Arranged Ashes In The Ashtray

Zig-zag.
Urban crickets caught in the park
outside the window
building a vehicle of dark sound.
Credit the rich soup.
Remove the ex's things
from the drawing board
for more room
to doodle.
Dip the moon in more wine
then offer it to the guest.
It was on
the table.

Head Back In The Dentist's Chair

Caught wishing
you and I
were like gap teeth
that could be squeezed together
by braces.

Letter From Margaret

A society of leaves have left
wetspots in animal cracker shapes
on the front stoop for
the candid pigeons. Duck
for the tiny door. This is where
the highway divides. Hang your fingers daintly
around the digital image. Put yourself
in the wind. Coloring books
in the sun. Your new tattoo
looks so beautiful
under your orange tanktop.

Wide

The attic is not fully
enclosed. I can see you
spying on me.

Short Story

Yogurt in the fridge
overdue. Decorative squirrel
watching the young couple
wrap themselves around a tree.
The plane being pulled out of the sky
out of love.

I go to the part of the city
that looks like a small town.
Even the cars are smaller.
And the post office is just around
every corner.
An officer is hosing off
a woman and her small dog.
The bicycle will only go as fast
as I can pedal except downhill.
Even rainy weather needs a stamp.

You called my name into a stone
and called it Character.
So what, arrest the leaves they're exploding
like gunshots and bleeding dark shades
of red and orange on the cement.

People Who Tame Animals That Can't Be Tamed

The overhead light funneled
into a single drinking straw.
Rearrange the furniture
as if they were planets,
taking a seat accordingly.
Forget about cooking, besides
there aren't any pans.
No foreseeable cupboards.
The phone cooing palms up
from its cradle,
"Hello? Are you there?
My ringer is broken,
but I wanted to call
so badly."
And the mammoth in the hallway
is always in the way.
Before bed he dog-ears your pages.
In the middle of the night
he hands you a tissue,
down to the last ghostly sheet.

Serious

dentists.
We drill in your mouth
and collect your sweet teeth
for hooks to hang
our smallest belongings.

True

Hard-boil the egg
and halve it
so we can swallow it
in two bites.
One, to prove
there is a yolk.
Two, to get on with
the day.

Waiting For The Lights To Cross

We look both ways without knowing
Within Walking Distance
is all the signs say.
The city endures months of construction
like bad television.
What we could have said
now in cement,
a lad in the tallest window,
a soggy carpet of cross-word puzzles.

Our butts have fallen asleep.
We were passport photo size
at home in the living room
and now this.
The plastic-tooth zipper
contradicts mostly the heart.


Across the street a man
pedaling his bicycle around
a toss of feathers in traffic.
His eyes saying, “They fell
and their wings are crushed,
but I could circle like this forever,”
above the nest of crying
horns and hand claps.