six and a half affairs

soft-shoeing around the truth

they spot me; Cleopatra, we watched football

on a wide-green pitch then enjoyed 

a guilt-free desert; familiar Regan,

her cold mostaccioli, her sweet peas, her bitter tomatoes

Abstraction from Bisecting Light

First floor screaming out the light
Sneaks, freaks & friends knuckle-deep in right
So limited & vicious, venom villainous
Middle finger breaching bottom's bilious
Silt, and the taste of someone else
Whose hands are in my mouth.

Still Life 1,2, 4-6

Still Life #1

Negation: The light smashing

through dual panes beside

the three of us

long drags of colored paint

in low voices, a cousin’s politics

and in contrast, plucking syncopation

of a piano black.

Still Life #2

Alive in the air

a palm, too many fingers

the cold center hidden in the grey bricks

row after row 

used cars and how easily the extremities 

appear choreographed

Collaborators at the cliff’s image

you wait, he arrives, you come inside

he talks, you return to the street.

Still Life #4

Privilege denies your walking 

any sort of danger: The long-necked,

coddled retard, and her coddling progenitor 

nearly dead with age and dye hesitating 

to cross into the trafficless thoroughfare

You park in the fire lane, four feet from the door

admonishing your safety, obvious

you are not a retread gumming your parents mistakes

riding your fearlessness. 

Still Life #5

This is a place of commerce and your voice

does not fit amongst the vacuumed rugs,

the soft tailored chairs. Could be cancer

but Plotted Justice whispers, “Look for sand.”

Still Life #6 

The things you look & stuff you eat

twirling the cup, you’ve given up 

straightening your posture.

You have never seen this as a metaphor

although you understand it’s basic conceit 

eating Mexican peanuts from a Ziploc 

hidden in your purse.

"I'll call you around noon"

I'll call you around noon

and then what will we do?

Spendthrifts splayed under

the winding red moon—in our teens

we found only satisfying 

escapes—now we cast 

cement past our vanishing,

something will catch

For lack of trying. Our family

reborn in new questions asked

and the passed times suggest

their memories hurdle the horizon

Land in the palms of those lucky enough 

to beg with upturned hands.

i stopped believing what i saw / & instead what i knew / & worse still all of what i thought.

w h e r e   d i d   i   b u r y 

t h e   q u e s t i o n s   w h y 

d i d   i   b u r y   t h e   q u e - 

s t  i o n s       d i r t   o r 

t r e e   w h i c h   b r o k e 

m y   s p a d e   a n d   w a s 

i t   s h a t t e r e d   b y   a n g e r 

o r   r e v e r s e d   b y   l o v e 

a n d   o h   h o w   d i r t   c h 

a n g e s   j u s t   t o   p l e a s e 

accompanying the back of a painting

all these repeating angles

train hand repeater on the cliff

's edge brittle hold now crumble

master there helicopter from; the beautiful view

no matter the danger falling is

walking is loving is blinding is

building is hearing and repeating.

vietnam

Precise packets of uneven

pages lead me to believe

something hand-woven and true

has been reborn, where there was 

only self-pleasure and doubt

about the craftsmanship; But look

there is that same backward glance appeased

in some daft artisan's assertion

He wins, his witty embellishment

a thoughtful deception; This heart's december 

spread out, even little smudges

dot the surface of best laid pains.

e.o. wilson

So many poets in one round poem,
& Fake accents & Finger-channeling

APERCU

understanding apercu
make my arms bigger

Theories of Marketing

Down there

up the block

in the square of the intersection

black & yellow rolled over

and the fishing commitments

Xs on their foreheads

    and singing

    soon

we will shave all the hair

        from our bodies

        The wartoys march

        the off-white tile

        cracked, grouted. Cold

        ruinous and rigid.