SOME BIRDS (from 2011)

I stood in the waves and watched pelicans, or some birds, fly single file, bellies skimming the water. I felt future zits pulse under my skin. My hair was reggae. Too much sun, salt. I was almost 32 before I swam next to a jellyfish with my tongue out, probing. The shore was death. The ocean, death. My feet were standing in death. All week the sky was the color of a gun the color of a thunderstorm sky. What a big throat death has. What small hands. Look at the jaws of death, the rubber teeth. All kinds of death in single file. All kinds of death in a show. Girls in stocking-ed legs. Cocks laid on appetizer plates. Long lines for the bathroom. Beer cans versus sand castles.

It is hard. My friend, I spoke with you and you were not listening in the beautiful way you used to never listen. Your hand drifted up towards your hair in the vanity of the rested. You were never at ease. You were always tired. If it were only ever for show, well, you saw my heart break under open curtains. The show is the show.

ACCIDENTAL

I don't trust 

our bodies

        I don't trust our 

minds

this accidental 

smuggle

after nature 

       tripped

over a stump

I still 

        love you so much

still dribble         a bit

when I pee

from Cross and the Switchblade (1972 Spire/Barbour) 

I don't know where this came from.

Re: Found in parking lot

found pair 

        side entrance 

red gloves

the building 

this morning

the light

next to the side entrance 

       the gravel parking lot

small video small song

when I point out my goosebumps
what I mean to say
is look
           what have you done

o hick
oh ice
ick

-E.D.

desk herbs dying

beneath the copy machine's
lurching

collation bell
beneath cognition

boss brought donuts

this morning

it rained

Birds playing guitar at Montreal Museum of Fine Arts

Horse Lords, Hidden Cities

CLEAR WORLDS the dream mountain path again thought all lost dreams lately crossed over or is this even going anywhere the veil whooshed off as it fell a dream always brought back to light how terrible it is to just be coffees and spreadsheets and uploading and William’s plants dying in the cubicle there is so much death and pain all the ugly sandwiches but the worst is when people laugh and don’t mean it

BONK

for Meg

over the faucet gush

i cut

broccoli

stalks bonk

softly

onto green leaves skinned

strewn
in the basin

William Bronk from FINDING LOSSES
Woodcut by Eugene G. Canade'

notebook things

UNTITLED

early
outside the laundromat

wonder why
i cannot
     sit still

pit
in my gut

red dumpster baking
in a glaring limbo

hot morning sun