Welcome to The Family
-After Cesar Vallejo’s “Black Stone Lying on a White Stone” A summer’s day like any other day. It was warm and innocent and the Sun’s arms hung like golden ribbons off the tree branches. And then I died. My insides turned outside and the creases of my fingers swelled up with somber sweat and the beads ran down my lifeless hands. A final escape attempt. Suddenly, I...
-After Eugenio Montale’s “L’Anguilla” Angela, shrill, a siren day many any the glacial little Baltic sure genuine honestly, many, honestly, and any a fool, me, how risky and profound, such a ten anniversary dear ammo in ammo and pointy acapella acapella, assorted, hear me, simply you and yet through, simply you yell coarsely, yell magically, fill and though...
-After Joe Brainard I remember the smell of Mohonk Mountain House: Oakey and earthy and thick and rich. Mahogany and collected brown dust. Charcoal soot from the fireplaces and the permeating smell of pine in between every grain in the wood. I remember when my first dog—Maggie—died. It was cold and the house felt haunted and dark even though all the lights were on. I remember watching...
-After William Carlos Williams Coyotes howl up towards the silver moon gazing down, the northbound train whistle echoing far away.
The bees can’t fly home; too much harvested pollen. The grass can’t blow straight, each strand wobbles merrily. The horny toads croak out of key. The moon snorts and chuckles, stardust still sprinkled about his cheeks. Deers dance and Mantis pray for all those happily lost. An owl hoots, then hiccups. Old Man Coyote Howls. The Mockingbird sits smugly on...
It is time. (Across the universe…) across the FUCKING universe I sit alone—alone why? I know where I want to be, won’t be, what I want to do, to be, I think… I want to scream, internally. And then throw something —ANYTHING—onto a canvas into a wall onto my body SOMETHING Pierce me, tattoo me, shave me, share me scar me for the story. Make...
My Kind of Blues
Car windows rushing past, looking up and seeing the sky and trees blur together. The sun adds tint and the clouds add dimension. A transcendental palette. Sunday morning. Winter. Bagels and eggs and my brother blasting something foul from the television. My dad makes a fire in the living room and he and my mom sit in their pajamas reading the newspaper. My dad flicks his stereo on. It...
(Somewhere in Between), Just Before
A raindrop about to land, the second time it freezes just before it hits, crashes, bursts open, explodes, floods, gray and blue mirrors. The ground glowing, vibrantly asleep right before day trades with night, and golden ribbons start to weave through the weeds. Inhale, the last breath, muscles constrict and tighten, lungs fill up, ready, right before that dive in head first, or perhaps...
Up and Out and On and Gone
Wake up, stand up, sit up, straight up. Straight up! It’s time to get up! up and out and into everything. New and fresh and clean and bright and fresh and clean and bright and clean and bright and bright and away from the darkness and depths to start anew; again, again! Pulsing pumping primping prickling alive alive alive alive— senses spark and shiver and shake wake up! Stand up,...
There is a janitor down at the Lincoln Memorial who mops the dirt off the white marble steps. It’s cherry blossom season and tourists clad in neon matching shirts and name tags run up the steps to see Ole’ Abe. Right after he’s done once, he turns around and there it is—more dirt. Back and forth and back and forth never faltering, never frustrated. He pauses for wide-eyed visitors to take...