Autobiography 

It’s 1966, and

Colonel Sanders
meanders
toward my mom. She’s got a couple of closets that are, say, walk-ins,
and she kind of head-gestures to the Colonel—wait, no, that was Jay Hawkins.

***

Me

I’m a stand of English ivy: uproot me.
I’m a broken donkey: shoot me.

My tea leaves make shitty tea.
I’m growing older: pity me.

***

“How Beautiful It Is to Do Nothing, and Then Rest Afterward”

– Spanish proverb

Sleep is a kind of blind bliss.
It’s how we practice
for the succeeding century,
the one we won’t see.

Things I’m Not Crazy About, Plus Teams I Like or Have Liked

Gin & tonics and
the Sonics.
“Killed by a Drunk Driver” memorials and
the Orioles.

AccuWeather

We tend to mistrust John Boehner,
come rain or
come shine. We also mistrust
him during a mild wind gust.

Newtown Carol

I went to bed, everyone was dying or already dead
I went to bed, everyone was dying or already dead
Some of this dying happened, some was in my head

The dying on the outside was impossible to reverse
The dying on the outside was impossible to reverse
The dying on the inside was a blessing and a curse

For blessing just say cowardice, part of me won’t mind
For blessing just say cowardice, part of me won’t mind
A curse because the true dead left all these songs behind