Poetry Archives Bio
January 23, 2018
8:59 AM
staff of asclepius

To Rod Moody-Corbett

it is always early in your country
and i love you for this

like the morning loves its cockadoodledoos
(emphasis on the doodle


I am on the crapper
after giving the millstone my all

recollecting a twelve year old's
vaginal bestiary of mind

alien vs. predator
(though always more predator than alien


with the telemetric dropsy of our age
i don't need figures or facts

i don't need a metric for lonelineſs
lickety split tickety boo

i make a recovery point for history
and fuck it all up for giggles and shits


it's easy to forget how to chew
or walk or sleep so suddenly

I find myself among the streets
debased by the collusive wind and rain

looking up things (aside from consonants
to do in reykjavik



it is too early still but here I am
the victim of long liquid shits from birds

(avenging ortolans fondus
sans either veritas or vino


i shall call thee the male sunrise
the tentative and tender auroron

pallidus mane that moves across the ciels
the buffer zone between myself and teleos


last night i dreamt from prison an escape
to rescue from a ravager my child

my spine and soul they wind around my ache
like mapplethorpe's caduceus (or worse


back of the bass rubbed by a loving knee
letters from hermes/aphrodite's son

how it all shines and fits (when it wants it can
both do and go against your nature

and what of the man?
he wipes his left nipple with sawdust and moves on



nothing is knowable save for love