Elegy
I hear liquor and lather
and wood. I press my ear
to the bottom, and I hear
the steel, the concrete,
the inked earth below.
I attend to the slam
of the shadows of trees
and the ivy’s hum. I hear
ambulances and insects,
elements and orchards,
beyond. I listen for
the bones, but I only
hear the tide crawling
higher over the shores.
Advice for Storm
Just for today, let’s erupt the reverie
with a plosive. Play in the halation,
the emblazoned, the significant
spiral of our specific tornado.
Today, Face, let’s put on the facets
of fallen snowflakes, the skittered
legs of a young foal. Let’s escape
into mottle, be a huge and black
blossom amid all that regrettable
verdancy. Shelving the hoax of polish
and supine, today, let’s endure
as mosquito and be the unwanted
sweet at the marrow of citrus. Let’s
whir the air until the world succumbs.
Threat Level
Tonight, two moons rise,
and we don’t know what
is going to happen. We
may skip work tomorrow.
We may take our families
and head to the stocked
basements we’ve dug
to hide ourselves from
ourselves. We may
gather around radios
to hear who is responsible.
Will we kill each other?
The night is silvered, and
some of us are still out.
We are sitting on benches
and kissing under our
moons, mouths wet
with all the alluring light.