perched upon the table made of oak and maple stones carved of cedar and sycamor… is grandpa’s checkerboard when mom and dad play rummy

Djarum special. Spice of smoke. On my porch, breathing tobacco and clove. 2pm, August 13, 2023.

strings that bind manipulate each step we take future, past, present-day threads tangling

subdermal dust spots speckled like freckles across the nose of a woman next door on her balcony

a porch light leads me home glowing bright like a lighthouse beam warning of the rocky shoals the farmland sky at night

back aboard the ship Captain Luna sat with Bart pressing him; how’d you manage this little slip? you were once my savvy knight

gasoline on my FOX TV I don’t want your MSNBC make a shrine to remedy burn all these effigies went outside, sun felt hot

Sycophant milquetoast running from your brown nose Everyone superior looked down on in the mirror Apologetic worm

charred scents linger within the astronaut’s mind suits, boots, glove fingers leave scent memories behind reek of burnt toast and sulfur

gliding along the wavelength riding the sonic chain stomach acid, gutteral pain banister of razor blades backbeat drum machine

I pray every one of their children… Lord, make it so. I pray one of their sons murders them in cold blood, while the rest of their kids cover…

from the barber chair mirror he watches the fear in their eyes a forty lb coo-coo clock hangs on… covered in a dozen years of dust the dust isn’t important at all

Been called a jabroni for lighting a stogie. Inhaling the relief, exhaling my grief. Dawn, August 13, 2023.

golden angel hair strands upon the earth needles of the bull pine scattered on the grass and dirt trap fallen raindrops

breath of sky on her spine creeping, chilly blows flow down to her thighs the slightest summer wind