Stock

Dunk the carcass
and siphon the fat
that clings and pools
fleeing the evolution
boiling below

Reduce to the point
that no flavor remains
in the bones
till the water begins
to devour itself

Let it simmer
till only the fittest
have survived
molecules manifested
with the last of life

Lidless

My eyes close often
shuttering
what is already known
words on the page
faint disappointment
inevitabilities

Remake this world
in my image
not the man in the mirror
but the mirror in man
a reflexive absolution
absolute

Forgive this perfection
for it knows not
what knowing is for
half the battle lost
while the war
has already been won

Prelude in 5/4

It’s jazz weather
preferably in French
the sort of croon that carries us
into the deepest part of night
where everything goes soft

I could stare at you for hours
if only this song would last
with a look of young love
remembered
and now remade

It’s incredulous
like I can’t believe
that I’ve gotten quite this lucky
that luck had anything to do
with finding a you again

A you who humors my objection
to taking the track off repeat
derailing shared ignorance
of what it is
that comes next

Roads Not Traveled

The magnitude of a life
still misses me
who knows death
only in the solemnity
of a bunch of school kids
playing at being adults
an earnestness that stinks
of ill-fitting suits
brought forth from mothballs
subjected to funerary rain

He was already a specter
a birthday party friend
the only one left
from that god fearing town
that godless me
was already forgetting
their names
and sins against me
competing with what grief
I couldn’t seem to find

My memory won’t go there
won’t wind it’s way
to a time now lost
forcefully forsaken
save a face and a name
a lonesome half hillock
at an intersection
on the road between nowheres
where he pulled out
into what comes next

Antique Beat

It’s been fuzzboxed
by way of tea and crumpets
circa world war radio broadcasts
so British it begs
for a hackneyed accent

Pip pip
pluck up your courage
and profess your love
timeless sentiments
for a dated dulcet

He knows what he’s doing
she knows what he’s doing
but the doing needs getting done
it’s all a formality
trumped by hearts