post mortem

we stood over the gleam
of stainless steel and
recounted the details

spooky real-deal exploitation
shaken together with
inquest and poured into
used coffins in back-alley
funeral homes

this is what they look like
on the inside
illustrations from the
household guide to dying

lacking the requisite goo factor
for a spoof film autopsy
but still disturbing in
its underlying complexity

at some particular time

unable to resolve the
implications of

nature on the scale of
total emptiness he

enclosed the past
inside the present

nesting time in time like
matroyshka dolls

on loan from the quantum
particles of the universe

each part made up
of something smaller

the work proved more powerful
than what he could maintain

but he remained faithful to
the disappearing matter

bleep bloop bleep

Pipe cleaner art from a training that I went to this weekend.

a million fireflies

the back of his head
felt wet and sticky so
he leaned against the deep
roots of an old tree
cherry blossoms floated
in the breeze

she waited for him
at the entrance leading
down to the canyon
as the large black beast
stalked silently down the road

he didn't know where
he was or how long he'd
been unconscious
the air smelled like
sea salt and rusted metal

sometimes things work
themselves out but sometimes
a duck is just a duck
telling you what
happens next would
ruin the story

everything that goes must start at once

existence leaves
and takes up residence
in the realm of
infinite density

searching for the
single point at the center
where time holds court
begging an audience
for the remedy

but time is wandering
off into the distance
shedding energy and
growing smaller

until it reaches the point
beyond the edge
of singularity
nobody wants it anymore

redacted

nobody remembers
what was omitted
and buried deep
within the substructure
of nothingness
but that’s just the way
it is around here
nobody wants to
carry the questions

five and dime

mama bought alice
at the five and dime
but couldn’t carry her
back home

she paused to catch
the ends of her hair
and ducked into
the back-alley shadows
to set up an ambush

looking for a way to lure
her oh-so-dull lover
into moving her
past third-base
but they were
both clueless

so she went back
to town and
bought the old book
with all the answers
and they studied it
together

chapbook

Just a reminder...

copies of That Sort of Thing and Idealists on the Funeral Train are still available here.