disappearer

sweet desolation,
you kick my leg again, beneath this victorian table
you stand me up and exit me out with your bottle, your grin.
we leave in a fluster of goodbyes.
we are alone now, you and i,
and what sweet victory,
desolation.

it is another radioless evening driving out here along the pavement
and out and north i have spent all my money
on tankfuls of gasoline and a styrofoam cup.
all i need is the interstate wind,
a chance to be alone and taken.

it is this time of year
when the leaves have fallen to slick the asphalt surface
and the trees have grown bare to admit the halogen glow.
it is this time of night
when the october rain glistens in the turn
and the rearview mirror is dark and empty.
i have spent my money on gasoline, desolation.
i have spent a lifetime in your avenues
and i am still awaiting
your perfect kiss.

Kill Build

that’s when we scatter the ashes
and pull on the purse strings
in cinching it a little tighter
finished with a simple granny knot
things run their course, they always do

 

(just let it happen)

 

but there’s never any way to predict the outcome
it can only be coached along, coaxed along
molded when malleable and hardened when necessary

 

(let it happen)

 

the problem, or whatever it is
didn’t just happen, did it
the foundation of it was laid ages ago, wasn’t it
it just silts up after a while until
something must break

 

(it happens)

 

walls, will, and the will of man
all bunched up like a tense fist
you could cut it with a knife
but it probably wouldn’t help
it builds, though –
nonetheless
it builds until it’s palpable
taking on a certain dimension
a weight unto itself

 

(happens)

 

it builds until it spills
and it’s like the cascade can’t stop
and we all give in and watch it crumble
or better yet, watch it burn

Endgame

I had written the letter as an endgame. After a year of subtle negotiations, there did not seem to be a way forward after all that had transpired.

endgame1

endgame2

endgame3

endgame5

endgame4

endgame6

endgame7

endgame8

Answerable

the call came
the call for words
letters forming words
words forming strings of meaning
meaning that has yet to be discovered

this is what happens
the indefinite asserts itself
a drifting of sorts without any intention
intending to, but not quite capable of execution
the intent or execution to make this the here and now

in your absence

wasd by tarboxan answer for everything, you have
perfected the art of that beverage and
crucially determined the iphone app we all
require

congrats on that vinyl recommendation and your
blog
links abundant to all of your other
advertisements
reminding us of what we have missed in your
absence

and as the facebook opens up, as your images illuminate my phone
as i drift away and forget to hit like
am i here
i am here
am i here?
i listen to the air
conditioning
good night

Open Space

I had found myself all alone, on a Sunday night, sitting at the long kitchen table that was
birthed as a tool bench, before being reappropriated at the Depot House. As we all were to a certain degree, I was longing for some quiet time. Depot housed six of us that summer, and the peace of that solitude gave me time to work on my latest poems. The trains whirred by hourly, as Mystic was a small
station that was only afforded three stops a day. It was the main reason the six of us were even able
to rent the house at all; it’s proximity to the tracks while sitting within a sea of pavement made the
market for Depot rather limited. We were clinging to each other , trying to weather the storm of the first Bush recession as we established our lives beyond childhood, and the securities of home. For a group of people in their early twenties, that was a reality none of us wanted to return to.

A near silence was broken with one loud crash of the screen door, against the front of the house. In the
balmy air of late summer, and with no need to lock out strangers, the heavy main door was wide open.
That doorway was now filled with the visage of Kane, his eyes ablaze in a furious fit.
The open space I was so desperately seeking- vacating the violence of my family life, was suddenly
being relegated within the place I least expected to see it. We had all got along famously at Depot, with
a shared belief system, and a shared commitment. And yet, perhaps, this was a simple illustration that
for everyone, the violence we were so frightened of was in each and every home. He turned sharply to
the right and ascended the stairs, the heavy clomp of his leather shoes banging on the old wood floor as
if trying to stomp his anger into the very soul of the building.

Moments later, the episode would become fully apparent. Gary, who had his routine quarrels with
Kane, stumbled up the stairs, and grasped the screen door with both hands. A certain pause
preceded his opening of the door, and I stood up, beginning to absorb the intricacies of the changing
landscape. As he slid around the screen door, quite the opposite entrance from Kane, Gary
approached me, coming out of the dim light of the foyer into the fluorescence of the kitchen. I could see
that he was wounded, a gash on his left cheekbone just under the eye, where bone meets the least
amount of flesh on the face. It looked as if some superhuman being had dug their finger into his soft
tissue and pulled it off of the skull. And it simply remained in that form, as if you could set a golf ball on
it and use it for a tee. Surprisingly, the blood was minimal, but I knew I had to get him to the emergency
room.

“What the fuck happened?” I asked
“We were drinking at John’s, and on the way home we got into a fight. At one point he pushed me, and I lost my balance. I fell face first onto a curb………”
“Get your ass into the truck! Now!”

I began the drive out of town toward the emergency clinic, about ten miles away. Unfortunately, I didn’t
check the time, and more than likely would not have remembered that the clinic closed at midnight.
When we rolled into the parking lot, the entire complex was dark except for the lot lights, not a
single car to be seen. We needed to drive out to the first town over the border, into Rhode Island,
as they had a hospital that had to be open 24 hours a day.

When I told my mom the story during a phone call one night, she replied in her singular, revealing drawl-
“Now you know how I feel……”

originally published in the All Ages Press zine
Smaller Town

Square Knot

500px-Reef_knot.svg
Used with permission. Source Wikipedia.

from opposite directions each line meets, then intersects the other
the tiny checked pattern of the mantle glistening
red-flecked on white in a sea of blue swirling down its length
softly, almost imperceptibly, the kern emits a subtle hiss in adjustment

and around again, now skyward, arching in perfect symmetry towards the others each
from opposite directions, again, each line meets, then intersects the other
the patterns challenge each other in passing and on through the loops
and to end with a quick squeak, the final tightening, wound and rewound