Saturday, April 30, 2011

Sticks

For months, the boy piled
sticks in his front yard.
The neighborhood watched
as their young architect
stacked and stacked
over the months

until his pile of twigs grew
into a magnificent fort.
And after toiling
half a year, his structure
stood solid in the yard.

But not an hour after the boy
laid the last beam across
his roof, the neighborhood
raccoon snuck into the fort.

The bandit ferreted away the
stalks that underpinned the child's
structure, to build a shelter of his own.

And that night the evening winds blew in
to disassemble the little hut, leaving

the boy with a pile of kindling.

Friday, April 29, 2011

Cool

Air conditioner --
I would say it is the best
piece of modern tech.

Thursday, April 28, 2011

Release

The circus freak piled
nickel upon nickel
into his nasal cavity.

With each new coin
his temples swelled,
and just from watching,
the onlookers felt an
uncomfortable pressure
pulsing in their eardrums.

Then, in an instant,
the circus man sneezed
and the crowd watched
awed, as they were
showered with thousands
of pennies.

Wednesday, April 27, 2011

Eggs

Don't fucking mention eggs
to me. If I hear one analogy
about baskets or hatching --

Here's the thing, about chickens.
Once they hatch, they are still just
baby chickens. They are walking
death-traps. How do any of them
ever survive? They are fuzzy balls
looking for something to crush them.

Why does anyone care about chickens
hatching, anyway?

I had an egg once. And as it grew
never once did
I count it as a chicken.

I watched it incubating.

Just stared at a single --
no... wait. Single
is a counting word --
just looked at a --
just watched the heated
box and its contents and

then
crack.

A beak, burst through
the flaky shell,
pawing about for
air.

Yes.

One chicken.

But as I stared,
the shell crumbled
away to show patches
of scale, and fangs
grinning
wide from a full-
lipped mouth.

The beak that I
had hopefully counted,
nothing more than
a quivering bone
spur -- stretching
and snapping from
my beast's elbow.

Good God --
what was
I waiting for?

untitled

Men and women
from the department of chastity
not knocking into one another.

Tuesday, April 26, 2011

Fun Stuff


Speaking of things that aren’t fun anymore
(except in that nostalgia sense where the fun
that used to be fun now just feels meta and sad),
what of swing sets, sidewalk sprints, scary stories,
she selling sea shells? I would gladly trade in sibilance,
the term, the act, the recognition that it’s something
more than the sound a snake says, if I could still enjoy
waiting to see how soon I lose my grip and/or nerve,
spending last bits of energy for a short-lived ambition,
leaning in closer to hear the scariest part I can’t not hear,
or marveling that try as I might my words come out wrong.
How convenient if I could still enjoy such things,
nevertheless routine.

Progress

When did it stop
being fun
to cross things
off a list?

What happened
to a sense
of accomplishment?

Where did I lose
interest
in making progress?

Monday, April 25, 2011

Admit

Go ahead. Keep dragging
yourself through
the sludge, over
walls, up mountains. Just
think how nice it will feel
when you finally admit
defeat.

Sunday, April 24, 2011

Time Travel

Each morning I wake up
in the past. For moments
I feel myself surrounded
by things from years gone by.
But as my eyelids flick open,
I am snapped through a wormhole
and hurtled forward
to today.