Guiltless and capable,
The butter knife lounging on the counter.
Butter is soft and weak,
And hates her,
Uet through her dulling days
She never forgets butter.
Tag: poem
Big Eye
Makeshift trees
Conceal the emptiness of space.
I am removed from nature’s skin
As crust from an eye.
Too often I have peered
Over my back fence for
A better view
No one should see that much
We are startled giants
With weak hearts
Space rolls over its
Grassy base
There is no room for
A thing that watches
Yet a big eye cleans
The back of the world
With lashes
Female
the globe gingerly turns
on an axis she would not
have picked for herself
if given the choice
she has a crush on the
black hole
that calls her sometimes
something about that
event horizon
feels so remarkably other
her identity is unknown to her
not even the sun will tell
her she is gifted
Hose
Consecrate energy,
Obey the demand.
You travel a million matters
From your source.
Hot New Music Video
Rock with respect.
You’ll be dead
And this song will be
Filling the oldies station
Like a bucket.
Rhythm connotes meaning
More than words do sometimes.
Body movement is our base language.
Away
He doesn’t see the mountain
Under his feet as he travels
Only thinks that the
World has pulled away
From him
The Last Painting
Labored seeing –
The artist as his canvas drifts away.
The IV hums a little.
They only let him squeeze
The morphine button every five minutes.
4 out of every 5 minutes
Is a dog gnawing on his body.
Please…
He begs…
One more painting and I will go
Without complaint.
Less of You
The advertisement promised diligent bread.
The sort of thing that will eat for you
While you bask prideful in a fashionable,
Contemporary hunger.
The world loves you as it loves itself.
That’s why it wants less of you, Dear.
Of course.
Don’t doubt.
Pout.
There is a new job coming,
To be done by someone else.
Beer
Beaches of lime and slow.
We are home to the most unpopular beer.
I have a lot to drink here
but eat slowly.
Threatening texture
Physical.
Justice
Justice is a poor best friend,
Sticking knives in me
Where I can see them.
I reach for the cookie
He slaps me gently
I smell the desiccated marsh
He holds my hand on rollercoasters.
It wouldn’t be fair
For me to die when I
Have been so innocuous
But the tide looked
Innocuous and the
Fish is dead.
I am not a reed in the marsh.
When he takes me home
He always takes the
Long route
Miniature Moon 