‘Dating App Profile’

(yes it’s on my birth certificate)
I’m a Capricorn, and an INTP
Though that means nothing much to me,
I hate the winter but love snow and
I’ve never seen your favorite show and
I know too much about Ohio’s plovers and
in an hour I picked thirteen four-leaf-clovers and
I go to museums and look real sad and
can’t help the feeling i’m doing bad and
dating me’s like dating a wall that’s
two feet wide and miles tall.

I was a genius once, or something close and
all I seem to eat is toast and
I go to a job five times a week and
when I come home, I sometimes sleep and
I think I say ‘I’ too much and
my use of ‘and’, and ‘like’, and ‘such’
Is, like, such a bad habit and
my lines hop like a limping rabbit.

I’m sure I’ve lost you by this line
but why stop now when there’s still time?
I feel like nobody relates to me
It’s diagnosable, probably,
I like nothing and want very little and
when I read out loud I spray some spittle and
I’ve been cracked over life’s big knee but
the cracks are small and the glue is free.

Glorious Vulture

Praise be to the vultures, the maggots,
the gnawing worms and the low-slouching
mammals. Praise be to decay, for elsewise
the flesh would pile in stinking heaps, the
streets would clog with our elders, and
the tallest towers would go uninhabited.

Shell, spoken softly

It brings to mind the crunch underfoot in a dugout,
and the tiny white specks on a beach,
a handful of seeds and
fingers plunging in the warm earth,
and the look in a man’s face when
the revolver, burning, falls from his hand and
tiny brass cylinders spill over the tile.


They’re useful in a fight, for sure,
but how they ache after too much use, and
the migraines are a real drawback.

The best part of the year is the day
when the moon is high and sharp like an eye
and the blood starts to pulse and throb through your head,
because blood always keeps time,
Then you’re at the great big oak with the rough bark,
not really sure how you got there, scratching away,
Until the brown peels off, and the white breaks even
and the weight falls away to the floor-
How lovely to discard a weapon,
and how lovely to shape another.


It’s not quite a sense of loss,
but a sense of never-had.
I never had you out of my mind.
I never had the carefree days and
never had a childhood crush and
never had a friend I could tell.
I never had a sense of justice and
never had the life you took and
never had an open hydrant to splash in.
I never had the will to go on but
never had the chance to stop,
never had the blood gush and
never had an urge stronger and
never had a target more distant than the past.
Most of all,
I never had a chance


And now we’re all snug in our boxes,
sociopath, bipolar, narcissist
and the world is sharp and the stars shine cold
and the clean edges of the graveyard are clear in the distance,
psychopath, depressed, obsessive,
and we all know who we are, and we all know
what an unusual thing it is to be human.


I’m only me when I hunger
And saliva slickens my yellowed fangs,
I’m only me when the tracks are fresh
And my body twitches with the pangs.

I’m only me once legs are pumping,
Bearing down on unknown prey,
I’m only me when I understand
The way they fall, the way they lay.

It is not me who reaps the harvest,
Threshing is not done with claws,
It is not me who sets to feasting,
It is not ever me at all.