Pomegranate seeds are small
jewels on carpet
brilliant to the tongue,
like the time you took me
caroling on a barge.
We can't all be dapper, can we?
Or maybe we look professorial
in just the right jacket.
The psychologist reassured me there's nothing
wrong with boundaries, it's healthy,
which came to mind as a shirt
eased over my head, as sex
blotted out for a moment the fear
of terminal illness (cancer!),
or terrorist attack (EMP!).
It's certainly not healthy or natural
to sit all day typing and staring
or to smother the greens in ranch
ours with a donkey, please,
and a steer proud and masculine.
Yaw & Way
on knee down
windows rolled in rain
up hill slick
grain & grass
list you lost
under oil catching
over radio sockets
whistle drenched feet
A Dollop of Lipstick in Your Liver, Come to Syracuse
You are responsible for my fortitude,
the zipped up ball of my foot.
Perhaps send me a bit-tied nuptial,
a bottle to spill across the center of my carpet.
Mom, I put the cat down. He was sinful too.
Fold your eye lid amulet into a triangle
and mail it to me quick, a conjugal ice pick.
Underneath you underneath the cross
made of matchsticks atop the bed
we crisscrossed in the parents' home.