There’s a certain Texas sunset
That summons you to your knees
With a devastating glory
That slows the mind and wakens the deep
It’s a blaze that can find you anywhere
Even the Valero station just north of the border
A paved petroleum temple
Lined with plastic bottles, tires shreds, and candy wrappers
And suddenly you’re staggering across the parking lot
As the hours collapse
And it hits you how the pulsing clouds above the diesel pumps
Form an argent throne for a hidden god
And this god is really just the secret language
Of a song that can’t be heard with ears
A tremendous chorus
Sung by all things formed, formless and yet to be formed
And there you are standing on a pile of trash
Beneath yellow acacia branches drifting in the wind
And you forget your own name
Right as you forget the face of your mother
You have never seen a sun sink
You have never known a gravel parking lot until this moment
When every blade, pore, and tread
Cries SACRÉ, SACRÉ, SACRÉ!
In the stunning timeslow
You find you know nothing
And the nothing knows you
i think i forgot
that i like poetry
until i read
(the people look like
sometimes, i get mad at bukowski
because he’s already said
all the words
i’d want to.
how will i get a gold key
or write my own book
without it being seen as a
“even the best books are
i wanted a banana for breakfast
but i ate two pieces of red velvet cake
(i wanted to be proud/ i wanted
to be pretty/ i wanted to be a runner
i wanted to get the pretty boy/
Headaches, crackheads, needles, graffiti, alleyways, sirens, gunshots, dark, cloudy, dirty gutter water, rusty green dumpsters, skyscrapers, gloomy skies, arguments from apartment buildings, smell of weed, smoke, drive bys, loud music, prostitutes, pimps.
…I’ve lived here for so long that I’ve become so comfortable. Like a goldfish in a dirty fish tank.
I always remember
my adolescent feet
he wouldn’t let me
my bones were porcelain
made, he said
and if I were
to break before
the night fell the whole
house would know
that I removed my veins
before he did.
I always remember
I shiver in 90 degree
weather and I am scared
of turquoise in the ocean.
may is flowering, showering,
falling asleep on my shoulder at breakfast,
staying with me later and later each night,
the flower moon, the milk moon,
full fuller, then fullest,
until overflowing with may moon,
sleeping under it, on grassy blankets,
holding a year on my tongue, so sweet,
melting with me, while may,
the lullaby, the dancer of flowers,
pouring honeyed light into our eyes.
Ezra Pound Cake
she ordered a donut and a coffee
he did the same; waitress poured
the coffee as she began
“this isn’t working,” she said
“you drink all night and write
your little stories” she continued
he stared at the black liquid
watching his reflection, wincing
at certain inflections
“i am not a child,” he mumbled,
his stomach grumbling, as he
thumbed through a menu
he grabs the waitress by the wrist,
insists on changing his order, she (the wife)
“i will take the lumberjacks omelet and
some chocolate cake”
“cake, for breakfast,” she yells.
“yes, i am celebrating,” he replies.
“i’m getting out of hell today.”
Weaving intricate design
Was her speciality
Creativity and artistry
Swirls to common eye
Perfection to those who see
Creates she does even when idle
Spinning captivating mystery
Entrancing , entrapping
Hanging she is
controlling three strands
Fortunate I am
Walking the fine thread
Maze of precision
Danced with the lady
For bite she has
“but what if it doesn’t?”
i find my drowsy lips asking you.
“but what if the moon is only the worst thing that’s ever happened to the sun?”
what if the sun never wanted to shed his
and only ever is wishing for Orion’s arrows
to fire at the rising skull of moon,
so he could shoot her down
because the sun might be a greedy god,
hungry only for his only light.
and not the pilfered pale shine
i ask you all of these with my clumsy mouth.
and you do not respond.
because the answer is simple, and doesn’t need
to be stated.
that star, bled its light
alone in space for a billion years
before she came.
the only one who would raise her face
and shine back at him.
Kid song of the social networks
Twinkle, twinkle, book of face
You make me feel l have no space
Everyone sees everything
An epidemic soon will spring
Of yolo, swag, and hashtags too,
I’ll spend all of my days on you
Twitter, twitter, little site
Let me show you the true light
No one likes to log onto
This website of the tweets of you
Twitter, twitter, here’s the thing
No one likes you, I’m sure that stings
Twinkle, twinkle, tumblr, too
Why do I spend this time on you
I think you’re trying to cause me strife
By forcing me to waste my life
Twinkle twinkle tumblr, too
Why do I spend this time on you
The homeless man living in your ear
tells you everyone is crazy,
this life doesn’t make any sense,
and, yeah, showers aren’t
needed for survival,
but it would sure be nice.
I listen to you talk
about the best park benches,
steaming bowls of stew,
your search of a
and all I can do,
all I want to do, is
make my voice sound
like an old sweater.
I realize that’s all you’re really
looking for, isn’t it.
i murdered the king.
Choked within my fingers is your breath—
I am the Queen.
Your panoply grows red as the rouge
in my lips.
I am downfall.
I am the woman Hades, and I am devious
as a snake.
I am the end of your existence
and I will reign
You are crushed, you’ll be long gone,
my laughter rings.
The Great Gatsby (Edit)
Before we can be recognized
it must be recognized we must.
The shallower the wound the
more toward value it turns us:
L, steadfast: “This is why I’m
hot.” This is why each cheap
liquor emails another. (This
is why the chicken slept with
the road.) How to explain what
made us famous? (How to at
once be & be through other
sides?) I have been calling back
America with your apartment
wrapped around it: heart grown,
absent, stupid, stop it: we are bad
books about our favorite topics.
I am my dumbest dollar & I am
what is left when it learns.