august haunts

ghost stories

to do:

buy a garden

& sell it.

somewhere in

the world today

somewhere is


a place-set on the kitchen table

the knives are perfect perpendicular

to a roast              the couple singing


their caged-bird hearts silent

if seen                  from the snowfall


somewhere in

the world like a subway


steam is rising

from a roast       my childhood

is that steam      i am that knife

   i am that snow


my mother's dress is a cage

my father's tongue is a knife


my tears are snow indoors

falling falling falling

king queen

fine line begins:


btwn mad | genius

cf.     | mad genius—

genus: erect      |

species: phallus | common ancestry

                                ≠ the platypus | : Common

                                   ≠ the gorgon |  C. STALK

                                                           C. FIG-BAUBBLE


mating patterns […]


'most delicious bird is

preferable, manic, delirium, pushed

the cage was pushed!

just a “little”—

o! a nudge! in ribcages! all around!

lookitit squirm       that bird all plump

                               all feather

                               weight like a bramble


she got eyes

she got legs

she got hands (these make BREAD


a jam

bone btwn


ask a mayfly how shit so sweet

they know like hit-a-drum-hum


fine, passt,

ein Teller,

collect in arms'—enough, for tonight they show

enough for tonight, they show


& i winter the felled log froze a new

white paint iris white eggshells white

odd socks

for Maud Lewis


“[…] says:



place yer hand on my Halloween heart,

the dogs come in, jus' like yeh painted it,

panting, the hous got boards to mend, but i bend

@ my chest like all men, a compass turns me

inside out, a sweater is on yer place there

where yeh scratched yer nails 'gainst yerself, the knife stuck

in the table, but no matter, the hens call

& i come fishin', the hous stays, a big hook

wranglin' us on the road, & yeh wer straight on

up the long leg, a rose left, right there's a sock

i ain't seen before, in the snow, i hid it,

panicked, in the sock-drawer goes socks, but all this

metal from paint cans spun my compass for those,

directions every which way, was north, the same

as being, none […]'

but saying breathes out

& Maud cannot breathe

so white turns to red

turns to green”

oh yes, i heard

i heard how it was

& how she was like me


& i knew it because it was

mapless how her eyes went


when she laughed @ her lap—

were they quartz? did they spangle


sparrows catching mozzies;

or did they bake, alike


of heart-heated kilns? both, perhaps. she froze

chained, no Thomas @ the sea-break—


that much was certain.

she was a comment


'RIP' like a stoning stone.

a map for maps for me, the teary taste

in the first-rain lave—


oh yes, taps foot the ground

    where everything is

            superheat tectonic

& what was her name?

(which is the rainbow, currently above missouri)

you walk to a bank

in snow the chore

is clearing your soles


beyond that procedure

did they take your gun away?



you can stay

an option

you're already


how exciting!


duck the question

but also

are you sure? see,

you're @ the window looking in



lips open in shock there are no

open windows but her's

but she doesn't just go


you hold up your finger

& thumb & your palm unfolds

a single green feather


there is an eye


did they really take


your gun away?


do you paint it beyond

the hall-chime, in


the tea-leaf budding;

where giggling teens


zucchini-toned zip

into suitcases


seed-full as a pepper?

perhaps you give them back empty—


or do they kneel forever, Padre?

shouldn't you take the Uhr


away from the wall

& pack it too?

in my arms


i hold a different painting:

this woman stands,


baroque portrait strokes,

strange; back turned,


head a half-sneeze

of the cupola, her


left arm wilts above;

she holds a mistletoe


@ the trident light, split

like noodles from a father's chin;


her crown is mistletoe,

but her body is


chiffon & permeable

through which silt slides


& collects to block pores

which can never be cleaned.


this painting is behind

the hall-chime now, signed “INVICTUS”,


facing the wall. still,


my father's suitcase locks.

his cloth car-seats puff dust

every time you smack them.


shame isn't it


i hate



you can't stay still, you move when

you type 'you fucking


fuck.' i have to say,

i love you, but


your rejection

notice is a fucking


disgrace. i read it once         burned it

into my fucking       skin     ('we greatly enjoyed …' )

& signed it w/ an iris.


i get great compliments for such

a great accident


such great

slopes @ my keyboard


swirling great

hurricanes on the black keys


these fingers have touched

mothers they too are daddy


& daddy always



? i hate

but is this dalliance a great


sail set to great

great shores? daddy, i have been


a whore & every daddy

loved as sweet


& i was a great great



crashing now here

nowhere, apparently, like


a bore.

o but let me go


back & get rid of

the fucking curses


though are they

well fucking placed


are they timed well

do they land


well? don't speak i know you won't

please let me


know from your towering

island by way of gales:

PR, a knuckleball,

& those warm warm regards.

danny boy

don't worry your pretty little head

about it

someone should've


said it all before


you're watching the news from a down lens point of view

don't you look good in the reflection


i'm yours as long as you're mine he said

& what's easier than that

possessions ring like chords on Instagram

& i'm open


to a drive thru window

he said

in the dm

she read



he spelled

there wrong in every line

& she knew



love in every sense

die Eselsbrücke


oh Annie love

you          old piano

tell them that riddle! you know:


we dance

but dancing step

wrong foot       first

a tango when dirges

solo when waltzes


we kick

our teeth


we grind

our heels



what are we?


but answer

sharpish w/ ivory—they'll never guess US!

cloaked in a mother

like a mother


that thing of a lap

for examining skulls

my own there useless

& dangling

mad as a sausage


i'm @ the bridge, though

i might lose signal


o Annie        love

dropping      but


yes remember


before i drop

you             just when

you're @ the lock

spin the key

close the top

i'll lift my knee

pullover       stop

@ the count of—


'tis the season



i'll be



march comes

been gone


but when