Tupperware
hitting the floor has an unmistakable sound.
Bean water everywhere
in the kitchen.
Chopped tomatoes, mushrooms, basil, salt
and navy beans
look terrible across the tiles.
Cooling them off in plastic to eat later and
boots mustachio hatswitch thought he might
get an early taste.
Chased him all over the apartment. Found places
cats could hide that I did not know existed.
"That's my food for the week!"
A baby can die from shaking.
Cleaning up and tasting mushroom tomato water thumb sucked
it's hard to blame him for trying.
original works of parts
The Rake and the Ringer
Tremendous parts of ways and means
little parts of ways and seams
like there's something to say
seems like there's something to pay
and it goes.
Some kind of hurray like
there's some kind of today happening
hawk like misunderstandings and tomorrow is another.
Bag of tricks, bag of tricks,
bag of stone and a little sticks.
Take em out to the woods where no one can hear
from high city windows and nothing nearer
to a heart than concrete making us all smart.
Lean. Lean on it coding
small programs and watch the thing drop
like a guillotine blade. Yessir, for sure
on the shores of something
nah.
It goes one two nine million
jumping through the ceiling. Jump.
We're all waiting so jump. Fall
down. Hard stops and open windows.
Gods feeling like your in to hymn
so jump.
Rake it, rake it, make it live.
Nine of em so stay alive,
ten thousand ways to find a dive
so pick a way to choose to die.
The bass is real so make it my
best day to try to make it so,
make it go, take a load off, make it fro
and to and just do you.
Justice, just this one and two
and do whatever makes you you.
Part of particles, Spartacus new
to have no name,
nameless hero,
if you're going to speak
say it all on the road
down to impact,
fucking ringer.
little parts of ways and seams
like there's something to say
seems like there's something to pay
and it goes.
Some kind of hurray like
there's some kind of today happening
hawk like misunderstandings and tomorrow is another.
Bag of tricks, bag of tricks,
bag of stone and a little sticks.
Take em out to the woods where no one can hear
from high city windows and nothing nearer
to a heart than concrete making us all smart.
Lean. Lean on it coding
small programs and watch the thing drop
like a guillotine blade. Yessir, for sure
on the shores of something
nah.
It goes one two nine million
jumping through the ceiling. Jump.
We're all waiting so jump. Fall
down. Hard stops and open windows.
Gods feeling like your in to hymn
so jump.
Rake it, rake it, make it live.
Nine of em so stay alive,
ten thousand ways to find a dive
so pick a way to choose to die.
The bass is real so make it my
best day to try to make it so,
make it go, take a load off, make it fro
and to and just do you.
Justice, just this one and two
and do whatever makes you you.
Part of particles, Spartacus new
to have no name,
nameless hero,
if you're going to speak
say it all on the road
down to impact,
fucking ringer.
Be My
There are days I wish alliteration was not
so easy. Days I wish, that easy laughter
was
something else. Sing songy whatever. Suck a dick.
How hard can a body go?
Fantasizing about summer camp and school,
back pocket ne'r you think twice's.
Do you remember when orgies weren't a thing
you had to coordinate with clinics and back
check every twenty something that pinged back to an inbox?
Salute to the sun. Koyanisquuatsi. It looks right, but
I spelled it wrong. Remember that time at that trap house?
But really
I don't know how many ways I have to ask
"can I hold your hand?"
Can I hold your hand?
Can I hold your hand?
Can I hold your hand?
so easy. Days I wish, that easy laughter
was
something else. Sing songy whatever. Suck a dick.
How hard can a body go?
Fantasizing about summer camp and school,
back pocket ne'r you think twice's.
Do you remember when orgies weren't a thing
you had to coordinate with clinics and back
check every twenty something that pinged back to an inbox?
Salute to the sun. Koyanisquuatsi. It looks right, but
I spelled it wrong. Remember that time at that trap house?
But really
I don't know how many ways I have to ask
"can I hold your hand?"
Can I hold your hand?
Can I hold your hand?
Can I hold your hand?
Bad Music at the House Party
I know she hit it off with him and
he will never see her again and
the worst thing I feel, the best I can muster, is
I wish there was a better song playing
for their breakup.
he will never see her again and
the worst thing I feel, the best I can muster, is
I wish there was a better song playing
for their breakup.
Microwave Hotdogs
Collect the different versions of yourself
while the numbers tick down green on black.
There was this thing I wanted to tell you
I forgot halfway to the fridge.
I'll remember when
it's not raining knives outside.
Her garden is looking something viscous.
Mary, Mary, where did your teeth go?
I'm glad your heart stayed sweet
through the years. Tomatoes come June.
