Pure gibberish
written at the end of your letter.
Signaling intoxication.
Showing me your lack of inspiration.
With a hint of manipulation and
a bit of desperation.
You live all but two and a half blocks from me.
Hold onto your preference for postage.
Cawdle communication.
Reject physical touch.
Meet me at the pear tree between us.
Bring your voice and
leave your words behind.
If we share a bite of this forbidden fruit
the poison can’t be deadly.
Might there be a man inside these Salvation Army jeans
When I was the starting quarterback
and Homecoming King
Admired for strength and brute,
I took this girl to a pumpkin patch,
filled with loathsome gourds because
Girls like that sort of thing.
Undeniably handsome,
I told her I loved her because
Girls like that sort of thing.
When the sun touched the hills
I told her the truth because
Men do that sort of thing.
Conceited, Mean, Fuckable,
I’d give it all to be him.
The Twilight Hour
With a preference for body hair, she took to my armpits.
Before I merely forgot to shave,
before my mother saw and claimed homosexuality,
before she discovered my affliction.
My peers meet in dark alleyways and nightclubs.
Banding together to plan
to prey
on small women and children.
This short haircut on my head, acts as a callsign.
Calling all werewolf women
Calling all men without pride
Calling everyone else to question their words.
When the moon is full
and the hurried wind stands still
I emerge from the darkness, nails kept short
so it’s easier to pull the trigger.
Hunting doe with claws proves to be quite difficult.
Posing at the top of a sycamore tree,
her eyes meet mine, as she begs for mercy.
Dirty Bird
Because a river falls when I close my eyes, our gaze can no longer meet at the great gorge.
A young blue speckled grouse, searching for drink, slips into my bed of burnt twigs and globs of glue.
She burrows into my mattress, folding silk sheets to fabric, finding warmth in butchery.
Open my window, providing an exit
will be required for flight to the water.
Covered in smut, two beaks interlock
once secreted by an unfamiliar body.
As the river runs dry, I open my eyes.
On the Wall
I watch my face change in odd reflections. The headlights of your car cast a slim shadow.
I leave the light on in my room in case you appear, by the time I’ve allowed myself to sleep,
the headlights of your car cast a slim shadow, beside the photo I won’t take down,
by the time I’ve allowed myself to sleep, you’ve spent nearly an hour in the mirror.
Beside the photo I won’t take down,
there is a girl with the face of my grandmother.
You’ve spent nearly an hour in the mirror, considering your queer complexion.
Bolster
If she’s in a playful mood she’ll
poke me with her plume
Pricking the bristle of her feather in my side, I drool on my hand.
Cusping, fidgeting, does she choose to lie with me?
Through the thin, night to morn
she stays
Sometimes she disgusts me
and I change her dressing to appease the call of new love
Although she’s told not to
I swear when I turn
she presses against me.