I'm only an Imagist when I can't come up with a metaphor

The air is pungent with humidity.
Thunder stumbles across the sky.
I wish it would rain so I could open
my windows to the June night breeze.

In the just-twilight, fireflies litter
my yard like constellations twisting
in the dark matter streams between galaxies
but I won't see the stars tonight.

Graceful as ballerinas practicing
before a wall of mirrors, a parcel
of deer pose along the fence line,
one of them white as lightning,

and I don't even bother
to take a picture.

CLANG

I have seen expressions of want

of faces that impelled me

to drop a coin in a cup –

nothing adds up
to hope
in such circumstances –

just the clang
of silver
on silver
on tin –

I have heard
desperation -

it came from no mouth -

just the rattle of a container 

Junkies might as well be furniture

The city is alive,
taxis bark,
police whistles
howl.

Winos duck out
of 7th St. Liquors,
brown-bagged
& laser-focused.

Sunlight flashes
in the pan
& everyone says they’re visiting
but they all live here;

in this neighborhood
God needs more
than an alias,
He needs a few disguises.

It’s mid-summer gorgeous,
a creamsicle day & if we
look too close inside
ourselves, our eyes will burn.

It doesn’t take a high IQ
to dream on someone else’s dime
to live below our means
to pull a trigger.

There’s not enough dope
or bridges to burn & we can’t
unsee the unthinkable;
all we really want is a blindfold

& someone to light our cigarette.

"Hulk Hogan"

Hulk Hogan
has died,
and a part of us
has gone with him
to a better place,
and the ultimate stage.

where all the pretty roses grow


my mother said i look bad



i told her i have been dreaming

about my death since i was

8 years old



you know, the usual conversation

in a bathroom as you are helping

your mother pull up her adult

diaper



these are the nights i would love

to take an empty bottle of scotch

and see how many cuts it would

take to get to my tootsie roll



and no, suicide isn’t first on

my list



i figure it won’t be something

planned or poetic



like taking a dump



or inside a hooker



probably a random front porch,

a bottle of something too strong

for my age and a nap becomes

the final siesta



just cremate the body



and spread the ashes

somewhere, next to a pile

of shit

——————————————————
circles around my soul


write through the darkness



the endless cries for help



the myth of love



a friendship that died long

before it should have



you had the taste of a woman

that could dance circles

around my soul



we laughed at the oddest shit



fought over nothing, but i

warned you about my ability

to burn a bridge and never

come back



of course, that stubborn bullshit

has cost me best friends, a few

lovers and arguably one of the

greatest female poets to bleed

on the page



cancer will kill us all



hope the ride was worth

every moment of pain



still remember one long sunset

and what could have been on a

porch somewhere in ohio



hard to believe you escaped

this hell first

Lumerian

I hate my face, framed & cherubic
Fate-eyed, a thousand lifetimes
Reflected on the lachrymose coated
Almonds not yet ripe
Dreamy-dazed, girlhood poster child
Fractured
Dollar store tee worn threadbare
A heart in hiding, livid
Frizzy-risen, tentacled towheaded dolly
I have an extraterrestrial toe,
Taller than the rest, proof
Of my out-of-orbit true residence
Because these mildew-encrusted
Ceiling tiles don’t cut it
To house a mnemonic mystic
I plan to shorten the galactic strings
To blend in better
Peach scrub a smile on, fill it in
With botanical lip oil
Mission control, behavior aborted
Beam me up in the glow of the bug light
Make me love the receptacle
Shrieking, stretched over
The multidimensions that it veils

Youth

behind your eyes
is some sunset landscape of emotion
do you really need reasons?
yes, pain and loneliness
pain, glory, and loneliness

the rain-laden clouds have been driven on
and the wet thistle blooms are so obvious
it's almost obscene
unapologetically purple
and fragile and belligerent
like all beautiful things

Service Industry Bots Serving Service Industry Bots

who needs AI when human
slaves are happily plentiful

in the diaper aisle you see,
in the dog food aisle, I am

staring at paper products
of industrial landfill toiletry

maybe thinking,
porn started this

Oasis

Haven't been here in years,
     a true bar for mad men
traipsing around the dark
     looking for wine &
gossamer breath.

Pool table owns the back,
      man at the bar
seems lost in his beard.
       "So am I, buddy,"
I would say, if I was going
        to talk to him.
But I'm enjoying
        my garage beer too much.

Last time I was here with poets
     who didn't drink.
I drank myself into the stars
      and shattered my glass
on the floor as balls slammed
      into each other on the velvet green.

I'm always looking for that one
       place to go,
somewhere to find America
       at the bottom of a plastic cup,
one that I hope says "Old Style".

Next time I'll come here
          later at night,
when the full moon is out looking
           for a fix,
and someone is willing to say
            out loud,
"This place is a beautiful shit hole."
       And then we'll dance for America,
that 249 year old shattered glass
        on the lovely
piss stained floor.