on my way to Tampa Bay

DFW 
and a lake house invitation
from an Oklahoma dude, 
via Rain Forest Adventures
Costa Rica 
zip line tour.

Oklahoma boys

breaking hearts with
expensive shorts
(not the hearts) but 
cornflower blue 
pecs 
like obscure logos 
on their way to Rome.

women 
moved stone 
to extract him from 
his mother’s arms, alive.

blindfolded and ear-plugged 
he writes the scene where he scatters 
his twin brother’s ashes on fire island. 
cuts the love line from his palm 
and prints his 
bloody hand on the page
like a fourth grade boast. 
tah-DAH!

the air goes out of the room. 
the pause. the dish:
Diane Sawyer tweezing
Barbara Walters’
nose hair,
digging gristle from her back tooth

among a pestilence of flies,
fried clams,
and a gang of manatees 
dragging the Hillsborough River

mediocre, passive aggressive book seeks revenge

secular holiness razes religion
scrubs society in the crack, 
behind the ear.
a pussycat hardship,
bursting with real fruit flavored gravitas,
supplants/revamps world views.
un-strafed souls
now in control
pit the maulers 
with the brawlers
and yell, go!

birds and other fly creatures

everything gone 
flaccid
my droopy blue 
suede
strap on

little anchors
in clouds
tiny worms with wings
choke the fly
crows
like bags of black keys
not meant to amuse 
you
never know when to screw

when called upon I act
test
fuck it with lips
and teeth
slashed
less like price,
more like tires
named for rain and snow

tiptoe thru

the sage brush,
caress the raw mess 
left by
deep cuts 
caressing and counting on you
has never been what to do