if you dare
if you can
find a large
enough cup
& tell us
how it
tastes

my moon
melted
like beeswax
like lip balm
licked from
a lover’s palm–
salty, sweet,
unsatisfying
but ohhh
like you
would not
believe

do not listen
to what they
tell you: moons
lie vigorously
to avoid
such fates

act fast
be decisive
soon moons
will be out
of season
& then where
will you be?

moonless,
that’s where

sparse

my mute heart
consider how
the damp sun
bends over wet
grass on grey days
& know in dark
months swallows
too long for open
skies to throw
their throats
into joyous song

not a eulogy but still

what was it like, my father’s stroke,
the sudden seize, fumbled &
dropped keys & cops & flashlights
& neighbors & behind the dumpster
my father clutching his head
& then the hospital & the nurses,
the home & weeks later his
last breath a whisper or a gasp
no one heard, the nurses too
far away & he, too, gone far
& my brother’s voice jangling
across cellular time & space
saying to change my plans
as if I hadn’t been doing just
that my entire goddamn life?

spiral

it’s not
the end
but only
an exit
so try
not to
get dizzy
on your
way out

it all comes down to this

at one point
you stop trying
to impress
yourself &
just exist
one breath
after one
breath after
one breath
after another
& in the
space
between
each you
watch the
crystals form
& wonder
what thin line
keeps you
on this side

oh the horror

think of
the dryer
swallowing
socks: maybe
the hunger
will soon be
sated; maybe
their lint now
floats across
lawns unseen,
maybe
the socks
are better off
wherever they go,
nothing holding
them back
from doing
what must
be done in
that alien space
they now call
home, damp,
empty, alone,
footless & cold

hero

you should know better
but that doesn’t stop you
from leaping off the roof,
immortal like all six-year-olds
who believe a cape & under-
wear grant powers magic &
mystical but you are fifty-two
so what’s your excuse?