LSATs Ahoy

I would rather wait for a sign
But frankly I've gotten rather miserable
So something has to give

Substance

Some days, I just lie on the couch

ceaselessly eating crackers.

By evening, I'm sitting

in a pile of crumbs,

hungry.

A song of sixpence

Four and twenty blackbirds baked
Would be so into corn right now
And really dig The Dead

Sun

I've never felt that kiss of sun

that others find so refreshing,

only ever the enervating

lash of its rays.

Passed Over

The finger of God brought fifty plagues upon the land of Egypt
The hand of God brought two hundred down to the Red Sea
The word of God made mine the chosen people
The heart of God is not for us to see

For Want of a Mirror

Today, on the street,

a man grabbed his wife by the arm

and pointed at me.

For an instant,

I thought he'd mistaken me

for someone famous.

But moments later,

and still now,

I'm crushed by embarrassment.

sometimes i want to cut my hair.
but then i
thread my fingers
through the tips
and think,
you’ve seen paris.

and i don’t.

Settling is what sediments do

Settling is what sediments do.
They fall out.

After I settle,
What will I use to drudge me
Out of the slurry?

I want to fall out.
I'm bored once I land.

Newton and Stokes wrote equations
For the way things settle.
Applied force, drag force, density.

The equations are for free settling,
A single spherical particle
In an infinite fluid.

Free settling doesn’t really exist.
Hindered settling is the only
Settling with practical applications.

I think I hinder my own settling.
I am the container walls
I run into as I spin.

The Fancy Latina

Everything long and sharp -

heels
nails
lashes
brows -

dressy versions of the cute,
whorled ear, the
sugary
pink tongue.

Mending

We are taught that which we change
for the better through labor
is ours.

What of those things
we change by accident?

I can be made to buy
that which I break
but not to mend it.

No one's taught me how.

I own many things
and have built one or two
I'd trade it all
to fix things with you

Live! in the Morning

When Regis retired,

they replaced him with

a rotating cast of generic

brunette, buzz-cut co-hosts.

Different each day.

In the morning

when my glasses are smudged over

with a mist of sweat and rain,

I squint at the tiny ten inch

television propped up at the end

of my diner's counter and try to

determine that day's buzz-cut.

I think today was Demrot Mulroney,

or Dylan McDermott, or

Marmot DcDermdry...

Luckily, a timely egg sandwich

kept me from thinking on it too long.

Icarus

Did he die
On impact –
Wax-covered neck snapping
On the surface of the sea,
Or did he drown gasping
In the water now named for him,
Head low,
Eyes glassy and empty,
Unable to focus?

Once the heart stops
A brain takes six minutes to die.

L Train Delays

The MTA does not keep stats on subway suicides.

I've often wondered about the schmuck 

lying on the tracks somewhere between First Avenue and Third. 

He backs the L line up to Broadway Junction.

No trains will run in either direction due to pending police investigations.

We estimate one death by train in five to be intentional.

The other souls have left their platforms seeking mislaid idevices, umbrellas, and gym clothes.

Lookers on stay frozen in train headlights, unable to will down the brakes.

Their eyes closed tight in silent prayer knowing no one in this city is truly alone.

And no one gets to work on time.

How to Seduce a Member of the Night's Watch

Come in closer,
southern boy.
Leave the wolf outside.

Claim me to my bones,
capsize me,
catch me in your tide.

Cold winds are rising,
but we can thaw,
fire licks through snow.

Come in closer,
southern boy.
Show me something I don't know.

Map

Mrs Carter,

he did not care

he danced and then

he did not care to dance anymore

he observed:

Mrs Carter dancing

O Master of Steps who has danced so many nights that every coming night is only a variation of the steps you have left the shadows of on the dalmatian floor we stand along the edges of we still we wait we observe

do you care

to dance anymore

do you know how she

follows have you danced her steps

as well

O Mrs Carter,

he did not care to dance anymore

he observed to

I Am That Is

If painted women are whores
and drawn women weary
If women cut from stone are frigid
and porcelain ones fragile
Perhaps I shall not let another
render me at all.

Opening

There are many things I hate about spring.

Constant sweat

dribbling down my back,

pooling in damp dark semicircles

above my waist

or forming chalky silhouettes

on my sheets.

Mobs of people, out of hibernation --

this, I never understand;

are they unable to wear coats? --

streaming through crosswalks

choking off walkways.

Spring menus replacing winter,

trading roots, for berries.

Prioritizing crisp and

fresh, over flavor and depth.

Taxes.

And yet, two words

somehow manage

to redeem the season.

"Play ball."

Tending

We thought he spun it out already

formed

We thought it was thought and it

was

A breath and then

breathed

Before there was a garden

were there seeds

Before there was speech

were there sounds

Before there was the act

was there the desire

to act

Formerly Charmed Life

Stephan Jenkins

used to date

Charlize Theron.

Now,

he doesn't.

Watch

In Memory of Adrienne Rich

In his country every
the swamp breeze is stirring
third thought
in Florida the Watch does not sleep
is of death
plastic bottles crunch against your police
issued barriers       mothers wail
making your fingers itch       retreat
behind your pale eyelids
hum songs of privilege to yourself
watch       apart       click your tongue
no place for the sweet rainbow sigils of innocence
your palms exposed to yield
are the same color as your clenched fists
yet you will never have to explain
to your child
why this sort of thing happens       to us

Waragi

Overturned truck

A herd of jerrycans

While the man is being beaten

We steal gin

Lira Lira

War gin

We steal the courage

To drive away

Laughing

Without glances over shoulders

To see the mob descend

The difference between plátanos and guineos

My son, you may think, A banana is a banana. But there is a substantial difference between the two.

