Where I Used To Live

empty cans of chef boyardee
contents divorced from the can
into spotted blue plastic bowls
chocolate milk in a tall glass
sweet on the tongue and later sour in the stomach

streets between stacks of cluttered
newspapers
most older than the eldest brother
there’s enough room on the kitchen table, between the towers,
for the bowl, the glass, the steel spoon, and the empty can

stained carpets
hairballs lonely and unattended
scattered wind-up toys from happy meals
a cracked window behind the television and a speaker system,
whose wires have never been connected

a pink room upstairs with flares of flowers on the bed’s quilt
a blue room too, a blue sweatshirt forgotten on the floor
the other three rooms stuffed
with boxes of magazines and stained gold necklaces and expired
coupons for food lion and walmart

christmas tree in the study though
it’s fall and the tree’s been there since winter’s freeze
winking red light on the wireless router
like a single christmas light or from a life support system
for the computer long dead on the desk

a ripped alimony or child support check
under the keyboard
from a tall lawyer I used to see
and
you want to see again

A Nightmare

or: Hotboxing Terrors

olympic noones
dashed against white concrete
in drunken feats of bravery
theater walls surrounding,

crushing

tearing at the corpulence as the spectators escape

awake cold and dark as the fan spins

a blinking light

as a reminder of awareness

I'm zoning out, lost in thought.
is free speech sufficient the professor inquires
why can politicians lie but advertisements cant
I think advertisements lie all the time.
should politicians provide more evidence
did he put drug companies first

(a right to free speech requires that you be informed

but people ARENT informed
I like free speech. It's cool. I approve--
Who's this? You're looking like the coolest kid in this class. You look conceited.
Now I feel conceited.

pause
did i say that out loud

Oil

I stood beneath the hull
Pearlescent, a shell
Tar dripped down into my eyes
There was the house beneath which I climbed into

Day and night the tar fell; I plugged the openings with my shoe
I climbed into the living room and the tar followed
The pressure above caused wood to break in two

I fell into the maze
Where my hands, slick with glaze
Tar dripped down into my eyes
Worked along the surface of thedarkfloor

A rumbling beneath my bare feet reminded me of doors

Slamming shut around me and the tar followed

A moment of clarity between the doors

Tar dripped down into my eyes