I can tell by the fit of my pants:
this was not a mistake.
Thighs like Thor hammer the pavement
into bronze medals of miles achieved.
They do not quake with desire.
Thunderous is the rip and shred of denim:
in shaping them, they shape you.
Seams impossible to contain, I know.
This is why I like wearing shorts.
They carry the burden of this heavy heart,
dragging if only to keep the forward momentum going:
screaming through the lactic pain
and numbing ice, always in search
of that runner's high.
Sometimes it's easier to just smoke weed first.
Too many rest days.
I can tell by the fit of my pants
and the hitch in my lungs as I try to push through.
This is why I like wearing shorts.
Tuesday, August 26, 2014
For Nora and Holly
The dogs are chasing squirrels,
attentive heads inclined skyward
at the slightest rustle of leaves.
Their company keeps -- with
all the familiarity of that one
box of cereal present in the cupboard
when you first moved in.
They exist as they have always existed:
flowing fur coarsing to and fro
along fenced-in boundaries.
It's a well-settled path they walk
from tree to gate to flower bed.
Lay down with me in unnatural green,
the water hemorrhage acceptable
if we let the sprinkler turn on all around us
and laugh off wet socks and underwear later.
They don't howl at the moon
the way we do: self-conscious and afraid,
but they aren't allowed to eat at the table,
read magazines,
or preen before the lies mirrors tell.
What is there to let out?
Reflections on the day?
Stories about squirrels?
New scents on the wind?
More running ensues.
attentive heads inclined skyward
at the slightest rustle of leaves.
Their company keeps -- with
all the familiarity of that one
box of cereal present in the cupboard
when you first moved in.
They exist as they have always existed:
flowing fur coarsing to and fro
along fenced-in boundaries.
It's a well-settled path they walk
from tree to gate to flower bed.
Lay down with me in unnatural green,
the water hemorrhage acceptable
if we let the sprinkler turn on all around us
and laugh off wet socks and underwear later.
They don't howl at the moon
the way we do: self-conscious and afraid,
but they aren't allowed to eat at the table,
read magazines,
or preen before the lies mirrors tell.
What is there to let out?
Reflections on the day?
Stories about squirrels?
New scents on the wind?
More running ensues.
Tuesday, August 19, 2014
Don't Date a Poet
Don’t date a poet
We’ll write you a hundred sappy sonnets
only three of which will ever be any good
all because William-fucking-Shakespeare
wrote 154 and bard is still a title we respect.
We’ll quote Pablo Neruda and Elizabeth Barrett Browning,
and eroticize you in ways you didn’t think possible
until you realize that innovative turn of phrase
is still a respected part of the craft
and all of us have this egotistical desire
to create something original.
The worst part though, is you’ll never see them,
because poets are hoarders of words
so… where’s our reality tv show?
Our documents folder and notebooks overflow with you
but you’ll only see a fraction. At least until
we’re up on stage shaking free psalms
like children under a cherry tree in July.
Dirty laundry is a synonym for inspiration,
because it’s an integral part of our truth.
We’re storytellers of the worst kind
lovers of the slant rhyme
perpetually unsatisfied because everything
is always still a work in progress.
And if half of us can’t even commit to writing in pen
because erasing makes editing easier,
what does that say about our human interactions?
Our text messages may be garbled
like a William S. Burroughs cut-up
or crafted like the haiku of Basho.
There’s very little in-between
unless it’s between the lines.
Don’t date a poet unless you can
put up with puns and keep
a thesaurus by the bed.
Our foot fetish is with a meter --
counting syllables to shoe them into neatly ordered lines.
Do you want to be another title in my next chapbook?
how about a thinly veiled metaphor for everything that makes me sad?
Seriously?! You - you don’t mind?
Then let’s get coffee sometime.
I know this great place down the street…
they host poetry readings every week.
Recipe for Chai-Infused Vodka
Think of infusing as a Cinderella story:
1 bottle of vodka
1 bottle of vodka
It’s just before midnight so it’s totally fine
to sneak a shot of the top and start from the bottom shelf
2 tablespoons loose leaf darjeeling tea
You wouldn’t show up to the ball in a bag dress
so neither should your tea
2 star anise
Every Cinderella has stepsisters integral to the plot
threatening to take over the ball if not kept in check
1 tablespoon peppercorns
Impossible to overlook, the see-through shoes
bring us closer to resolution and sparkle with originality
5 slices fresh ginger
Look, you can’t make a rotting pumpkin
into a serviceable carriage or add fire with candy
2 cracked cardamom pods
Prince Charming has never looked so good
adding authenticity as only heroes can
1 vanilla bean sliced in half lengthwise
The mice and birds might not be necessary
but are your friends through and through
Mix together with 500 years of variation
Let moral lessons sit for 3-5 days
Strain out misogyny and solids
Serve chilled.
Not intended for children.
Wednesday, May 28, 2014
In search of NSA fun (m4m)
I know you've been watching everything I do.
So why don't you come over
and we can play?
You know all the things I like to look at
like pictures of cats and cartoons and recipes.
I’m long, and I’m strong
and I’m down to the get the friction on
SJW ISO same.
No FBI or CIA, computer virus-free only.
Just want to have some quick, clean fun.
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