Plátanos are for kitchens steamy with hot oil, humid air, too many people in one friendly space.
Guineos are for gringoes.

Plátanos have many hijos. All the hijos of the plátano, even the stunted and the weak, are allowed a struggle at life.
Guineos are selected, and their sons are, too. The rest are cut down before they sap the nutrients from their parents' soil.

Wherever they can find space to put down roots and head for the sun grows the plátano.
The guineo is planted in orderly rows. These are maintained on a calendar basis.

The versatile plátano may be fried, grilled, boiled--even while green the plátano makes itself useful in soups, empanadas, chifles, patacones, bolones...
Guineos are good for milkshakes.

The plátano stays close to home.
The guineo earns a visa to visit foreign lands. But recently, the guineo caught a deadly and contagious plague; soon it will be gone from this place. Meanwhile, we are left with the
plátano, and who else wants them
but us?

Demeter

I told her I would eat a thousand nightshades to keep from waking,
that I would take nettles, fresh and stinging,
and chew until they broke to liquid.
I said I would kiss her eggplant ring.
But she sang her morning song and released the window’s shade.
She said she would take the sleep from my eyes
and there would be no winter-spring,
no delay, only early arrival,
and I shuddered.

deer you

from a recently posted Missed Connection

i deserved it and you

are as the deer

i am not st. francis

i am a no

body

i was walking my dog and a deer

came up to me i fed the deer

when someone passed by and commented

the dog does not stir and the deer

does not stir

i thought it was normal

i have the same way

with horses and most

people:

a deer wandered into my yard the other night there were three

i am not angry or vengeful

i am not jealous but

i knew

an innate talent i am not proud of perhaps

i speak to the world

i post for my

self

Communicado

Ping, I think, as the heavy blue hinge
pulls shut the wedge that has eaten
my letter. Ping, as the cat leaps
to the sound of kibble filling her bowl.

Ping, as I ask a question to my supervisor to
which I already know the answer. Ping, I am
still here. Ping, I am paying attention. Ping,
I believe I have covered my ass now.

Thank the lord I was not born a lighthouse.
I shudder to imagine the jagged wood
crashing against my shins each time I couldn’t
be bothered to make my presence known.

In the “relationship” a brand forms with
consumers, we speak of touches: this banner
ad a touch, that email another, a prime-time
touch will touch millions with a single gesture.

Ping, I think, checking in with my mother every Shabbos.
Ping, as I give my kiss goodnight.

Disembarking

You will always think
you have enough time
to exchange one more glance
with the beauty in front of you,

until she steps off your train.

since April is the cruelest month

since April is the cruelest month

the lewdest month

the rudest month

I sliced out my trout’s spine

arched his tail through his organless body

and pulled it out of his mouth

I sprung spring

listening to him sizzle

my warped half whole fish

four minutes on each side

En Yambo

La laguna sin fondo
que guarda los secretos
acalla las palabras
y oculta los hechos.

Ni aún los peces han visto
jamás buscarán los hombres:
se traga corazones
y rinde sólo armas.

Stabbed

Once, at a churrascaria,
a waiter ran me through.
An accident, he swore.

The cut seemed clean,
straight through the chest,
with nothing vital torn.

The maître d’ packed
the cut with gauze
and sent me home.

But a chicken heart
had dislodged inside –
little did we know.

For weeks, I poked
at the padded wound
willing it to heal.

But after some time
that little avian lump
became quite a comfort to feel.

Flat Affect

I'm not old enough

to be world-weary, even if, except for the few

religious ecstatics, every poet I read seems to live

in that dull grey of bathetic morning wilting

into unending night. No, not

when the apprehension of a single hair out of

place makes me want to shave the entire scalp, not when,

late evening, tuning each body part toward the lull of sleep,

still I do not do anything

but stare wide-eyed at the newly turned underside of a leaf

of a thought as my blood – so

much – throbs with such percussion I cannot tell if what

wildly shakes is me, or the bed, or the whole

earth. They say: no tears

but in things; no ideas but in

grief – yet what I read as an eternal dinner with the alcoholic cousin

and his alcoholic wife and their two sick-eyed ugly kids,

having to swallow the inescapability of avoiding the memory

of all of this, that struggle to define the precise flatness of the

soda, is rather a consuming fire

fevering up until where I turn the page

is marked by the char left behind.

How to Work for Nazis

Remember this is only temporary.

Do not count this job as your

final solution.

Use copious emoticons.

Germans have no love for wordplay

but understand the tactical value

of whimsical punctuation.

Lower expectations.

They cannot be expected to understand

the trouble with summing up Africa

in two lines. At least they fly there

without guns or gas.

Make art.

Believe that they are subsidizing it.

If you stop creating beautiful things,

signs of life on their dime,

even for a day,

you are lost.

Most importantly, make lists.

These the Germans understand.

And if ever there comes a time

when it all seems too awful,

you must have a justification

for your compliance

with these sins

handy.

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.

Cool

Air conditioner --

I would say it is the best

piece of modern tech.

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.

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.

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?

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.

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.

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.

Soggy

Rain seeped underneath

my duct-tape insulation --

dripped by to say hi.

King David

The king marched off to war
and left ten concubines behind.
They weathered a different kind of
attack and survived to receive
the king again, who cloistered
them and their spent fealty
as a thanks for their service.