On Poetry

All poetry
Is nothing.
Like we are nothing.
Like the world
Is nothing.

And nothing,
As Janis said,
Is all we have left
To lose.

3 Poems Written During One Afternoon At My Temp Job (on yellow post-it notes)

The Desert

They were lost.
The sea had run aground
And they could do nothing
But get out,
Tighten their shoelaces,
And walk.
The sun in the distance
Like a coin waiting to be collected.


Cough, You Mutherfucker

Cough, you mutherfucker, cough.
Why not? You've been doing
It for eight hours a day,
Five days a week, for months
Now. You sit right in front of
Me and we don't even have a
Thin cubicle wall dividing us.
You heave, sigh, yawn, belch, and cough.
So go ahead and
Cough, mutherfucker, cough.


Cats at Night

The door opens and they bound out
Into the darkness, eyes wide
And noses twitching as they attempt
To take it all in, not knowing
There is no end to the night,
That all the curious smells will go on
Forever, that a legion of other cats
Guard their own backyards, streets
Running beyond this city to other cities
Running to the far ends of the earth,
Where all is grass, woods, farms.
The mice there sleeping safely,
Tucked into bed and dreaming of ocean.

Beer with Lemon

I watched the dark clouds gather
All afternoon long and into
The early evening while stationed
At a shared desk on the seventh floor
Of a gleaming blue office building
All glass, all windows. A quiet purgatory
With a beautiful, panoramic view.

Looked like rain all afternoon,
But the storm did not break
Until I had punched out, until
I had driven home my back tight
My stomach empty and sat down at
My kitchen table, pouring myself a
Beer with lemon while looking
Through my open window at the
Fresh green trees blooming outside,
So much sweet wind pouring
Through my screen window I could only
Bow my head, and consider the thunder.