evasions

how to call what’s nameless?
that thing dread thin as air?
what’s slippery as a shadow?
what bows beneath a stare?
what is this fruitless fishing?
to hook on what can’t be?
casting out the broadest nets
into a barren sea?

forgetting the stove

yes the stove was ON!
and the kettle whistled
til its metal face fogged up
its cheeks flushed red
and out its nose steamed
Tornadoes!

no one was home
to calm it down
to cool it off
to remove it from the fire
to whisk it away from
desperate tremors
a furious tap dance
on the stove top
its hell-bound shuddering
Rumpelstiltskin! Rumpelstiltskin!

what can a kettle do
when the stove is left on?
when it’s distress signal
goes unheeded?
well
of course
of course
it flies away
into the sky
through the window
on a cloud trail of vapor
like a jolly chugging jet plane
cheeks stained with rainbows
forehead shining with a nearing sun
it flies away
high over troubles
forgetting
in cold air
that it was ever forgotten!

-

-

the rabbit with grass on its breath isn’t bothered by music/ no music, windows too open/ windows closed, the heat or the cold, the rabbit dips its pearly claws in wet dirt, hops its spry feet out of key chains, fluffs its fur with a shiver and shakes off the dew, the rabbit is all cold air and large skies and every ground is a large field for the rabbit, the sky, the sea, the grass before it, with little lungs to take it in, the rabbit’s whiskers are not oily with the bus farts, the car shits, the smog sneezes, the rabbit’s eyes do not water at heavy bloody sunsets trembling over the traffic jam, the rabbit would yes prefer the sweet carrot crunch, the light alfalfa strings, the paws behind its rabbit-head squinting softly at the sky, the rabbit does not slowly suffocate in plastic air or paw at its face or swat at its head in punishment, the rabbit does not even know how it leaves moonbeams in its footsteps as its tail bobs by in the blossom night

summer

in ththicklye pink kitchen
i drank a cup of pink paint
coated mof the pinky throat
it’s painted a pinkpink
cuthe
curdlesp of paint
to drinkiwallstchen k
between pink walls
in a kitchen

throat
pale pale roses

crumb bum crickle crack

in the concrete slats
of the sidewalk cracks
sprout the roots
of a crumbcake tree
from a crumbcake crumb
that tumbled among
the crickle cracks
it came to be

from a sweet sunday snack
tumbled crumbs through the cracks
to root down as a crumble cake tree
to drop more crumbly crumbs
in the marshmallow sun
is how every crumb
wants to be

in the crickle crack cracks
tumbled crumbs from a snack
that stretched out their arms to see
could they find the knack
through the crickle crack cracks
to bloom into a new cake tree?

the heel, the heart, the old fish, and two fans

two fans
separate rooms
eventually
like voices
whirr together
at a complementary pace

the heart
is the pie
with songbirds
baked in
can you tell
it’s overcooked
before
the first aerating slice?

the heel
is the face
pulled out of smoke
calloused
thick with dust
peeled away
where clean kisses
were planted

the old fish
lived a tired life
yawning burping sucking smog
laughing slimy bubbles
hacking up hooks and half swallowed feed
seeped in between scales
the uncaring nastiness
of fat microbes
like uninvited guests
watching tv
leaving crumbs of food
in the carpet
for mites to exclaim around
and chew
poor fish
and the many filthy parties
it never asked to host
here, hook caught
farm fed
it bumped elbows
in the congested pond
grew fat
floated its thoughts to
a distant ice chest
now plate-plopped and garnished
an indignant glaze of black-bean sauce
yes of course
it’s rolling its eyes
at you

moving targets

each minute it changes
the face i need to hit
swinging in the dark
after shadows
i find myself again
alone
in the dark
struggling to stick a face
another face
a face
a someone’s face
a culprit’s name
a target
a someone
a focus
a something
on the thing
that’s dread thin as air
slippery as a shadow
silent as a darkest corner
silver-tongued and slick as the stars

hoping to hook a name
with a punch
but this is no way to fish
my fists
against the wall
come up smashed
and empty
broad nets in the barren sea

arms swinging
sometimes
i think
this is the only way
my heart
keeps
pumping
but no flailing arms
can beat back the shame
that cools my heart my heart
to a slab’s chill

i still believe
the night could fall
on your head
with the cheap disobedience
of an old shower curtain
that the morning rises
unmildewed
and dewey anew
to set coward shadows to flight
and arms to rest
until the next night

gritted teeth
arms unyielding
the darkness never gone
it’s hard these nights
to remind myself
I can’t beat back
the dawn
for long

dog days

1) the start

mornings clatter into my room
the neighbor’s dog outside the window
slowly rising then pacing hard against his chain
back and forth
his narrow run between house and fence
in swallowed pitched strains
his galloping direction changes
and i hear him reminded
with each tethered tug
his full range
of movement

2) the journey out

one dog bounds
up almost over the fence
his floppy ears levitating
with each vertical leap
and each
punctuated
airborne
Bark!

his best friend races
from behind the next door house
four little bitter paws puttering
to poke his nose through
each section of the fence
cursing me in high pitched yaps
as I walk alongside
the length of his yard

3) the return

dusk is the home
of the three-and-a-quarter legged dog
cock-eyed
unleashed
limping unevenly and
yelping at me down the curb
as i walk to my new address
once balanced on his good front leg
he kicks up dirt on my car
hind legs wheeling with disdain
then he leers
and sniffs
daring me
to say something about it

settling and scuttling

well, the bottom of every slipper’s
got roach guts on it
but i’m often caught
as bugs
peer up from the sink
turning their faces
and twitching their curious antennae
at me

while i stare back
their less curious friends
seize the moment
to crawl
all over my toothbrush

opening a fresh bag of bread
i catch a lint sized bug
boring through the plastic
to burrow
the sweet loaf inside
i don’t blame him
but pinch him quick

a small schoolyard of ants
waits in line
to drink at the tub
in the afternoon
i let them be

i smashed a roach yesterday
pulled a napkin over it’s body
morgue-style
not wanting to dispose of it
in front of squeamish company

alone
i returned to the slipper
the napkin
the corpse
to find it had risen
crawled atop its shroud
onto its back
all its arms folded before it
dignified
refusing death by slipper
or to be buried and forgotten
under a cheap napkin

the new house grows on me
in scuttling procession

everyone’s a critic

the sunset bled
and the bear climbed out of hell
and over the horizon.
it was bigger than a fridge
bigger than a car
a building
two buildings
big as the sky
(that’s like, bigger than 10 buildings).
it growled at the traffic
warned of a coming apocalypse
or something.
it’s face gnarled in the clouds
hot air shooting from it’s nostrils, shaking the air
it’s eyes glowed red.
it told reporters to take pictures
to spread the news
but none of their cameras had a wide enough zoom
to capture it
and anyway
they were on deadline covering a car chase.
so the bear told the people to tell their leaders
and warn the planet.
but the people were on their phones
and didn’t have their leaders’ numbers
and most of them would get serious long distance charges
if they called the planet
(some of them were almost out of batteries too.)
so the bear snarled to the poets
telling them to use their words
to describe its awesome enormity
and all the super sucky things in store for humanity.
but the poets weren’t that good listeners
and they struggled hard with their metaphors.
(apparently ‘bigger than a building’ isn’t that great a description
for some stuck up bear from hell.)
but the bear said ‘good enough’
and left in a huff
muttering ‘you all get what you deserve’
or
‘wendy’s has a great dessert menu’
or something.
wasn’t really listening.