427 Readings | 1 Rating

I want to say how I feel and be done with it forever.


today I’m sleepy
                  a listing daisy
                                    (not every feel
                                     below ecstatic
                                     has to be 
                                     a raincloud)


as I reacht
for a regal crown
of green green
the sprinklers sparked
their mist endowed 
its gentleness upon
               my grateful skin


rheumy with flu
          sweat and 
I found beauty
           in delirium
           (its waviness like filigree
thin cotton ER sheets
           dripping broken fever,
                      that I was
                      close to silence


           the greyest day
                        a steady hand
                        a soft embrace


a mouse’s disembodied
crawl along my 
you           gouge the sand:
                        a stubborn,
                   final boot-heel.


           like     blueblack       shit
           this     crumpled       tongue
           starched        and          stuck
                       against                        itself


       I look at me:

“Mr. Robbins, you’re trying
           to seduce me! 

                                         …aren’t you?”


             my hand slipt
                past elastic
                   curly hairs
                        a gargled hitch





           the slowing breath
              of aftershock
                   a gym sock
                dense with


the simplest things
           feel layered
beyond any measure
           of chaos


when I think about
shooting crystal meth
my nuts crawl inside me
                                 just a little
              I quiver
            like an arrow’s
          through my gut


           I quiver
         like an arrow’s
        through my gut


           threadbare             boot             skids
           shelf                          of                  shale

                      slipping             slipping
                      slipping            slipping

           threadbare           boot             skids
           shelf                        of                  shale


                      now we’re to
                                 the meat
                                            of me


I beseech thee:
           bind me
           teach me
           spoil me 
                        with your rod


           hot metal noise
pierces my ears
           abscess of mind
                      dribble dribble
                      on the double


           dull       toothache       throb
                  of priapic need:
                      so hard I’m
                      so hard I’m
                      so rock hard
                                 for you.
                      so hard I’m
                      so hard I’m
                      so rock hard
                                 for you. OH!


                      peel away these momentary
                      briefs—alabaster, dust
                      of plaster of Paris:
                      interspersed with sparseness
                                            wispy curls


           My libido is
           a bumbling saboteur
           it fumbles blindly
           at             muggy
                                            and skin


Midday’s matchless
sharpness of mind
is dulled on a chunk
of igneous rock.
What erupted yesterday
now become what I
bash my head against
until my sparkle’s
like buried silver.


                      I lick my cold 
                      sore. I rub it
                      with my canine.


                      take your medication

              with thirst
           I found a door
               that was neither
           kicked in nor bolted

                a sexless, silent figure 
              gave me a tall glass 
                     of sand.


           we are breaking
           boundaries a thousand
           feet per second
                      I wake
                          from my nap—
                      Everything seems 
                          to be in order.


teeth rubbed with copper
pennies. For your thoughts
I would gladly offer


           dappled sun breaks
                          skin apart into 
             its building blocks

                      we are just
                                 some toddler God’s Legos.
                              I—the smallest piece

                                         of the playset, set
                                       in my ways, clench my jaw and
                                  try to think my way

                                                     back to feeling


           I found my friend             dead
           in my tub                              and I
           want to say how                 I feel
           and be done with it           forever.


           I burst out the door
           frantic                     hot pink
           alarm bells             screamed at traffic
           adrenal                       with panic
           I’d yanked him,       a sack of wet sand 
           through a spot mid-back where 
           bright hot pain

                                              bloomed like an angry carnation


                      It should have been prom night.
                      We should have been the spotlight dance.

He went from love
of my life to lump
of dead flesh. Just
then, across town
my bus was stalled:
an angry drunk was
ordered off, his tall 
boy of cheap beer 
sloshed his fist 
against the air: “I’m
not gettin off this 
fuckin bus.” Meanwhile
Keith was getting
                      off the bus.


I melted
   his face 
      in a spoon
             with a Bic

and forced him
    through a needle
         as the answer
                   to himself


Oh, Ross, let that day
Hammer its     squareness
through the     roundness
                      of   stillness
 that I might feel
 from moment to 
 end without piercing
            this blister


The finer moments
              are defined 
                 by absence
                     (by what I’m not


                      some emptinesses 
              are noteworthy 
                        for holding the shape
                   of what formed them

                                      aspirin melting
                                            my tongue

                letting someone
                               fuck me 
                       because he expects
                           my feet in the air


But it’s bedtime.
So I pull my blanket
chinward, flip on
my mental television—
it’s the after-school special:

           The shooter entered
           the classroom and erased
                      one by all
           these chalkboard scratches
           we call “ourselves.” 
           I drifted—
                      bloodied on the floor,
                      and sinking through my pillow,
                                                       off to sleep.

                                                                                                   May-June 2013

Posted 08/07/14
I have done my best to keep the spacing close to how it appeared in the self-published chapbook.
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