Seed Bomb
I forget my shades at the funeral
but when I call the cemetery
their voicemail is full.
Some jobs will never be automated
like the phrenologist, who says
I’m a born liar. My boss died
in the explosion
when an intern mistook
growth projections for
reality—anyone can buy enough
fertilizer and diesel
to start a flower farm
but only an expert knows
if the snapdragon is smiling
or if his skull just looks that way.
I’ve held a happy grimace
for many years, made
to please every client, but
lately I don’t buy it.
Sweet peas crack pods
in the sun, scatter their children
and calendula eats itself raw.
Wrong can be so many colours—
don’t be afraid to mistake
the astroturf for the grass
the grass told me. Stop to smell
the charred remains, accept
your diagnosis. Keyword: Born.
History Class Pet
i.
Over winter break
Gertie the gerbil
one by one
gorges on
her new blind babies.
ii.
Nobody volunteers
to clean the cage.
iii.
Q: When does hunger beg for killing?
A: The second it’s born.
& born again
begs for a new name.
iv.
Before you
bury me please
check for a pulse.
Hibernation
plays tricks.
Mergers
and Hyperstition
Our shareholders vote
for camouflage. Approve?
Spider orchid nods her head, hugs
her victim close. My stinger
saves changes to the document.
Another motion, signed off.
Another target, traced
in UV mottling. Newborns
read unseen spectra—
landing lights for pollinators—
study faces clockwise
in sync with digestion. I’ve merged
so many disasters, I’ve run
out of names. Pollen, compound
interest, implanted
on her lover’s back. The breeze
this afternoon is mild & carries
hints of wildfire—tug us
into tomorrow, Cost Per Acquisition.
Burn rate is down. We’re golden.
Grateful
to Be Here
Unboxing the apocalypse
wondering the land
doesn’t try and stop us—
diesel rig time trials
in the wildlife preserve.
Hentai cigarillos
Monster Zero Ultra
dashboard Cthulhu
“Coexist”.
Key bumps with Essau—
says he’s thinking of
growing a beard.
I
wanna look alpha.
Sirius grows redder.
Bindweed, moonfaced
mutates embankment.
August hailstorm, we
defy the weather app:
Sigma downshifts,
snaps the differential.
Lichen in the wreckage.
Liking it, the wreckage.
Young Augustine
Like a dog returns
to his vomit the dog
returning to his vomit
finds faith in a bowl
called world
////
Dad wrote the name for sin
in our garden, hid it under
a weathered concrete frog.
He says he’ll return
to read it aloud
when the frog croaks
so I’m out here catching flies.
I’m learning to swim.
////
I wish there was an answer
to the answer
your palm gives me
but casting lots is forbidden.
Casting anything at all
suspicious at best.
////
Trace this line
until you forget
we are creatures
of happenstance.
////
I’m learning numbers
the way we did
in the beginning—
one, just one,
and two, also
a bit lonely these days
