The Hangman's Beautiful Children

fishing for muses     here on the subway platform
for the hangman’s beautiful children
full of wheel sharp of ankle
loose of blouse strap long of boot
and in her hands
tissue paper origami crane

bright of clothing even if her clothing’s black
eye shadow with eye flash bright within it
sinuous deep animal stride
even in the routes of his fingertips
as they cross the keyboard of a laptop
screen depth of light that can shut off in an instant

o hangman     how you envy your children
how you’d reverse polarity so that they’d
be born as dead as you’ve made yourself
how you’d bind the leather of your heart
tightly over the flesh of theirs
how you’d sew it cold without sweating

	don’t you know
	that unbound hearts beat faster
	than yours does?

		don’t you know
		they know the games of flight
		that birds in love make?

from Yew Nork (2014)

The Entranceway

the potatoes roll in through the doorway in a line
roll not walk    not quite balanced
because they’re not symmetrical 
but they’ve found out they make fries here
and they can’t stand not missing the action

the line extends past sight
going back to what was once defined as a farm
it’s rush hour    they’re going
as fast as raw potatoes can wobble
the cook’s wrists ache in anticipation
the deep fryer bubbles like a fulfilled stomach
the music roils hotly    in their heads
they dream they can dance to it
and that wealth will come to them
when they’re cooked gold and toasty

from Some Coffeehouse Poems (2022)

Sorrow Post -Trump

maybe tomorrow
the four solar appearances we’ve missed
will appear in the same sky
in the same hour

maybe tears
will become rain again

the hours you spent hurt    crunched
can fold in time to memory
with only the pain    of a cut hand
in memory to remind you

the skin of a scar is light and silvery
a road to a new firmament
where the stars show silvery and bright
each star    itself    a sun

from Trump Tics (2020)

After the Election (2028)

after the plague had passed
halloween was over

the suits of disease walked empty
no survivors wanted to fill them

streets no longer grew mad cars
and the seeds of abandoned concrete began to sprout

    see that dog?
    he’s enjoying the excitement of a walk
    so full of scents of mystery

    who owned this car?
    why are all these people so happy?
    the seeds of concrete finally erupt as sculpture
    and it’s up to dogs to figure out
   which survivor planted which one

A version of this poem appeared in Trump Tics (2020)

Style

sometimes his style of communication
gets in the way

when he says he wants to kill you
you know
you have to interpret that yourself

from Trump Tics (2020)

Avoiding Being Overheard

the one waits at a table by the far wall
looking at nothing for at least ten minutes
finally the other one comes in
nods greeting    gets coffee    sits down
and they start talking in short sentences
in a language i think i’ve never heard
i ignore them then start to understand them
it’s english    all the words backwards

the sun is out it’s gonna be hot
all four women at the table next to mine
are young energetic and excited about something
that’s lively enough to be gone tomorrow
i can’t catch exactly what they’re talking about 
the dictator has been in power for three years
the two by the wall talk slowly and sparingly
even language can creep away

from Trump Tics (2020)

Plumbing's Revenge

i must have looked manic
searching    all over the castle
for the manuscript that held captive
the last words of count dracula

i knew they were mine to find
even in the dimness of night
because the ooze of centuries can’t take away
the phrases everyone needs to know

trump looked for his most meaningful phrases
all over the white house    mar a lago
the former environs of everyone he’d ruined
the throbbing ecstatic insides of his cellphone
the slimy grit of his intestinal mind
but he couldn’t find them at all
and decided they must have been abducted

but they still clung around
more real than the statement of a fictional vampire
bright day or dim night
in the pipes leading from his golden toilet
to the soft muddle of his dismal mind
and back again    flushed    over and over

from Trump Tics (2020)