Toy Soldier
They prescribed me a tractor
and a box full of hammers
and said find your true passion
in all that testosterone.
I broke myself instead.
When I eventually repaired
I was lost. Now I can only find
myself when I am lost. Today
I find myself bringing you home
a croissant and a poem.
They say every man is born
with a kingdom of bunny rabbits
inside of him. Every day he must
resist the impulse to kill one.
Whenever I am sad I wrap myself
in a tight blanket of fists.
When I was 14, two boys peed
on me in the locker room showers
like dogs marking territory.
A girl opened the door for me
this morning. A homeless man
offered me a hug.
At the park I saw a child
decapitate a toy soldier.
I recognized myself in his smile.
Our ancestors brought
home sabre tooth tigers.
I ate your croissant. All I have
to show you are bits of poem
stuck between my teeth.
Porcupines
The boy staring at me
in the checkout line
with snot and ice cream
running down his face
may one day become
president.
A father cradles his baby girl
like a football
while his attention
is pacified by football.
Every child matters
is made of matter.
Algorithms attribute
the rise of junk males
to the persecution
of the junk male.
A man in uniform sets fire
to a house
he’s sent to rescue
like a man in uniform
murders another man
he swore to serve and protect.
A sports headline
you don’t have to worry about:
“Two Fighters
Enter an Octagon
and Open Up
About their Feelings."
In other news,
porcupines
can hug
other porcupines.
Trephination
My head is sad again today. I took it
for a walk outside, but the rain
wouldn’t stop laughing. I confuse Prozac
for sunlight. You never stopped
collecting lightbulbs. Never found
a viable solution to the mind-body problem.
I found oxygen in the trenches
of a page. Poetry as airway management.
Poetry as life support. Staring skyward
from this pillory, I want to believe in
these wings made of pills. Doctors used to drill
holes in our skulls to save us from storms.
Father, imagine it was that easy
to exorcise depression through an eyelet.
Of Good and Evil
You think perennials
are underrated.
Orchids too fussy.
I’ll take the cactus
for its independence,
despite its hostile attitude.
Pulling the hose around
to spit at our strawberry plant,
I mourn for the milkweed
buried after the butterfly riot.
We both agree
dandelions are beautiful
when you light their heads on fire.
Emptiness
finds me
when I’m full
of fast food,
foraging for
a reason
to quit,
finding
nothing but
the desire
to continue.
In the beginning
there was
the
cheeseburger.
And then
a lineup
for
cheeseburgers.
I keep digging
for disgust
to see if
anyone’s watching.
Hegel said
you need someone
else to confirm
your existence.
Stranger,
I beg of you,
feed me
for a moment
with your eyes.
Tell me
I can put
down this donut.
I want
to remember
how to be
made whole.
Waves of Mermaid
The sea swallows sailors by the ship,
but we still sour over three waves
of mermaid. Isn’t man-made a type of
warning label? The first rule of masculinity
is you never talk about masculinity.
Wizard is to witch as player is to whore.
When police questioned the assault rifle
he confessed it was in his nature.
Mayday! There are women posed as women
in women’s locker rooms. In my dream,
my hockey coach places his heavy hand
on my shoulder, says there is a rugged
gentleness to my game, I play as though
I am the softest cloud in the sky.
Well of Unfulfilled Wishes
I’ve never given blood, but I’ve donated hours
to strangers as an ear for trauma.
Isn’t the adage:
Blame others before interrogating thyself?
I eat a bowl of Lucky Charms
to stay in touch with my Irish heritage.
Listen to Cat Stevens
to better understand Islam.
At university I learned
the “Book of Revelation” is Science Fiction,
which translated into Latin means,
Liberal Arts is the work of the Devil.
The only way to truly know any story
is to take a minor character out for beers.
Some days I question my morning hit
of serotonin.
Other days I buy a lotto ticket
and sit next to a well of unfulfilled wishes.
It’s easy to fall in love with an idea
after reading 20 pages of self-help.
More difficult to prostrate at the feet
of uncertainty. What I mean to say is,
before you walk a mile in someone else’s shoes,
make sure they fit.
Swiss Army Saviour
God is who you turn to in a storm.
Or when you can’t pay the rent.
Or if your football team is losing the Super Bowl.
Even if He is high staring at supernovas.
Read his biography. Not a people person.
Evicted His first tenants
for picking apples in the backyard.
Drowned a lot of haters in His bathtub.
Once I thought I found God
in a jar of glue, but it just didn’t stick.
The genius of thoughts and prayers
is they don’t cost you anything.
Bored? Trade in God for a dog. You can bark,
I rescued him, but really he rescued me.
Open Prairies of Whispers
The walls are painted cowboys
and perforated with bullet holes.
I sleep-in to hide from my tears,
the double-barrel lens of waking.
A soft violence of light uproots me.
Morning ritual: a kindling of lead
mining the blood buried in my gums.
Prayers rise like raptures, settle
the eyes’ flickering filaments, pluck
hostilities splintered in the mind.
For a rider, absence is a horse
on the open prairies of whispers.
I move through this world as absence.
Diagnosis galloping through me.
Broken
Evening whinnied
and through the window
I saw a pair of nostrils
flare in the night air.
The animal shimmered
in this pasture of darkness
outside my apartment.
I opened the front door
to meet his wild stare.
We sized the other up,
did not speak. I gnashed
my teeth. His hooves struck
concrete like a match.
As lightning loosed inside,
I kept fear at a distance,
stepping closer to understand
the history of his storm.
There was a gentle in his thunder.
His eyes were the color
of wounded ego.
We stood hours together
in quietude, healing what
had groomed us into glass.
