Tired, trying to move on the air
drugged by lavender vodka
and the inhabitants
tearing them down.
I can’t live with all of you.
Your multi-lensed eyes
scared of water-bag ghosts,
making your imprint in the hummus,
your off-spring in the morning grounds.

They keep coming.
I blame the rats but you swarm
in drunken lavender vodka rhythm
over our heads.
Typhoid fever, salmonella, tuberculosis.
In some cases, death.
Round and round, back and forth
over every light,
over every window.


Bodies are failing
there are infinite ways
we could turn inside out,
lose confidence.
I walked through,
saw you.
My mind was somewhere else
and it was only my eyes
that saw a body
I couldn’t pull my mind
back to say hello before you were gone.
Later, when you told me I ignored you
the pieces at the edge of my memory
held nothing.
And your body, failing, whispered
in my cold ear,
“You looked right at me.”

The human condition,
as I have heard it explained…
She wrote that humans
are the things with the eyes.
She said what we do is we rely on them too much.
We were beautiful but we weren’t.
We would never forget
when our loves one saw us, but didn’t
say hello.

For Sara Fisher


what’s more for poetry?
I called forth a haunt
It was June and air stuck
to my legs
in ways– liberating, vexing.
Escape wasn’t the answer,
the beige walls stretched
for miles.
There are pathways in here
that were boarded up long ago–
some of them are good ones.
Still as a hunted fowl,
my eyes close, my nose
discovers alleys of bravery,
center and speed that
laziness and despair buried.
This is an exercise in poetry,
Forward movement.
Alone for many moons,
I stood and vexed over the right pathways.
Open the wrong door,
and the panthers can’t even
save you.