I can't wait. So great to see you.
"We'll catch up." That's my line, marmalade paw!
We will. See me swoon. But not on a thurbsday.
while the numbers tick down green on black.
There was this thing I wanted to tell you
I forgot halfway to the fridge.
I'll remember when
it's not raining knives outside.
Her garden is looking something viscous.
Mary, Mary, where did your teeth go?
I'm glad your heart stayed sweet
through the years. Tomatoes come June.
I can't wait. So great to see you.
"We'll catch up." That's my line, marmalade paw!
We will. See me swoon. But not on a thurbsday.
Fishermen (pittsburgh black and whites 10)
Bologna and cheese
is all we took with us from the rocked shore
of the Allegheny. Water toed, it was a good day
at the rigs. Everything was biting
not big enough to cook
anything more than phone memory photographs.
We watched the sun fall into the basket of downtown
and bell tipped rods turn into glow sticks
bending on snags in the current
and boys cursing, sunglasses on backward,
because their thirty dollar lure
was driftwood hooked
same as a nightcrawler.
All of us hoping still
it would be the big one.
"Summer's early yet" laughing our way back to the fire.
Eighty pound test line
sinks on its own. No lead necessary.
Somewhere inside her
near the dam
a monster kicks and bucks the timescale.
The clean dish of still water
folds into itself paper chewed
by a mouth eras wide. Surface buckles and
sinks, the dinosaur in the room
snatching every breath away
one tail fin kick at a time
the waves big enough to crawl
all the way to shore
snatching our careless pack of Marlboros
from the cinder block I left it on,
the tacklebox nearly gone with it.
"Jesus," pants soaked to the knees,
tackle in hand, you're toothy shouting back to me,
"did you see that?"
The river top
still looks like hand gun knurling
not knowing if she's coming or going
in that monster's wake and I remember
your phone call
not two days ago
about taking yourself
away from everything
in ways
you don't.
Your hands on mine
teaching me how to put a bobber on right,
"loop it under and then over
so the red is down and the white is up.
They can see the white better." I've always been
a hands on learner, dad. The joke fell flat and we
watched the paper cranes unfold
in the waning light, rock skipping.
You said you lived in Shaler,
our feet where they want to be.
You and die. If you say it real fast.
The stars are barnacles
on the belly of the dinosaur
wheeling time like it's pocket change
while our shoes dry out
on the jersey wall
with nothing to go and nowhere to do,
the heels of our bare feet knocking
against the rough rusted tips of
steel bridge rivets
over spring wash mud river water, you asked me,
looking up to that sky,
"how good would it feel
to be whalers
in that sea,"
cigarette butt turning through the air
until it touched down below.
is all we took with us from the rocked shore
of the Allegheny. Water toed, it was a good day
at the rigs. Everything was biting
not big enough to cook
anything more than phone memory photographs.
We watched the sun fall into the basket of downtown
and bell tipped rods turn into glow sticks
bending on snags in the current
and boys cursing, sunglasses on backward,
because their thirty dollar lure
was driftwood hooked
same as a nightcrawler.
All of us hoping still
it would be the big one.
"Summer's early yet" laughing our way back to the fire.
Eighty pound test line
sinks on its own. No lead necessary.
Somewhere inside her
near the dam
a monster kicks and bucks the timescale.
The clean dish of still water
folds into itself paper chewed
by a mouth eras wide. Surface buckles and
sinks, the dinosaur in the room
snatching every breath away
one tail fin kick at a time
the waves big enough to crawl
all the way to shore
snatching our careless pack of Marlboros
from the cinder block I left it on,
the tacklebox nearly gone with it.
"Jesus," pants soaked to the knees,
tackle in hand, you're toothy shouting back to me,
"did you see that?"
The river top
still looks like hand gun knurling
not knowing if she's coming or going
in that monster's wake and I remember
your phone call
not two days ago
about taking yourself
away from everything
in ways
you don't.
Your hands on mine
teaching me how to put a bobber on right,
"loop it under and then over
so the red is down and the white is up.
They can see the white better." I've always been
a hands on learner, dad. The joke fell flat and we
watched the paper cranes unfold
in the waning light, rock skipping.
You said you lived in Shaler,
our feet where they want to be.
You and die. If you say it real fast.
The stars are barnacles
on the belly of the dinosaur
wheeling time like it's pocket change
while our shoes dry out
on the jersey wall
with nothing to go and nowhere to do,
the heels of our bare feet knocking
against the rough rusted tips of
steel bridge rivets
over spring wash mud river water, you asked me,
looking up to that sky,
"how good would it feel
to be whalers
in that sea,"
cigarette butt turning through the air
until it touched down below.
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