3 poems

Been writing bunch of poems lately. I don’t know, somehow or other, doing the book Everything Neon with Marginalia, really got me into poetry mode. So, been into the mode of fucking around and writing a bunch of new poems, but not so much about living here in the city. Instead, been working on a collection of poems all about growing up in a residential suburban development just off a two lane highway and being excited beyond belief to go ELSEWHERE. About drifting off. About shooting off into space on a jet pack.  So, here are 3 poems …


“so so SO terrible,” she sets the newspaper down
“a kid died, couple blocks over,
on Mallard Ave.”
“eaten by a chipper.”
“what the hell is a chipper?”
as if it was an animal, like: look out
a chipper is loose in the development
they’re as big as a jaguar and hungrier
“a woodchipper” she says
“he worked for the tree service”
I looked down into my shredded wheat
she folded the paper, as if
the paper was cursed

and so we went for a drive
at first pretending that maybe
we weren’t going to look at the yard
but that’s where the car wanted to go
there was no stopping it
yes, exactly true, just a few blocks over
it was a small blue house
the yard was wrapped in
yellow crime scene tape
nobody home, too much shade
no grass, all moss and lichen
a sad lawn to look at

the chipper was still out there
it said ‘Travis Tree Service’
on the side of the machine
“there’s no blood”
from the car, we scanned
everything we could see:
the siding on the house, the ground,
the machine, the leaves in the tree
“the people who cleaned up the blood
did a very good job”
“paper said he got his shirt sleeve
caught and was pulled in”
“that’s how it always happens”
“it stopped halfway down, the machine,
there’s a safety … by then it was too late”
“mos def”

a green car passed by at a crawl
then a group of boys on bikes
went past and pointed, but kept pedaling

finally a cop car pulled up, and we watched
the officer get out and duck under the
yellow tape of the crime scene
he walked around the mossy yard
for a bit, just looking, staring off
then he sat on the steps and stared some more
“what do you think he’s looking for?”
“he’s probably doing what we’re doing”

she started the car, the cop didn’t even
look over, his eyes had become fixed
on something caught in the branches
of the tree
I’m not sure what.
and so be it.

Walking By the Kitchen In Just My Socks

the refrigerator door
was left open just a crack
no one notices for a thousand years
the light was off

life is as exciting
as frozen blueberries
that used to be wild.

art sucks dick

have left behind
blue petals of life force
have slept on the roof
in my mortal clothes
have been polite to
armies of magician’s doves
slipped off, high
just passing

art levels status
here’s to many more
Tuesday nights
getting plastered

but first I have to
take the garbage


Please chime in, let's talk about the Universe

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s