Yellow Ashtray


on the night 
horns grow from my head


my father 
is on the back porch smoking
a Winston

the yellow ashtray 
like a runny egg of moonlight
on the cracked stone step

he looks 
at the horns 
but says nothing 

rolls up 
his shirtsleeves 
& stubs out the Winston

I follow 
the thread of violence 

& clip him
with a parting blow. 




Front Hook Spin


the kids 
with fishing poles 
& stolen Vodka 
decanted in 
hairspray 
bottles

find him first 
& pull him out 
of the millrace, 
lips blue & front hooked 
with the last night 
on earth  

pole dancing girls 
spinning go-go hard-ons 
at the Novelty Lounge

must’ve
taken the tracks home
& fallen in 

scared 
all the 
fish