no quiet can unring the noise
no word ever lands where its meant to

i never learned how to hold all this
or maybe i was never supposed to
maybe the breaking was always the shape

some nights i speak to a god who's gone
ask to be taken apart
not fixed just ended

everything else has fallen still
and i remain
the last sound in a place
that forgot how to listen

the red sunflowers need planting out
-from their windowsill perch
to their place of blooming in the garden

When the yellow/green face
of this furnace valley is smudged
with summer's first rain runs

I dream about dad again:
7 years since that hospital bed
in Georgetown where he turned

to wax and I turned to water.
In the dream I was so small,
he took me to his old '80s office,

the tan portable in the field where
everything was cheap wood panels,
thin mouse-brown temp carpet.

He sat me down by his blackboard,
jotted with number theory,
& left to retrieve a book he needed.

I sat among the dry sun and dust
until I realized I was an adult now.
Eventually a man came to the door,

& said "why are you still here?
Your dad died years ago,
& we need the room."

she took my picture,
that's how it started
that's how i knew,
she took my picture
off the refrigerator door

when your picture is taken off
the refrigerator
like dust off a knick knack shelf

you do the dishes,
you have to wash your own socks.

the refrigerator is cursed
like a lost winning lottery ticket.
cursed with pictures of dead pets,
dead aunt's, cousins, grandma...

(my picture rip off the fridge like $#@#$#@...)


the fridge hums its song,
warm on the outside
and cold on the inside.

you *******, i shout,
and i punched the fridge,
packed my suitcase,

grabbed my fishing pole
and out the front door
I went.

half way down the sidewalk,
I turned

and there was little Jack
looking out the window at me.

(tears ran down my cheeks.)

MAN! I'm gonna miss that dog!!!

quiet industry
a little clacking

breath in and out
itch to scratch

temple pulse
hearts echoes

complicated creature
a soothing honesty.

I like them flat peaches
But they take an age to soften up
Then you turn round
For a second
And they've  turned
Into a rotten pulp.