Friday, August 30, 2013


You coughed up a bauble. I caught it
We met. You split. I placed

the milky globe
between your lips. You sucked

it in and licked
your chops and smiled. I ducked

before you swung. You choked.
I didn't make a move
to help you

catch your breath.
I laughed. I left; instead
I should have lunged. You

have struck. My brittle self
my shell
snapped shut.

Tuesday, August 27, 2013

Or Even Whispered

How long has it been since I’ve felt you wriggle beneath me

I flipped through my Poloroids of the Toynbee tiles

Washed down my pills with some lukewarm sazerac

Realized I was never going to be the one whose name you cried out

Or even whispered

I could have done with a lap dance before you left

Not that I deserved it

Instead I just put on that Spalding Gray bit

Where he’s talking about interviewing people who claim to have been abducted by UFOs

And reached for the glass but didn’t reach far enough

Or reached too far in the wrong direction

And wondered if I was ever going to have my shit together enough

To make anyone fucking happy

Saturday, August 24, 2013

Claude's Legacy

Claude shimmies like a nematode
in a droplet of pond water,
squashed onto a glass slide, smashed
beneath the lens of a microscope,
blinded by beams of mirror-light.
Claude wriggles his cilia,
lashes his flagellum, bumps heads
(so to speak) with the other microbes.
Claude twitches and bops,
corkscrews and windmills,
dreams of buying a condo
in the belly of some slightly
larger organism, dreams of climbing
up the food chain, rung
by delicious rung, longs to become
 a big chief, a real player
in the big leagues. Instead,
he finds himself poked and prodded
by miniscule instruments,
dyed and exiled to the circular cell
of the Petri dish, fed a steady diet
of bland agar, instructed to multiply.
Claude groans. He knows what an impediment
it is to have a family, knows that nothing
prevents success more, knows that even when
that old ball and chain is too small to be seen
with the naked eye, it will still
weigh you the fuck down. It may further the species
but it will keep you from ever evolving.
He looks at all the tiny Claudes
sprouting from his backside, and curses
that giant eye staring through the lens,
screaming, You may have destroyed my dreams,
but you'd better keep your goddam mitts off
my beautiful heirs.

Friday, August 16, 2013


Camera clutched in a claw
reaches tentatively around the corner. The extended tentacle,
the erect antenna. A vine stretches its tendril toward the
blinding crack, cautiously hoping to penetrate
the topsoil, to smother itself in daylight.
A scorpion submerged in a pot of water
raises its tail to the surface.
A gastropod raises one eyestalk above the fog,
rotates it left, right, to spy on the shadowy figures
humping through the gloom.
Smoke streams straight up from a cigarette,
sucked toward the red Cyclops eye
of the smoke detector. The eye winces,
tears up, begins to whine. You were safe until
you broke the surface, until you tried to see
what lay outside your womb. Now it’s too late,
the sirens are screaming Dive, dive,
the captain is yelling Hit the dirt, it’s time to
pull in your legs, curl up, withdraw into
your shell, don’t move a pincer, don’t let
a single bubble of sound escape your lips.   

Friday, August 9, 2013

Evaporating Dew

You grin as your bathrobe parts to reveal
the ripe flesh waiting impatiently beneath
Your gleaming smile seems to stretch
to the edges of the bed
as I free your breasts
Your nipples stiffen, the morning breeze
drags its fingertips down your belly
You spread your legs and purr with each caress
Your eyelids flutter wide to release
hungry pupils that strain to suck me in
to devour me with one great slurp
consume me whole with a single look
I long for this annihilation, long
to lick you clean, to disappear
like perspiration drying from your skin
I long to be submerged beneath
your moans, drowned in your rhythmic undertow
I pray that this one morning spent within you
might wash away those countless nights
without you

Friday, August 2, 2013

Claude Gets it Wrong

      Claude waddling around the kitchen with the baby monitor shoved down his pants   Getting drunk on ipecac   Weaving baskets from strips of newspaper, using them as fishbowls   Peeing his gi at the championship match   Shaving his legs with a dull blade, wincing   Sporting a horsehair wig and matching tail   Glaring in through the screen at the birds   Painting his face with the wrong kind of paint   Sticking the ashy end of the Marlboro in his mouth   Peeling strips of skin from his face and feeding them to his pet snake   Faking an orgasm while pleasuring himself   Cutting only the expired coupons   Taking a slingshot to job interviews   Trying to open a fire hydrant with his teeth   Catching his tongue in the spokes of his pennyfarthing   Wallpapering his house with twenty dollar bills   Muttering beneath his breath in Old English    Hurling epithets at preschoolers   Showering with his clothes on   Forcing the stars into new constellations   Staggering around in the dark, heading straight for the wall   Flashing his toothless smile at the head waiter   Using his mother-in-law's vase as a spittoon   Taking back all the nice things he said about the poet who lives next door   Arguing with the meter maid, stating his case with remarkable eloquence   Feeding off the insecurity of others, then vomiting it up and selling it back to them in Mason jars  Landing perfectly the first time he pole vaults   Hammering the pump, bathing in blood   Clutching his numb left arm, convincing himself it’s another false alarm   Staggering backwards through the snow so he can sweep away his tracks, leaving even more footprints behind him as he does