sometimes
the hangman isn't
hanging
and the night
jumps from the wall
and whispers,
"cut the deck."

"chance," I asked,
"danger and risk?"

"COLD DESIRE..."

she had it tattooed
on her ***

"COLD DESIRE"

we shared a quart of beer.
the dust of time in her greying hair.
she had a wooden leg
and a glass eye
a blue bottomless eye

and she had that, smile
like razor blades and dice
and
sometimes
the hangman
isn't hanging

thundering clouds
and no rain
she looked me in the eye
her good eye
(maybe not
it was a dark tomb
and the night
was blue
or maybe her good eye was blue???)
anyway
she kick me with her wooden leg
I hit her with a right
hand and her
glass eye flew
rolled along
the floor
towards a mouse
hole

a hole in one!

and i
yelled,
ROLL OVER

COLD DESIRE

~
lost library books
and broken lunchbox thermos,
her childhood under a forgotten
leaf on a pond.
she's attracted to the sound
of the breeze through her hair,
inner-city birds recommending
she listen with her head underwater,
to experience it as a fish might.
this is inescapable.

blood roses in the snow,
her unemployed martyred
fingers in the factory.
the manufactured years go by
at a price too great to recover from.
for every flash of beauty,
there is a hint of anger; a dash of violence.
this is inescapable.

her sleep-flower recital
in a dew-swathed spring morning hospital,
some kind of faraway pink funeral for
dead trees and traffic lights.
treasure impaired clouds capture
an isolated moment in time.
perhaps several moments.
perhaps several parts of the same moment.
this is inescapable.
~

Gender fluid
Poetry
As much as anything can be
Countless times I’ve
An image in my mind
Of who the poet could be
And the true image
Is completely different
From what I used to see
But the perception of the inside who
Is close to true

I never learned to weep
But ground my eyes down
On the griststone of a mill
Turned sadness into powder
Then choked on my own weaponized sorrow.

Dad's been dead a while now, but he used to always say, 'boys, don't let the ******* get you down.'
Or, 'they can **** us, but they can't eat us.'
Nine times out of ten,
he would utter these great pearls of wisdom when we received a large bill in the mail.
Minutes later, we would peel away down the Pacific Coast Highway to the track, Santa Anita or Hollywood Park.

It was an exciting experience, being around
that environment at such a young age.
After all, it's the sport of kings.  Dad took everything in stride; he didn't worry much.
Unfortunately, I didn't inherit that from him.
He was an English and drama teacher, and what he did pass on to me
was a love for literature.
He made it come alive, and for that, I'm eternally grateful.
So Dad, wherever you are, I just wanted you to know, I didn't let the ******* get me down.