Irish Wake

Shane MacGowan in corner, strumming a guitar: Oh, Kitty, my darling, remember, that the doom will be mine, if I stay, ’tis far better to part though it’s hard to, than to rot in their prison away… Lincoln, sitting silently, chin in hand, leaning slightly forward, just like the portrait painted of him. Enter Kennedy, … Read more

Soul Poem, #3

My father had one—a soul patch—when he was twenty-one. Flanked by ingrown hairs & stubble gritty like sand & rough to touch. I was three & recall when I hugged him his aftershave’s bergamot scent vivid as color, but you should know I did not see people’s colors back then. When my father said, all … Read more

Star Time

Occupational Therapy I coffee-stain my pages now learned how in O.T. crazy maybe but nothing gonna come between decoupage and me ceramic fisherman christmas trees half of us high on Jesus the other half on our knees vance killed himself before his project was through I went in with glue and popsicle sticks to see … Read more

1 + 1

Jerk De Soleil I was wide open outside my frame when the whole world burst into my latest flame she stunned me with her dictionary where all the words are mean it’s a thick motherfucker from cover to cover and nothing but hate in between I was wide open she stormed away that’s why I’m … Read more

Reeva Steenkamp

Cameras adore him— that chiseled face, all angle and shadow, bright with tears. He sobs about waking from nightmares, won’t look at the picture of what used to be my head. His beauty blazes from each newspaper and magazine as they sell his cripple to hero myth. Me they confuse with Nicole Brown, Bonnie Bakley, … Read more