Stale hope

It was secret to three,
late night, headlight led, desert roaming,
gas station fed, met
at the end of it all with her bed.
Bomb shelter, shuttered out
black hole full of heat, unbuttoned
my way home
from hip bones to feet.
Nothing better to do on a road like that.
Just leave last year behind, just drive
because you know that you've
wrecked it, bite down hard
on the wheel and toss out
expulsions brass necklace.
Wake up earlier than that sun,
pleased to eat streets for
breakfast. It's the way,
wandering one, broken
down into desperate dial
tones, growing and
falling and damning the
weakness and friends
for not calling.
Why the fuck am I here,

Shirt hanger

A 60 watt bulb in the closet rarely turns off.
I'm wrapped and thin wire disrobed for the day.
Curved end clinging tight to the wooden dowel of that
all night long postponing wednesday morning light departure
kiss. Cover my straights to their end with your cotton
dont need to wash and save for another day skin.
I was made like this so that I could hold you.
No need to postpone your return.
You're the only shirt for me.

AbookLight

Everyone knows that the
best time for stories is
in the deepest, dustiest
corner of midnight as the
moon stretches out across
the weeping branches of a
willow tree, slipping its
silver toes into lakes
black, bottomless throat.
While the other boys
stay up reading with
their booklights, I'm
climbing through
the willow to
catch the
moon and
fly away.

m

Postcard

"Take the recycling out before you go," she

said. It's seven in the morning, there's

more than one way to

get rid of what you don't love.

Postcards daydream of many momentary

fingerings to come, cold flat

card-stock desire.

I fit myself into the small

blue box, I go

(some will only aspire to be this useful)

where it wants me to go.

Farewell fumbled request,

convictions of uncertainty,

the socks on my feet.

Farewell cancer I won't miss you anyway,

projected antigrandiose,

embrace at the end of the day.

Farewell simplicity, melt me

down, mix and match, paper,

glass, no matter of my own.

I am manual transmission.

Let your something important

climb onto my back, a woman

awaits, I'll find her soon,

by means of their light touch, their

careful handling, beginning with hers.

I fit myself into the small

black box, I go

but not where it wants me to go.

She wishes me luck, she whispers while laying me down,

"Climb into bed and out of your head."

Farewell, my love, you won't miss me anyway.

Street of Crocodiles THE_QUAY_BROTHERS
Uploaded by BFIfilms. - Independent web videos.

tree ashes

it started in your

driveway, blowing unknown

vowels in desert air

and dreading the days of

distance.

We're both just long wasted

versions of a larry hanging

to the embers of what is

momentarily left.

ashing ourselves into the

wind then ended.

I've flicked myself

amidst the branches of

public trees.

You'll never find it

or ever know where to

look.

L

Blacker than the cold

backs of my eyelids.

I'm digging up stones,

give me 2020 or another

chance to be hit by

Ms. I'll pay attention post

broken legs. Table cloth

summer dress, take yourself

to the floor five minutes before

closed door. I want legs, lips,

lust, & other things starting

with the letter L.

Blonde

My thoughts are blonde,

early teens with no excuse,

robbing the unmonitored isles

of my mind. for a dead light.

Escaping lies just beyond the

border of a state (of mine, mind, mined),

longing for it while cement

seat-buckled into place, held in by the

weight, or the

wait of fifteen sagging minutes

till the last day neglects to

pace on the front step

ringing the doorbell. Odd jeans

wearing, black shirt, bad smile bearing,

or at least it needs some work

kind of thoughts peering through

the peephole at a wall on crooked

shoulders, cup of coffee holding holder

mumbles a moment, my

thoughts are blonde.

I don't want to answer the

door today.

Soaking in.

mhwordell

Untitled

Her fingernails a c r o s s s s s s

my hips,

I often think of sex while I walk,

it keeps me from writing & forgetting

poems or thank you notes.

I tightened my fingertip grasp & released the clasped bra

strap from her back,

earlier that day

she told me that cancer wasn't a good

enough reason for breaking up,

so I bought flowers & walked

all the way home to write this.

mhwordell

Untitled

Laying down beneath an

autumn breeze while the trees

weep their

leaves all over me,

She leaned into my chest

my mind my motive my masterpiece

my conviction,

my calm,

and taught me to breathe.

mhwordell