The Ark

My new pants
were cool

for like
a week

and then they just
kept shrinking

and shrinking--

waiting
for the flood.

Drivers Needed

Autumn's goodyear
rips the road

ass open
spawning

mummified
cats by the dozens.

A rising loaf
bangs against

the oven
glass.

The wolf-heart
is looking in

Its face
like a sledge hammer.

If you drive
down May Road

in late
September

you can hear
the grinding of bones,

feel the hollow
eyes of a coyote

Pressing
your spine into Orion.

The Groundskeeper

These trees
have become
my bones.

And the
birds are
going viral.

How in the
rot of an oak
has it come to this?

              Damned to toil.

In the Tesla-alloy Skyscape

I am coming in the 7th density, coming through the fallen ribcage with arm extensions.

Some galaxy in the eye collapses and tears the leopard in half like a rag wraith. I am cata-cata in the unwraith, I unearth myself in attics; twist the capa off the mummified cata to get to the wolf-data, my forearms shrap off the root system, right off of the sycamore spewing ejecta into the ecosphere.

I am coming in the tree-pod swelling, coming to amputate the Methuselah.

Trees

You spiral
like the river

into the grave
yard of trees.

You have seen
the undertow,

been dragged
through the

shrapnel city.

Welcome to
the infirmary

of oak, ash & thorn.
the sycamore

is ill, shedding
at the touch:

What are friends for?

A Soundscape Poem

I'm starting to work on a group of audio poems. Here is the first. It is one of my sci-fi world poems and explores the reality of animal cruelty and suffering.

The Duck Pond

...and what
hurts the most

is that I know
I won't become

a prince
if you kiss me.

I can see
my toad-body

in the backhand
of a streetlight.

Only frogs
are slimy enough.

...to slip away.