Triolet for Carol
So many things that still feel new
are old, and that’s the way it goes.
In the House of God
Doubt—dirt—blood—there is no bliss in the house of God.
How do you keep your shit together? You piss in the house of God.
He walks and does not walk. To hear him, not ears but fear.
To see? Wear fire. Bullet and ballad kiss in the house of God.
At the Dog Track
Wednesday and Saturday evenings
were like winter all year round,
the chill air chased cigarette smoke
and stale beer smell across the concrete stands …
Hard Labor
A chrysanthemum petal makes me think of a swapped prisoner. What was given up for this beauty pressing against the
Loose Brick
On the last Saturday of August,
an ambulance sirened past Valley Forge.
Your red Toyota was our caboose.
The cyclists who found me, squashed,