Excerpt from "Minute Poems"

This is the beginning of the third in a lineup following "Ephemeral Press," and "Hi, None." Here are some poems:



[4]


this minute was supposed
to be spent reflecting:
answering questions unaskable;
but instead was spent
describing a psychopath:
his hair gelled back
and angry eyes.





[5]


thinking about a smoldering pile of melted polyester
(coughing itself up into the fabric of a mattress)
listening to the sounds of crisp fire
drowning out an air-conditioner
smelling burnt ochre
a circle for summoning
greater demons





[6]


Drip-drain, and clustering leaves
hold, a certain smell
black-brown transition between winter and spring
a lost
dog smile
sounds periwinkle mouths and figs




[10]

by himself in a field of rhododendrons
(or were they wilder flowers?)
without thinking,
stepped on a bee.

now we can’t even sit outside
without burning up

in the unfiltered sun
the leaves on all the trees are gray as dust





[11]

false rock statues and rust lumps
eternal sky lamps

color the atmosphere gray and you get today
all heaped up