I am a dog walker I am cooking beans I am the misprint in the formula I am heavy snow at night the scrape of the plow I am bored and ashamed of my boredom I am eating cashews pecans sunflower seeds I am a deer of seven tines I am the sluggish pulse I am a new sound in the deep forest just once I am an empty bag of highly flavored corn chips by the off ramp I am the mistake that leads to greatness I am a wave breaking on dark rock I am a wave breaking on sand

Weekend in PA

Broad Street Market Harrisburg

Amazon FedEx Ground Crispy Chicken Strips Mazda Subaru Chevy Hyundai UPS day lilies widening the highway tree stumps deer on its side judging mind Ford Tesla Rocky Mountain Chocolate Toyota traffic slow for no seen reason sedan SUV truck sedan sedan SUV I’m a lucky man to live in my building SUV SUV truck tired left turn off the highway narrow streets crawl for parking low-grade worry red brick humid cigarette scent black raspberries cherries fat ginger root sunflower seeds dried kiwi cherubic girl in a white bonnet unsmiling all out of sea moss smoothies and some other kind I don’t care about peanut butter cups in unimagined combinations melting Indian Bangladesh African Korean Burmese wish I had skipped breakfast huge sharp fans in the ceiling whole fish cut fish sweet corn and bean stew sweet potato noodles summer rolls three ways rice cakes canned boba LGBTQI espresso oatmeal and molasses and white chocolate chunk and monster cookies thick radishes chunky carrots kale and chard crisp stand at attention third planet is sure it’s being watched hot half sour dill pickles pickled garlic canned pear peach salmon and coconut and toasted cheese and peanut butter and sweet potato and grain-free dog biscuits outside cooler air still singing

after lunch the next day


the shine of my copper pen a bluebird chasing a chickadee from the white birdhouse rabbit crouching low as I walk the dog doesn’t see her then speeding away street corn flatbread Harvest Grill s’mores dessert cup rows of daylilies again and again by homes the side of the highway the forest ripe raspberries tattooed lady selling dog treats smiling my back not hurting too much helping mom set up for the food bank distribution with Rachael volunteering us the folks enjoying the nuts nut butter dried jackfruit we brought down telling and hearing the same stories seeing dad improved some of Lori’s bread for breakfast sleeping better the second night they’re still using the bidet seat I recommended yesterday getting down on a single charge glad the folks watch less network news finding some old books to read once or again getting some decent writing done

back home from the old home


a dog barking in the complex nonstop for how long now why does it bother me so much why does it jump inside and start barking at my heart split my head but I hope that dog has a good life what else can I do what would it be like if I could control all the dogs in my heart somehow worse I’m sure am I sad to leave the folks 200 miles away with no career in the north am I worried about my own creeping doom inferred from their eyes am I ripping someone off talking like this but who I can’t remember might as well write some more right and then the neighbor on the other side of the wall music for hours bass thud you can hear commercials this guy still listens to commercial radio I shouldn’t judge what does it matter but why not use headphones still I don’t know his whys and whatevers fucking autocorrect why can’t there be silence when I want it and something else when I want something else but that’s a child’s mind I know but I can say what I want does venting help or does it dig the hole well deeper well

Seven in the morning of the first

of May already so bright in clear

blue air birds make their plans

immense. Time for our little

 

dog to darken the earth with her

mighty stream and then a few thimbles

of kibble. As I doze my way back

and glance at the car of the neighbor

 

I try to avoid

a wide disc of wood from some

unlucky loved tree on

the driver’s seat.

I guess everything I

thought about the spring is wrong.

my boss, a collector of insomniacs walks the halls on stilts, examines every coffee cup, for progress and, avoids the stairs today is Friday, and the small dog always by her side, will have its nails cut, when we hear the yelping we instinctively check our 401(k)s, and count the leaves of the cypress, as our greatest asset, in a moment the weekend will, begin and the dreams we share, shift to images of pirate ships, chained to a monstrous wave of silver fish

Excerpts from My Autobiography

xxxxx

once the image has life an emptiness says
it will always be so I stare into the distance
blind to trees and flowers
begging to be born but the refrigerator hey
are we doing stream of consciousness
cool and the snow gets sharp in these
huge piles in the back of the lot
days later my handwriting
starts to rot never to recover

xxxx

suicide off the table you start working again
with a miniature saucepan and the clock trying
to rid the mind of all the rules you’ve
made &
feel your hand tight around the thick
rope now only good for that
silly exercise you love

xxxx

away from the neighbor’s dog
across stinging fields we grow
smaller so slowly we don’t
notice until grasshopper parts become
our yard sticks and blades
of grass jostle and topple us in this
dream-familiar landscape we
learn secrets of slow growth, the rootlike
lineages of wormkind and a love
of the sweetness that writhes up from
dark earth and we long to pass
it on to our children who have
grown monstrous in the orange light