you pull out the orange body
holding it by its head-
scarf in fine green lace
you peel it in flaming ribbons
blazing the downward spiral
Fourteen years in the system
is no fun. Said Good-bye to Comstock.
Didn’t look back. Rode the bus
to Port Authority. Walked the Deuce
to Time Square. Took the D train
to Coney. Ate Mama’s home cooked
What you wanted to leave me was metaphor. What you left
was a black-and-white notebook from the commissary
that might contain the mystery of you: your bent words soaked
in remnants your body heaved up for two weeks in solitary
while you were dope sick. I’ve been airing you out
for days now, though Brother, my fingers bear the rigid
We pulled the night back—
eyes rolled over white, parched
from darkness. This sudden, shredded
flesh, like a flash of green light.
We witnessed almost every possible
thing that wasn’t meant to be seen:
anarchy symbols spray painted
on the broken corpses of angels,
sleep-drunk cows taking dream steps,
the pulsing alarm clock of insect wings.
3.5 inches– The distance
between brake and accelerator–
safety and rupture –
is a slender perch on which to wobble
ankle flexed, not even a thrum
between Sirius XM music
There was a hot dog stand
up the highway, Route 6,
that brought us happiness.
It didn’t take much at that age—
strong mustard. We took a break
painting our rental in the woods,
a starter home that stood below the
landlord’s A-frame like a dog awaiting
Live in a small apartment above a bakery and wake
to the buxom smell of yeasted dough, browned butter,
and sugar seeped from scones. Imagine the baker and barista
humming along to their opening shift playlist. Get that coffee
and scone, but not to go. When you go to work, go as a mailman.
Yes, a mailman, because you want to know how a man feels.
In the corner of the cold basement, hidden behind
the futon, I pop open my Goodwill treasure—
Polly’s heart-shaped home. The plastic stairs slide
into place. Her purple bed, always perfectly made.
Pink & yellow kitchen with its plastic pots & pans.
The gate, near the plastic stones & grass. Her baby
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