Saturday, January 21, 2017

inverted midas

everything touched turns to
body crumpled like a hundred dollar bill
at the bottom of the stairs. 
her head growing golden 
and heavy in my hands, her eyes
carot'd, the smears on the tile 
plated. she's got 
treasure running down her face now and
i've never seen such a fortune 
at one time so, naturally, it haunts me. 

my fingertips laden with coin;
i slide my hands in my pockets and 
those turn gold too. 
i walk down the street with the weight of them, 
both of them.
death won't stop stalking the back property line, all pacing and
i have tried to live my life avoiding blood but
it is everywhere,
in the garden, 
inside of other people.

like a pool of treasure 
at the bottom of the stairs.

Friday, January 13, 2017

something clean, white, big, 
something as large as it needs to be.
see, i've been 
hibernating myself into a bear,
been hibernating myself into an envelope with
zipcode like safe code, four stamps and your saliva still
hidden under the glue. 
they do things
real different up there. 

new york is a castle of salt 
all florescent sex store, 3.99 hotline, come
crawl inside the mouth of me, the great white whale

my baline? my silkscreen? my ocean teeth?
the monsters a place can grow.

here is the truth of the truth;

i have no space for my elbows, 
i have no space for aching rib cage,
i do not belong here anymore.


Tuesday, January 3, 2017


in 1996, Rob Hall led an expedition to the top of Mount Everest
in which 8 people, including himself, perished.
in 2015, an earthquake in Nepal triggered an avalanche on Mount Everest in which
22 people perished.

i whisper the mystery of life into a bootstep
when and where 
the world will perish, where and when i will
perish. the plans, the hieroglyphs written into 
the skin of the temple. i whisper a name into a bootstep, say
sorry for all the words no one ever told him and
30 snowburied heads nod in approval.

it's funny because
his name was Parrish. 
do you get it? see the pun? see the gasoline?
see the mountain? the great big 
obligation of it all, as the    
weather insists, growls, makes
the wheezing unhappy sounds of wind.
30 snowburied heads nod in approval.     

science says,
in 1996, they only retrieved 3 bodies
science says,
the rest are still up there
science says, 
in 2015, they never found any bodies.
god says,
why assume they are still up there?
why assume he is still up there?
and molds them into snowflakes
science says,
it is not elegant to die
and god says,
it is not elegant to die
yet the backpackers 
keep doing it.
yet my patients 
keep doing it.