Toxic

In New Zealand there is a certain plant

that bees sometimes pollinate.

This particular shrub causes the bees

to produce, poisonous honey.

I was terrified to learn

about this phenomenon.

I just can't bear

to hear that something

I consider one of life's

unqualified comforts

might actually

be trying to kill me.

A Courtyard Marriot outside Trenton

Standing on a porcelain husk

in the Courtyard

Marriot outside Trenton

I am naked and cannot bear 

travel, soaked through my clothes.

I cannot scrub off the odor of ages

one through one hundred,

the grease from Southwest 

seats, all thoughts of passing

through and through and terminals.

Outside is not the solution.

There is no courtyard

only a beige wall with careful hedges

and a shadow made of dirt 

tracing scorched geometry on concrete 

where once a gazebo grazed. Beyond the wall

is a dumpster, a construction machine,

a parking lot.

Hard water hits the husk

and I am porcelain.

The shower curtain screams

when moved. To flush 

appears to tear a hole,

shouting suction, through the night

to reach or pull whatever there is

beyond. 

A hotel: O, pattern book of vague hospitality,

of repeating sterile and sterile

repeating, of squares and stairs

and sleek machined chairs,

molded soles and well-worn carpet 

patterned never to reveal a spill.

I think they put the drier 

down the hall on a respirator

or an IV drip that is no longer

dripping and is that why you always said to 

defrib before bed? 

The shower taps out 

only hollow time. I don't

know what the effect is.

Osteoporotic jazz?

Beating again the tub wall

of ages no one is counting.

I don't know how to end things.

I never did. A twisted wreck,

though? A cardiac event 

and fourteen broken ribs?

Standing on a porcelain husk

in the Courtyard

Marriot outside Trenton

I am naked and cannot bear 

staying here, I will scrub 

and scrub until the odor of ages

one through one hundred,

the grease from all thoughts of passing,

Southwest seats.

Crunch

Did crabs evolve

with shells

because they knew how delicious

their meat was?

I simply can't resist them.

When without a hammer,

I'm often forced

to pluck

the little red bugs

from the sand

as the they scuttle by,

and pop them

into my mouth whole.

Perhaps that's why

I was born with

brass teeth.

Game?

The little pieces marched

across the board,

leaving a trail of

angry gchats in their wake.

In the end, even

the tiny Treaty of Paris

couldn't repair

the galactic shift

occurring in the heavens.

The immortal quarrels of the

invisible hands.

Everywhere

My room is adorned

with thousands

of shards of mirror.

Images bounce from

wall to wall

catching the corners

of my eyes. Everywhere

I turn, distorted

shapes leer at me.

Unfamiliar forms

begging me to remember

them as they once were.

Each morning, I search

for the exit, with jagged edges

taking nicks out of me

as I stumble through

the maze of reflections.

Stare

What must my computer think,

peering down at me every day

as I gaze glass-eyed

into its face?

Tea

Imagine a world without tea.

Why, such a world just shouldn't be!

Without tea to drink

my life sure would stink,

thank goodness the stuff grows on trees.

Luck

Each night, I get home

and empty my pocket

change onto the dresser.

I count how many

coins lie heads up

looking for an omen

of what tomorrow

will bring.