NASCAR
Not rolling in liquid fire
or pulled apart by physics.
Not between commercials.
We Three Kings
I slide myself under our tree
like a mechanic in a body shop
& look up through the lights
& ornaments
& artificial limbs
to the tin angel tied by yarn to the top
like a drunken sailor in a crow’s nest
Great Caesar’s Ghost
I was on my third drink in my mother’s basement
because it was Christmas and my father is dead
and took with him the plural possessive
of the basement and the house above it.
Crowded Heavens Over New Jersey
Even when we drag the trash cans
to the curb, we look up. A nightlife
in the sky. We heard it’s al-Qaeda,
we heard it’s the government.
What Is My Life About?
This naked, lonely question is still simmering in a crock pot on the counter …