Friday, August 30, 2013

Weekly Worded

    Drone Attack

First, at the back of the neck,
then rapid fire, two more
near the right shoulder blade.
Lightning strikes, sparks I can’t reach,
can’t smother with either hand,
the throttle released, the cycle
slowing, then two more, tasers
against the lower back, a final needle
into the waist before I can get
my feet on the ground, pull my shirt
like a sack over my helmeted head
and let the wasp loose.

Friday, August 23, 2013

Weekly Worded

    Getting Down With Plath

On my knees, with my head inside the oven,
I sense how dark things must have gotten.

One small grease-spattered bulb burning
like a single eye, like an eternal yearning

to transform by degrees what’s barely palatable
into a masterpiece for the artist’s table.

Down here, cleaning this grotto, scouring bits
of crisp black flakes from the pan where drips

fry, stirring a cauldron of smoke each time
the oven heats.  Harsh slime

speckles my neck and face, wearing the gauntlet 
I found below the kitchen faucet.

A fist of steel wool, and a plastic
bucket.  Sure, I feel rotten, chipped

the oven glass with the tip of a knife,
but Sylvia, it’s only a mess, not life.

Friday, August 16, 2013

Weekly Worded

    morning ringtones

last night’s skunk
still crossing the road
for the last time

another dead hummingbird
beside the bedside table
on braided rug

dew on the grass
not making a sound
but there it is

eye to the west
shut tight
eastern lid rising

Friday, August 9, 2013

Weekly Worded

    Roadhouse

All night the highway
like a black asphalt string
vibrates with traffic.

I think of the noise
as music, so I sleep,
its soothing vulcanized

melody achieving
one crescendo after another,
each merging into

the next set of headlights. 
A break in traffic is never
silence, just caesura,

like a glance
at the speedometer before
deciding to go faster.

Friday, August 2, 2013

Weekly Worded



   















Revolution

It rained so hard
the birds decided
not to fly.

Feathers matted
into webs of
leathery skin,

tails lengthened,
beaks became jaws,
toes sharpened into claws.
A paste of marrow

clogged every bone.
Along the barrow
ditches, beneath

sheltering leaves
dinosaurs dreamed.
It rained that hard.