On Disability
Oak leaves collect
upon the lawn
the dead weight of December
bank statements for the deceased,
cars parked
in the cul-de-sac
like beached porpoises
my driver’s license expired
ego ghosted, gutters
barb-wired with starlight.
Outdoor Wedding
Cutlery-cold wind, coffee breath, a horse grazes
in the neighboring pasture
gazing between two strands of razor wire.
The last daughter to wed, in barnyard
October corpse light, faces off
below an arbor of butchered limbs.
The long-winded shepherd says:
And the two shall become one flesh
with Jesus as a partner in your marriage.
Caterers bustle about the yard. The wind
licks the cattails and the bridesmaids,
their arm hairs bristling.
Parable Of The Burning House
Living in the world is like a house on fire, the founder said.
A great host of ants gathers
at the banks of the
bottle cap,
stampeding into the solution—sugar water mixed
with Borax—and the sun reflected therein
blackens with insatiable,
drowning bodies.
The sky’s
awash with ruptured clouds, the lawn
chair bespattered with birdshit.
