Poem 54

upon realizing this is about to get WAY more awkward…

She kicked down the no trespassing sign
and aerated those photo-albums in her high-heels.

No bearded men talk about the wreckage of
decisions, only the go forth of American wisdom. Fools.

We can’t laugh about it yet, but we can have
face powder conversations on the public trans.

If my mother had sat me down and tried to explain integrity
she would have gnawed her tongue off before it reached her cheek.

If I was dying in the street I know five people who most definitely would
leave me there. That’s the truth about growing up. Enemies grow

out of friends. You don’t know what that’s like until
you have to stare someone down and ask for forgiveness…

I’m sorry I’m not sorry for feeling sorry for you:
It takes two to compete over a boy and oh boy was he worth competing for.

So there it is. East coast sentimentality and sopping clothes,
face to face with everything I hate about my self, attempting

to order coffee just became a contact sport. Counting down
the days until reality set in; realizing counting is my new reality.

Please, darling, if we’re not going to be friends, do try
not to poison me…yes, that’s what I said, soy milk.

–ECW

Poem 53

no matter where i go, nevada will always be home

 

All the history I know

is the way the dust blows

cutting at the face of the earth.

Conflict-construct deducts

from the sand-sculptors I find

to capture filthy the free—

Send off didactic calligraphy—

the lights seem to me brighter in my wisdom.

Boyhood and summer becomes them; I am

not a boy… I can’t appreciate this moment:

westward-boot leather-toe, like you can.

Wrinkled furrows of manifest, resent not

only the meager syllabic meanderings of verse

or worse, the sounds of unraveling

minds. mines. Mine. We don’t speak

of the syrup we pulled from the Rockies—

Instead revel in man’s triumphant sun-bulbs

blushing dry meadows with life. Nothing survives

but we—ay sayers—dehydrated sipping on silver.
–ECW