Like a stuntman swept over Niagara’s agitation,
heart hammering in a bouncing barrel,
watched from safety by a shivering crowd
instead of being just another face in it,
he thinks the voyeur’s existence a waste
as we end up sealed in a box, stilled.

1)  Quell all lovers longing gaze
upon it through the midnight haze.

The front door creaks
louder than the blasting
music, and I pass through
the fog toward the bar.

The angels of exile
Lovers to the road,
These fortune tellers
Pose as poets

I hope my star does not
shift from Earth and sight,
into galaxies unbridled by
God. And that my vision has
hair and pulse, enough
to reach the primal light, grow
a new strength with each
passing defeat. 

Single mother’s bastard spawn
Who never did his own laundry
Spoiled rotten little shit
Meek, overfed, wouldn’t amount to anything
I realize now
Single mother

Stop-motion runs my head.
My words pause, brake,
each letter in a contorted pose
until I can get gears that have been
rubbed raw working once again.

I married ALF and we were actually quite happy. In the early years, I strung stars and cooked TV dinners. On Tuesdays I ate Swedish Fish and on Thursdays he watched his friends’ shows. When we made love, he glowed and when I tried to turn him off, his fur radiated a soft purple.

i am the lonely captain of your silhouette
riding the tempest
until sleep takes me.

The bagger hoists
the last sack of groceries
into the cart.