Tag Archives: poetry

I’ve got the juice

I will take my name
and leave it in the sun.

It will become dry
and porous.

I will bring my name
in, I will soak it.

I will pack it and pack it,
more and more.

Then I’ll squueeeeze it out,
wring it out with
gloved hands.

And I’ll sell the juice,
tiny bottle by
tiny bottle.

Grade A, 100%, guaranteed,
since, sell by, ingredients, bottled in,
nutrition facts.

that oughta last me till

living with him

face like cloth stretched around a stone
shining pale pleading white
all winter in my room
with the sound, smoke, and sarcasm.

skin, like, tunnels on its glow
creeps through the room
like winds, glowing.
glows like cloth around a light.

five months like skin crawling
i stay in the room.
the glow reminds me
to stay and wait for the glow.

the properties of phosphorus[1] were
discovered by alchemists who had
barrels of piss stored in barns, rats
and maggots chase around kegs in the smell.[2]

seeking golden elixir through some
last ditch inversion, and lo! what
is that strange jaundiced aura like
light pulled through water, festered glow?

not the final answer but
we did get matches[3]
and chemistry so
here i am in the glow,

five months now.

[1] Phosphorus produces its glow by consuming the oxygen around it, a process Robert Boyle called “debilitation.”

[2] It was later discovered that it is not actually necessary for the piss to rot; fresh piss will yield as much phosphorus.

[3] “Phossy jaw” refers to the necrosis that matchstick factory workers would develop through contact with white phosphorus. Symptoms included gum swelling, abscess, rotting jaw bone, and brain damage. Affected areas would produce a greenish glow and a pungent discharge of pus.

On Driving Through Old Niskayuna

Slowly we roll where the things supposed to happen already did.

Past the houses where these people, these people who built the town, had their children, their hobbies, lived humbly, died quietly.

This late, this dark, no one walks the streets.

So the skeletons waltz with an old man’s memory to share a private love self-conscious at its exclusion.

The past opaque, the details numerous; they huddle to warm each other and I am an outsider.