on outrageous fortune...

HAMLET.

To be,

as you know,
there are more questions than that
and they loom over your head and into the fine stretch of night where
your father wanders. Sometimes he is a question and sometimes he is
an assumption, but either way his presence finds the means to burn, so
you suppose that things could be narrowed down. A void that curls around your
head

the color of dried blood.

Your tongue tucked into the corner of your mouth,
and other stories.

MUTUAL SLUMP

think

deliverance

as a motion, so simple

as the way your legs now

drag under your body 

and upside-down

you swing 

fists smeared obscenely

with the delicate blackness

of a nighttime dance,

the balance maintained 

until the dawn’s early light

· · · – – – · · ·

You feel really guilty

when you watch an episode of COPS...

security question

here is where you are furiously

human, you decide

shirt stained with some

distended feeling      screen glow

sinking into your skin     

along the gentle hum

of a possession.

maybe you are knee deep in a mirror

        for the first time

and you are trying to drag your

reflection out of its confines

and all you can manage are

measured pieces:

(blood from your nose     and the

chatter of your teeth     and

a cut on your cheek -

you have a hard time sharing

fleeting parts)

I've got a new poem in Queen Mob's.