a storm comes for the body
puts that taste of metal
in the mouth
shivers, twitchy muscle
the self dissolves 
into a fog

which is a kind of grace
but then it congeals into solid form
and wraps its grip
around the throat

do not be afraid

hormone crisis, hardwired terror
empties the bowels


I got COVID and went to school
learned so much
didn’t read any books but now I know
white knuckle
cortisol dump
I circle the hospital and then the house
feeling great
nothing like a steroid ride
rose garden
family plot
I stop and stand to be admired
pull up my spine 
while my body shrinks inside my suit

Deep Canvas

hello queer asshole
I’m really busy
eating dinner
if he wins
I am putting my money
under the mattress
it feels so hopeless
I am here in the woods
in Utah, for work
above a diner
why would I vote
for that asshole
I do not know who he is
you aren’t associated
with the republicans
are you?
the last few years
can’t do anything
ruin everything
in a nursing home
not here
at college
I just
listen! listen!
you did this the other day
what is your name
I wish he didn’t say
will you please shut up



He lumbers into the bathroom, hangs up his robe and quickly enters the shower. When he is naked, he does not look around lest he be surprised by the image of the woman-pig reflected everywhere in the mirrored walls that surround him. He grunts with complaint as he knocks over soap and shampoo bottles, breaks towel rods.

The water never comes out hard or fast enough. It trickles and leaks. He is so dirty, so angry. He wants to be hosed down.

Is he dreaming of washing away his troubles or of climbing into the womb from which he was forcefully expelled? Or is that he is so repulsive, even water avoids touching him.