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everything becomes an excuse

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and the mass exceeds the buoyancy/ and gravity pulls you back,

Legs and Mirrors

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I don’t want to be touched when I’m upset.

Notes for a Life. In a Swing. No Wind to Speak of.

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“Easter’s coming,” my wife says. “Should I dress as a bunny or a chicken?” she asks. She means for the costume party.

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He wants me to squawk words at him in the middle of the night.

Withdrawal

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Are you interested in a new account?

She spread her legs and flew away

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His unconscious sister on the floor, an emaciated mutt giving him the eye, and discreet piles of shit everywhere. Time to save the dog.

Nice Dream

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They must love me.

The Thing About Dooley

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Dressed only in a Speedo and sneakers, he asked about my day.

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Contentment

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On the bed he tickled her until she was crying with laughter. And then the tickles became caresses, the fingers, lips.

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Train whistles in wintertime made him feel lonely.

The Tease

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She was sick and tired of marriage. She didn't want to be a mother, but now she was.

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When you collapse, fall in my stupid direction Or: if I say, you're the chosen one, do something shiny

Ibambe

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If this was the day when the bribes of whiskey and US dollars would fail to work. If on this day a black bag, smelling of shit and fear, would be pulled over his head – the bloodied roots of a knocked out tooth tickling his neck.

The City Rises in Me

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What's a road? A swift excuse / for a city at each end.

Summer Circa 1960

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A latch key boy, free/ to do the stupidest things-- like jumping// off the carport roof clutching a homemade/ flying machine that couldn’t fly

Corporal Punishment

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When I was a little boy, I had a thing about women’s behinds.

Faith, Hope, and Charity

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Let's walk through this park. We can talk until dark. You have the look of a wolf. I'm not stupid, Jack. I'm a lamb, you'll see, once you get to know me. That tat is fierce and your leathers tight black. My ink is old and black suits me, I'm told. …

The Boy Who Knew Death

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As the sun rose each morning, so did the lonely old man with it; a sad limping figure strolling across the front lawn with a cigar tucked in his mouth, lighting fresh candles here and there, perhaps on an imagined grave of some loved one long lost to the infirmity of time…

Strange Bird

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Maddy knew how to make a sauce. It embraced the meat in a thick, buttery ooze.

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board games invented by florists / beachcombers drunk at the drive-in

Small dreams of a late worker

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She stuffed the stars down her stockings and left;

Ancestry.com

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Ancestry.com The Liverpool census in 1851 lists him:Thirteen years old, Irish. Occupation: beggar. Only that. I will do more for him.I will see him in torn jacket and too-short pants singing all day of the fields, the cliffs,…