Lizard in a Blizzard
Breathing white fire
in freezing air,
winter dragon, albino
already extinct dinosaur,
I am a truly terrible
lizard. The heat lamp
recedes from the terrarium,
the heartbeat from
the sternum. Star
points on my snakeskin boots
kick me in the blue
seat of my pants, time
stamped and out
dated, an out-of-date newspaper
scraped together
from hearsay, heralding a black
and white blizzard of the big screen.
The Talk
My father the pharmacist
gives me the sex talk
over the phone now that
I have started chemo.
Oral contraceptives are
the oracle of body chemistry.
Barrier contraceptives
leave no trace, no outline.
In the event of conception,
call a doctor to have it dealt with,
disposed of? Immaculate
lab coat, baritone mellifluous,
my voice (on the other
end) of reason says to flush twice.
Have no further children.
November Ember
A new November,
a new folder
on my computer,
enfolds me in the every
day desire to sire
more data. Dictum:
Do the recycling
before bed, not breakfast,
listless in the new
November light. Dictum:
the cold curb across from
your daughter. Sit.
Receive her leaf bits, star
points into your pocket:
guideposts. They are her
heart. Remember
there are embers still
worming around
in the stomach of firepit
despite night wind.
There are embers.
Observe them.
On the Neurological Loss of the Function of My Left Hand
Leftie always
imbecile banging
into my groin,
my daughter’s eye,
I amputate you
several times a day.
At night, if I let
my wife straighten out
your five curly fries,
and strap me
into the black splint
of sleep, let me at least
lower the dark plank
of my bondage below the blanket.
Pleasure me leisurely.
The pinched off passageways,
narrowing straits, remove
you from me. Already
a straight-faced traitor lying
next to me in marriage.
Heave-Ho
Heave a breath, out
stretched in a smoke ring
of guard rails,
a wreath
of dainty road signs. Heave-ho.
Don’t cleave to this life,
this highway stretch of star
light, the dismembered
stitchwork of fallen leaves.
May the breath you heave be light.
release the suitcase
clutched to your chest, your ribcage.
A birdbrained saint, you are
itinerant, yes, but no traveling salesman.
Here is the stair
case of second chances,
correspondences, daydreams.
May the blue jays in your blue
jeans exemplify lightness.
You could have said
anything. Instead, you chose to say this.