press

obituaries strut their two-tone plumage along

the perimeter of even our most promising days


the hands of the clock are curled into fists

degenerus interruptus

it's over

not thought in language

but felt: a

preternatural emotion

like a systemic

depth charge

detonates: my

trajectory as 180.

this metanoia

derails the whole

shebang: some

timing, abrupt growth-spurt;

you could've at least

let me finish

my cigarette.

lapse

watching dust motes float

in bedroom sunlight we nod

lull inviolate

fauxku: a real-live japanese death poem

boot-dented bucket

frostfall: winter connotes lots

soil and shovel, dig?

plastic chairs & paper plates gather whitely here in the backyard blue hour of our late thirties

Jimmy throws the last of the Labor Day patties on the grill &

rants to me about his waning lotharial sway, as firefly

rump-lights cast dull reflections in the scalp

beneath his ebbing hairline


which makes me think about the lessons

learned through subtraction


like growing up, how the impossibilities in our cinematic daydreams become

ever more apparent, a reductive advance that fosters the tricky negotiation

of high standards & low expectations known as

contemporary adulthood


at some point you get it that it’s a rare employer who

wants to see “Solo, Han” written on the application

for the file clerk position, “space pirate” under

previous work experience


over the years we watched as John Cougar became John

Cougar Mellencamp, then dropped the Cougar;

eventually he’ll just be John


Jimmy waves his spatula around, carving arabesques in the

encroaching darkness as he builds steam; he will

not go gentle, etc.


he stops mid-sentence, shivers visibly &

goes inside to grab a sweatshirt


it’s going to be a bitter winter

Mixology

Blind Alley

• 2 fingers existential desperation
• 1 finger defenestrated boyhood ideals
• Splash of feces

Whittle down slowly, serve over crushed spirit


Diminishing Doll

• 1 pony modern beauty ideal
• 1 jigger fashion magazines
• 2 dashes bile

Unhinge, top with collagen


Delirium Tremen

• 1 gallon cheap vodka, neat

Shake


Blowhard Emeritus

• 3 fingers theory
• ⅛ finger application
• 4 snits pedantry

Canonize, strain into windbag


New Age Hand Job

• 4 parts astrology
• 3 parts self-help psychobabble

Delude over pastels, garnish with marijuana leaf


Couples-Only Skate

• 1 jigger ineffable feeling of tenderness
• 1 shot biological imperative
• 1 shot unconscious fear of death
• Dash of syrupy popular music

Intermingle, serve warm and fuzzy

I Hear He’s Doing Well

I hear he no longer goes

missing for weeks on end

to return looking like

he just emerged from a

blast furnace,

stinking of $3 fortified wine

and $10 party girls,

that he no longer bellows

at passing dogs and children,

stopped frotteuring on

the subway,

ceased voiding his bowels under the

tree on Christmas morning,

quit trying to bite the deli guy



I hear he has a 9 to 5,

pays the bills on time,

taxes, too,

is early to bed and rise,

flosses daily,

exercises regularly,

follows politics avidly,

goes to church on Sunday,

the infamous purple fury now

placid in his trousers,

lawn edged,

wears only his

own underwear,

has learned to make lemonade