this poem is brought to you by the somnam corporation

maybe part of why you fit so nice
is you don’t make me feel
emotionally claustrophobic
we’ve had these soft silences
full of nonverbal truths
you’ve gone months
without trying to read my diary

most times i feel
my time my thoughts my feelings
are a public library
with dozens of patrons
milling about & checking me out
it gets exhausting
to keep so little for me

the size of the space is irrelevant
i could live in a mcmansion
and still get cabin fever
from someone following my every move
the human eye is a high-res camera
my life is a surveillance state
but we can fall asleep in your car
in the snow
and barely rouse when the cops show up

when your seas are calm
i can float on my back
under a warm golden sun
& sleep without drowning

alexa play john prine

i guess i should have guessed
how the light would catch your eyes
& how quick how strong
the fever would set in
seatbelts off in this reckless wreck
burned alive in the chill wind
off the lake where you wrapped me up
& the room where you slapped me up
& how i would feel so trapped
at the loud ringing distance
don’t get me wrong i’ve walked further
but tonight there’s glass in my feet
& i can’t stop shaking baby i
can’t tell you how sorry i am

we have all kinds of reasons for choosing
numbness or joy or pain
dashing helter skelter into rough waters
but in an emergency it’s easier
to forget this trait is shared
& written into our dna
it is easier to hide out of shame
to pretend you’re the only one
who wanted to bodysurf at high tide
i got no way to predict or explain

place your palm against my cheek
you may choose
the delicacy of its landing

i meant to wake up before this happened

but in the dream we just talk
neither of us asks for anything
and we speak in low voices
grow tired and stretch out
comfortably yawning
in each other’s faces
come here you say and
head fits on shoulder and
arms wrap soft and firm and
you feel like a white oak and
your heartbeats are ocean waves
in the dream i am warm and sleepy
but neither of us drifts off
we speak we laugh we are quiet
breathing in the closeness

i walk home and the wind swirls
you into small tornadoes
i swear i’m not crying it’s just
i have a little grit
right there in my eye see
i can’t see please
take my hand and lead me there
i will be so far from home for so long
maybe you could bring some quiet

if you swear to keep it decent then yeah

selling out wouldn’t even cover my gas bill
so i guess i’ll keep selling you instead
the apathy of others is death by starvation
and my back hurts too much to dance the limbo
i’ve got a bottle of pills for the pain
sure, go ahead, i’ll just keep the one

lord willing and the river don’t rise
i will put supplies in my knapsack
and hit the road for a learning experience
but the river’s rising every day
sure and i can swim and but so
my map’s too soggy to read
guess it’s time to blaze a trail
someway somehow

truth is
i expected rituals of fire and clear liquor
truth is i expected great truths
so i’d trust any bedtime story read
in a voice that sounded like home
and fell asleep waiting for christmas morning
still when the intruders came in quiet
they ignored the gifts and valuables
climbed the stairs and beat the everliving shit
out of whoever dared to open their eyes

this is one of the things nobody will tell you
it is not enough to have locks on your doors
if there are lights on inside reflecting
on anything that shines
you best put bars on your windows
you best sleep with a gun under your pillow
they will come they will take
yeah but who wants to look out of a window
like a prison cell

it’s not gonna be like in romantic comedies
the whole truth is somewhere down there
and when i find it, it will hurt me and bleed me
still i keep panning for gold
as if there’s ever been anything there before.

i barely know ‘er

from my vantage point behind the desk
i can see rib fragments and detached limbs
and brain matter and dark bloody muscle
stretched out mosaic on the concrete
the stomach twists and writhes
the heart hovers, moaning hummingbird
i want to mash all the pieces together
form them into something that’ll live
but seeing how the bones scrape slow
freezes my soul motionless

you phased through the flesh
fist grips trachea
your timepiece is broken
and i’m begging you
to lay off the penetrating conversation
can’t we just laugh like we used to
can’t we just
ain’t we just the most grotesque
when we’re trying
i’m gonna buy you a calendar
i’m gonna buy you a drink
i’m gonna buy you a new set of internal organs
i’m gonna buy you

as far as the black market goes
i predict an uptick in the supply
of anxiety poems
with body horror imagery
my google search:
“poets who died of spanish flu”
returned nobody of note

guess that’s the way it always is
historically we drink
enough that it always comes back
to the liver
and i’m particularly good
at living

i am so unfamiliar with this
pile of shredded meat at my feet
i can’t really tell how much
the ethanol affected the yes/no
dichotomy
it’s a whole weird thing i say
and i can’t locate the liver
the liver, the liver where’s the liver
where’s the part that’s still alive

why did i let you push
that knife into me
so many times

autopsy

i’ve been gone from splitsville long
enough that i forgot the map
it’s not like i’m a tourist
i practically live here
driving up main street
you can’t get around
the mortuary
where lo we shall take a scalpel
and dissect the life
right out of whatever remained

cut right to the heart
time of death: 18 months ago
how did we not see
how did we stay standing
how did we keep breathing

cause of death:
slow poison
symptoms include:
anxiety
paranoia
low libido
loss of appetite
escape fantasies
self-hatred & isolation
getting a tattoo
crushes on other people
sad bruce springsteen songs
fatigue
death

i know beyond the embalming fluid
and the funeral parlor
and the crematorium
and the spot where we’ll scatter the ashes
there’s a diner with a great burger
there’s a library full of books
there are bars and bicycles
there are dogs to walk and drugs to take
and i would like to get there as soon as possible

i know all about queens

it’s not that i’m allergic
to the stings
or even particularly mind
(most of the time)
but it invites clothing myself
in canvas
in leather and netting

remember this
the next time you beg me
to take off my armor
for a distant promise
of mead i’ve yet to taste

this isn’t an o. henry story
i’m shorn yes but
you never brought the comb

don’t be sad
i’ll still plant flowers
all over my skin

venomous progression

the snake coiled in my gut
has the typical markings
of a Midwestern Heartbreaker
filthy isolation & yearning
no appetite & poor sleep
the mind running over & over
words spoken & unspoken
the extra muscle it takes
to pick up a pen & write
the same trite bullshit
as everyone else who’s had a bite

take me to a bank
with a robbery in progress
i’ll throw myself at the thieves
maybe steal a gun
i’d rather blow my brains out
than eat cheese & crackers again
my wrist looks tender enough
to bite through
with very little effort

people of earth, rejoice
with handles of molson
& cases of labatt
ain’t nobody gonna cry tonight
i’m dry as a fucking bone
i’ve just got the classic symptoms, see
you’ve got me or you got me
or i’m free