Eulogy

How can I write you goodbye

While feeling fingers on my wrist?

How can I write that I miss you

When you don’t feel missed?

 

How can I explain the loss

The fever and the pain that you’ve brought me?

Your family has fought me.

 

They thirst for my words, for my soliloquy.

They thirst to hear of everything you’ve meant to me.

I thirst for your kiss and your breath and your love—

I miss you—but that isn’t enough.

 

They want my tears,

my choking,

my grieving of the things that we’re missing

My kissing

of the ring that I’m still wearing

They’re not caring ‘bout me

They care not about you.

They care only ‘bout the sadness brought on by our youth.

 

A funeral is a practice of saccharine drowning.

Of comparing your frowning.

Of parading ‘cross the town

In lines

and lines

and lines of black

Would any of you visit if he were to come back?

 

What right do you have to mourn my Clay?

Who among you would have come to our wedding day?

How many of his precious words have any of you read?

An artist’s only worth a damn the second they fall dead.

Wallpaper

She sits backstage, she cares

She watches him, she wears

Camouflage costume

Her hair, it likes to fall

Paper curling off the wall

In aging bedrooms

The months go by, she never sees the sun

He cooks a feast of time for everyone.

 

She sleeps into the winter

Her teeth are tasting bitter

Stained with wine

Made of glass and ether

Pull the rug out from beneath her

I am fine

The days go by, she acts despite her fears

He lets her go, she never disappears.

World Poetry Day

We’re all drinking shitty coffee waiting

Something’s happening that’s liberating

Wind that’s captured in our mouths and jars

Wishes falling flat before the stars.

 

We’re all drinking shitty coffee yearning

Wishing that repeating words meant learning

Teaching running kids the alphabet

We ain’t outrun tomorrow’s sunset yet.

 

Got the dress, we got the carbon rock

Call you California four o’clock

Wake up, seen it all, get out of town

No time left to start your breaking down.

 

Shovel in the dirt, dirt in the sky

Magni-quanti-puri-justi-fy

We’re all drinking shitty coffee thinking

We may be in a lifeboat, but it’s sinking.