Honey Hives
                                                 happy little bees                    buzzing
their final breath                    their                                                                          ability to feed


                                    domesticated                         imported
                   raised                                                          in


those hives      collapse



     Mark lunged forward as the car crunched to a stop up against the street lamp. Sighing, he rolled down his window and leaned out to a young bystander for assistance.
‘Excuse me, Miss, I wonder if you could help me?’

     Mark had known that the car would be just right for him the moment the sales assistant had described it as blue-grey. The ambiguity added considerably to its appeal. That had been three months ago, before a deliberate delay which had allowed Mark to modify the vehicle to further suit his needs. He was careful to take his custom to a different garage each time. Three months might be a long time for other young men to wait, especially where cars were concerned, but the persistent passage of time held no sway over Mark. (more…)

Sparrow Pie

I rent the apartment upstairs from Marcus
His garage is full of junk he uses to make things like a shop vac or parts for his car
or a sparrow trap

Once, when I passed his garage, he was trying to find a silver rod
for his chicken coop
He lured me in with his homemade apple brandy

After searching for a while he became so frustrated he told me
he thinks about killing himself. When he looks in the mirror
he says he sees a monster

On the shelf in his garage is a box that contains
an old Halloween decoration. On the box written in sharpie it says
“Marcus the Carcass” and inside is a rubber zombie mannequin

Marcus says he feels so alone sometimes he wants to be the dead one

The sparrow trap sits at the end of the driveway
It’s a metal structure that lets sparrows in with no exit. After a few hours
they just die. Marcus says when he has six of them, he’ll make a sparrow pie

I walked past the sparrow trap this morning and there were
two sparrows. They looked exactly alike except that one of them
was alive, still trying to get out, and the other one was dead in the corner (more…)

The Mother Knocks Again, Harder This Time


But still there is silence. She says the boy’s name sharply. Open the door. She steps back, watching the narrow bar of light that creeps from under the closed door. What can the child be doing in there. Open it, she says. Or I’ll call the cops. The door opens a few inches, grudgingly. He wears pajama bottoms, no shirt, his eyes cast down. The mother pushes past him into the half-lit room. The bedclothes in disarray, a lamp knocked over, the smell of sweat. The boy glances nervously at the closet: among sneakers and boots stands a pair of narrow feet. The toenails are painted pink, the ankles are slender. The mother approaches, a hand over her mouth. The feet belong to a naked girl. She hides among hanging coats and dresses, her hand shielding her face. The mother gasps. She turns to the boy for explanation. He shrugs. Then an explosion of movement as the girl grabs her dress and runs from the room. A flash of pale flesh. The front door slams. (more…)

11:47 a.m.

I crawled outside for a rare dose of sunshine. It was risky, another human might approach and slide mouth-first into small talk, say: Damn, it’s so hot I could fry a salmon on the hood of my Hyundai. What?

Heading back in to wrap myself in air conditioning, I caught my neighbor standing at his window aiming his phone at me. I raised my arms, palms out, but he didn’t take the hint and move. The intensity of his intrusion was admirable. So I smiled. Then I stared longingly at a sparrow perched on a telephone pole, held the pose far past what is considered normal. I was a frozen and forlorn philosophical birder. His phone tracked me like paparazzi at a movie premiere. The attention was unfamiliar, empowering, therapeutic. (more…)

Thank you always for you.
For all of your Selves – your Hells;
if it indeed plays out that
we can burn alive in more than one –
let it conflag around us
for there is no other wound
I’d prefer to endure
than the hot kiss of a She-Devil
who rents us a room;
be it red-lit and ready for She-Rage;
I say Fuck to Repenting.

Our words are the aloe / our tongues the spit
that can seduce a million demons in one lick –
When God is ready for us, sound the alarm
I’m still waiting for Him / to donate alms (more…)

     Every year on the eve of the full Capricorn moon is Saturnalia; a celebration of freedom, a display of unrestricted acceptance and unity. The popular and the pariah become one. The gods and goddesses descend from their lofty palaces in heaven to join in on the jubilation. Even Cronus himself takes off his crown for the night and feasts.

     Sofea finishes her daily rituals to her goddess, Aphrodite. Outside her window, the street signs are being decorated with homemade paper lanterns, and her neighbors are stringing fairy lights through the willows near the pond. The sun has not quite reached its zenith, and she realizes she finished her daily rituals much earlier than she has been the past several months. She is vaguely aware that she should be somewhere else—perhaps down the street—helping prepare the cakes for the festivities later on. She continues to gaze out the window, just for a few more minutes, and plans her Saturnalia, the night of spontaneity.