pennsylvania

my organic garden is planted, hens are laying eggs. a cock is crowing at a sun that pays it no never mind. old dogs are wet from morning dew, romping free in a forest of sounds and smells. my civil war has ended. my feet are dry. tobacco has mellowed my spirit. my blood has

trinity

i am back in the rain, the desert air was dry. dust storms made my eyes bleed. thunder is rumbling in my chest, lightning is piercing my heart. grass is sprouting beneath my feet, crocus are beginning to smile. my dogs assure me winter has passed. my cracked finger tips have healed. a rooster is

buddha died for my sins

god blesses the strangest souls. makes the far away near and the near completely disappear. sometimes i’m sad i’m not there. either the door’s locked, or there’s no door at all. the old comes and goes like loose change in my pocket. it’s baptizing the dead. the best part of my day hangs between my

my formative years

i’ve had so many lives i sometimes get them confused. i did the born again thing until told i was using the wrong bible. i’ve always had shaky hands, my fourth grade teacher, miss meyers, pointed it out to the whole class. they called me shaky. i hated that bitch. i’m guessing she’s dead by

love me to death

i die a little each time he fucks me. i wait for the time he enters me for the last time, taking my last breath away. i will be in a place of silent harmony. some hide from it while others purport it doesn’t exist. an obliteration with no relevance. i will look out my

ash wednesday

dead air fills my lungs. white noise rattles between my ears. my eyes are calloused. unimaginable suffering has entered my bones. i am a shadow of the man i used to be. i wait on the pandion hawk to carry me to delos, in the heart of the cyclades where apollo was born. i will

the politics of my love

to those i have no desire to speak to, i introduce myself as a socialist. they say i am an interesting man, walk away and i never see them again. my plan works most of the time. now there is this one fellow. before i can say a word he tells me he is a

winter

i got to get out of this place. even a carton of cigarettes hidden in the icebox makes me nervous thinking i might run out. looking through the same window day after day, i no longer see anything different. the same birds, the same clouds, the same grey squirrels. i’ll dig through six foot snow

you will never know

he said let’s move to pennsylvania. we got a house there and acres of forest to hide in. across the road is the little brokenstraw where we can fish and skinny dip. they used to stock it with trout. he knew i had a thing for amish boys so he told me about them too.

eternity

if i was going to where i came from, i wouldn’t know where to go. with no home there’s no beginning, so there can’t be no end. i was told by a queen that’s a good life. i once lived in a basement of some old building along the 480 freeway in omaha. my bed