The archbishop is standing in the bathroom
his underwear around his ankles
clutching a cheap electronic beard-trimmer
trying to hurry before the charge fades and it starts to pull
when his alarm clock begins singing “If I Could Turn Back Time”
And he looks into the mirror
right into his own sagging blue eyes
and says “God bless you, honey.”

•

Your heart is guarded by griffins
whose hearts are guarded by yous.
Look at you.
Always crouched on your feet like someone who
just woke up cold and naked in a strange, dark place.

•

It is only natural
to eviscerate yourself
in the shower wordlessly and venomously.
It is only natural
to wish oneself a slight, effete, middle-aged Chinese man
who seems to have forgotten his passport on the train.
It is only natural
to describe the word “description”
with a willowy wave of the right hand.
It is only natural
one way or the other
to delay the ever-approaching inevit.

•

There was a girl who’s lips never parted because she was afraid what might escape.
Her jeans were baggy and her shirt was flannel, her hair a wild mistake.
She sat in the cafeteria all alone at a table with a wobbly leg.
She listed on headphones to a glorious drone and dined on cornflakes.

•

It ain’t your criss-cross style
It ain’t your lovely boots
It ain’t that thing sticking out of your mouth
That you think makes you look cutes
It’s that wooly wooly real-like heart of yours
That you claim goes tick tick tick
That makes me want to gouge your eyes out
That makes me want to be sick.

•

Two pink centimeters
Trip me up; take me out
I am alight, aloft

•

You’re the kind of guy
who aligns his steering wheel just so,
so he can feel his wheels roll over
the dead squirrels in the street.
Too cowardly to commit murder yourself
you settle for something
as sad and stupid as that.

•

In my dream you were
a miraculous revelation
In ass-hugging shorts
and a white T with the
collar cut with scissors.

•

Sitting on the futon, watching a documentary about the Boston Red Sox that seems to be trying to say something larger about American culture, thinking about you.

I anticipate the words on the screen like I anticipate your arrival. Except you aren’t cooperating. And I worry about that in a way that can only be described as unreasonable.

We are on opposing poles, moving toward one another, and one day, you, luminous and strong, will speed by me, and I will catch your scent as you disappear behind me.

I drink as I wait, listening to the voice-over talent and the music up and underneath. I grow disgusted with my gut, heaving between my heavy head and the keyboard.

I wish we were Japanese, bowing to one another with a solemnity we can’t comprehend. I wish we weren’t of this earth. I wish we were two colluding, disruptive, glowing owls.

•

There is a type of fatigue
that occurs late in the afternoon
late in the week
late in the summer
when something like a scrim
separates you from the world
and energy resists every effort
to summon it
and every attempt at
coherent thought
collapses into
an ellipsis.

•

I am a museum
exquisitely lit yet
off limits to the touch
of your hand
you stop
you stare
you stop
you stare
you try
like hell
to understand.

•

The circuitry of your body
snaps, crackles and pops
like the twigs and leaves
underneath your feet
as you run from the cops.

•

I’m the guy whose hand is on your girlfriend’s shoulder
In that one picture on her Facebook page
It is not due to carelessness or lack of skill on her part
That my hand escaped her iPhoto cropping tool
Just as it is neither by mistake nor by mere coincidence
That I dwell in the darkest corners of her mind
Lurking like a rouge alley cat
Eyes gleaming wildly in the twilight
Watching — always watching
As you lay next to her at night.

•