poems

dog on the floor

I’m sitting with the
dog on the kitchen floor
the walls in this house
are sand timers
slow moving honey

it stops for a second
as I look at the reflection
of me and the dog

in the background is
yelling, screaming,
singing out of joy
it’s hard to tell
but its heavy and delusional

moans and groans
a heavy head
a heavy chest through
the wall
paralysis on both ends

lines …I’ll make lines
and pretend
that I’m showering
lines and
we both pretend he’s showering

make lines
tie the belt real tight
the shower water is running

It was my first and last time

fading light seems
to be the trigger
as well as the horizon
in the rearview mirror
but still dance slowly
fill up with nectar
take off the white summer linen
jump in the lake
swim until you can’t
see land

tangerine

rainbow colored
weird fishes
are pointing to the black birds
swaying on the top of the pine
It’s a warm and humid earth
the strength
felt months later
It’s sort of difficult to walk
calmly to the lake and
through the paths
it’s always been
quiet on the outskirts
on the outside
the interior
creates
/ multiplies the worst memories
obscures them
now morphing into
dark blinders
I seem to be incapable
at this time

patterns aren’t real

Fleeting feeling
with burden

like symptoms
the tote bag feels sturdy enough
to carry my stuff
there is a rash at the bottom
of my throat
I think
I thought
It exist

caused by the sun
he also suggested listerine
an overstimulation
from farm to
table
from farm to
city

and back

I was once
a gentle
old man sitting
on a park bench holding
my stuff

walking in ny

A creaky heart
with each inhale and exhale
is a twig holding the
full
red belly of a
little bird that travels nocturnally

Walking past the bar that looks
like a 1920’s gathering
with its yellow round bulbs
decorative and dark borders

The trash on the sidewalk
seems to have come together
through serendipity
for the pleasure of
the moonlight, the streetlight
and the rain from earlier

Treasure from this angle

and then it started raining

Before boarding the plane
my step-dad gave me some sudden advice
“Don’t accept free food samples”
I suppose being poisoned
is a fear that I had yet to acquire

but at last here it is

I sipped from a glass of wine
elegantly placed
between a marble statue and concrete

on the third sip, I found myself upstate
in the closing part of winter

there I was, staring at the ceiling fan
trying to convince the man in the red wool sweater
to paint over
all of the thin black lines
I had painted on their door