Club Escape
The long line leaning toward the doorman’s crossed
and tattooed arms, the stamp of stymied heels,
the sighed frustration of the vape-exhaust,
the outright bribes and liner-eyed appeals
Poems
How to Become a Professional Folk Singer
There I was: lemon-tinted Lennon glasses,
paisley shirt like ironed vomit, corroded
toenails dangling from Kmart sandals …
Severe Atypia
I know you feel like an old, sad dog, the doctor says,
But I think you’re still worth saving.
I’m on my stomach, shirtless,
It’s bright and cold outside, snowing again.
Two-Hour Delay
It’s February and already
I’ve overspent my budgeted bewilderment
for the year, most of it on deep & constant
sorrow: war, deportations, deployments, hatred
forged into policy, theft, dead phone lines
and locked doors.
Aubade For One Dismayed
Half-Alice in her milky, silky sheets
almost awake to the ache of another day
rebounding from her beaming ceiling,
grieved leaving the comforts of the night—
Abandoned Fair
Our love is an abandoned fair:
the lights all broken on the midway,
some glitter still hung in the air.
We strolled like kids. We weren’t aware.