I’ve been dreaming

To throw a bird at the sky
And watch it fall
Into a pond of stars

For each hole in my tongue
To be occupied
By the milk of the sun

Boiling a death proof to be well
Yes, I’ve been well

The amorous remedy likens the lie
That you should be here

Forever maybe, I’ll hold as rust

If I were with you on Christmas we would go sit on a low bank of the black muddy river, wondering why it’s so cold but not frozen. We’d drink hot chai tea with soymilk and share frosted secrets. You might say something like, “Ducks love to watch people in love sit on benches and throw stale bread into their reflections.” I would pinch your side and feel you rippling and think about how beautiful you’d look asleep with rose petals over your eyes or stars around your neck. Your breathing as my own, we’d exhale constellations and I’d say yours looks like a peacock. A snowflake might land on your nose and I’d think, hey maybe if it’s ok with the season I could kiss you and the world might still turn alright.

Wake Up Curious

Dripping from the rafters are
Bones flaunting for the eating
To dress with skin condiments
And call feisty lunch

A buckwheat heart
Hefty maple soaked

To eat like sex pastry

My Name is a Trophy

Evening love,

Blow that promise across bottle tops
I won’t take it as truth
Until a bottle top whispers

Drink up, My circulation’s harsh

Quarter atop walnut swivel stools
Your highness, so suitable for falling

I thought only of catching you
Of sweeping you away

The Device

You know when I lived as a catfish in the Nishnabotna
I would hold my breath as I swam past pipe fixtures
Even if they were just floating by
Lost limbs of the pesticide factory

My whiskers erect
There goes a threaded leg

Gasoline rainbows enshroud a 1912 T-model carcass
Coziest machine hosts a home collection of impaled worms

Catfish love crucifixions
I myself prefer funerals

Sharp dressed skeletons sway
Cinder blocks laced to their shiny black shoes

They say bridges are cliffs of hell
See their soggy faces
I chew their soggy eyes

A dead sex machine fell from one’s coat pocket
Rubber lust stuck in the mud
He always liked to deceive the people he loved