(Your Own) Personal Ghetto

treading water isn't ever easy
doggy paddle this cat about the moat
throw us a lifesaver wouldja boss?
or if that's too much a paper boat?
huck it over nice and high
you know the floaty ring ya toss?
yeah we'd like to lick ourself to dry
shake ourself until we're dizzy
act as if we're very busy
please don't touch us, we're still pissy
we'll just slink out like a stoat



Lycidas wherever art thy drowned?
his corpse beneath the surf and sand
tubeworm-tiara sprouts from his skull
somewhere beneath a rusty hull
perhaps he'll be found once and for all
washed up on a sunny atoll
but either way, come the Fall
we're sailing off to the South Pole



crows ruffle
like black pinecones
snow will fall

Sinking

sin kin two hour depths and sea four yore's elf
trauma and pain beyond medical help
being reviled is better than not existing we guess
we wait patient for soil to claim our last breath
thanks to the pain and our sister, Death
we wish much happier lives for all the rest
Other nonbinary people, trans women and men
we wish had a wand instead of a pen
we'd wave it about blasting the hate
murdering every infant Hitler before they got a chance to mate



Comfort as concept we embrace
but it is not the liquid which leaks out of our face
and stains the pillow every night
—mom thought it was our overbite!
agony is a beautiful word
if it were wings we'd be a bird
but to trudge is our grim fate
and without legs we'd be a snake
so we are resigned to ache



chiropractor chiroptera
terraform these hills
fly about and sand them down
until they're flat as a dollar bill
this montane highland is too creased
for our aching worn out battered knees
so if you can't do that at least
pick us up and drop us off somewhere we can sleep



let us watch the shadows
of our bodies on the wall
while we dance together
we could imagine we were small
your shadow and ours dancing
in whatever space we chose
in a shoebox or on a galaxy
or in a budding rose
yes, we truly love you
but your heart we still don't know



Ren can't help it
we'd like to think they wouldn't if they could
but we wish they could
because they deserve something for themself
they're just compelled to be good
but who's caring for their health?
we leave it to a little bird
otherwise it's all just words



We're looking for a new investment,
a patron of the dirty looks
someone dark malevolent;
Could you be our Torquemada
to move on in and not pay rent?
Would you hurt us like no other
we're a magnet for all ill intent!
We'll never be a proper author
just torture us until we're spent

The Trudge of March

our poetry is sometimes beautiful
and we can never be so
but changing the way we see ourself
hasn't happened, no
we get compliments and presents sent
but we already considered ourself a pro
what has happened is that others now
seem to appreciate our flow



for hours every day she stares at the sea
ever ruminating only wishing to be
in the arms of someone she loves tenderly
but she settled for one she's certain isn't he
change requires courage and she ain't got but a bit
her fear overwhelms her so she waits and she sits

Marcha Marcha Marcha!

she's reading tales of bear attacks
in her love and pockets-in-a-sun-dress phase
while we play a song out in the back
a hook a line she can't erase
ba da bum bum bleak as space
la la la there is no grace
do-do-do-doo shut your face
Now drag us bleeding back to your place



dark lucent wings of brimstone fire
spread across the city spires
they feel it oscillate in empty streets
a tense and pregnant bursting need
evident by piles of burning tires
the human species wants to bleed
war and death and Cinders... hella
rape and plunder and catastrophe
everyone's a Mad Max wannabe
so throw us in the fucking pyre
we'll bring a match and light the fire



everybody plays a role
each stair is another cliff
"Hercules," asked the tiny mole
"Can a sister get a lift?"
Herc reached down without a thought
brought his sister Mole on up
the truest test of a paragon
is to lift the small and blood the wan



hate is bleak in isolation
it tries to erase, obliterate
not to promote but to negate
make our rage sing and resonate
achieve a harmonious oscillation
rage is life not resignation



gotta love neuropathy
our left foot explodes in agony
we take the shoe off and we see
no visible reason for us to be
bitching and moaning constantly
yet still it hurt so much we peed



A snake with no ribs would just be a worm
and even an eel has a lot of little bones
through thick and thin or fuzzy and firm
pleasure can be found with a partner or on your own

The Fury of the Meek

Misha don't hunt octopus
you couldn't bear the fuss and muss
when you get mixed up in the water
you got to be the better otter
polar paws are webby too
so perhaps call on your cousin, boo
you're gonna need his help the most
when you're drowning off Odessa's coast



mammogram reptilian
squish between two plates
don't put too much pressure though
or chuckwalla gets irate
wriggles round and puffs on up
settles securely into place
if they're trapped between two options
they'll never show their face



six times six is thirty six
study math and learn some tricks
like street fighting or how to lay bricks
build walls round hearts three feet thick
splatter the mortar real quick
hide your feelings in the cement mix



The wheels on the cranks go round and round
in this merry-go-round of stupid clowns
wasting diesel and clogging town
may they throw a rod and shut on down
or drive off a nearby pier and drown
these bigot kings and their hooded crowns



troubadour and bard sing songs
fools find a king to hang upon
our task is to fix some weighty wrongs
and find a place where wild words belong
to ruin wreck and render down
to strip the wicked of their crowns
a skald is a fool as any other
we are a child, a Muse our mother
wild words are the words of joy
meadows fields and valleys coy
songs of myths and natural things
the beasts and fish and birds on wing
every rock, plant and animal
deserves a poem just for them special

Inkwells of Hell

grey concrete doesn't speak about the
meet and greet on Pushkin street
alive and well in expatriate hell
a silk road market of meat
round faces puffy and graceless
Moscow sends them to die
in sickness and death may they breathe their last breath
not a single tear left uncried



we can't seem to get along with anyone
but we get along just fine
we got the heck out of urban development
and now we waste our time
feeding stray cats and writing poetry
in our high desert most sublime



this hell-spread emperor gazes sulfur
a chinless egg sour and dour
somehow this coward rose to power
sets civil livers to roil and smoulder
he shrieks of destruction and disorder
death and rape and blood in oceans
are the only gods of his devotions



ersatz muzhiks on parade
marching witless to their graves
may sheets of aurora's flames cascade
over cadavers of soldiers freshly laid
on fallow fields like monsoon rain
and may their dreams of empire fade
as if a fart from yesterday

Divinity's Erratum

follow the cracks like black lines in pack ice
we revel in this crevasse's blue like lapis
anterior visions while love leads in the north


walk smile make the motions
do ablutions show devotions
clock in shake hands agree be affable
don't make a scene that's for professionals
actors and nitwits and self-appointed royalty
dare to be yourself and go where eagles dare
roost alone in a tree



crush a forest to splintered wood
a column a broadside wide iron front
battering down and unstoppable by grunts
the little man's cold loins get pert alert
at the sound of tank tracks hitting dirt
he rides a horse and kills a tiger
Malchik Volvka never wears a shirt



whorl and curl a geode split globe
like a crystal spiral of Bernoulli's description
this desert nautilus a product of heat and friction
secret feature obscured behind bland repetitive plane
a sunken eyeball of earth's core staring up



with sandstone splintered coffin nails
slowly switchback up the trail
shamble jerk and struggle free
of this deadly fucking gravity
breaking bones and grinding teeth
heaven's deep beneath our feet



Em is for emily—
dickinson redacted or unclear —
or simply a placeholder for a fool of a brother
a never did much of anything or other
an absence noted — as if a plate were to await
some Jell-O™ monstrosity
like a 1950s salad-cake



violet creeping thyme
in sunset pastel wine-tint sublime
blood orange stains as juice creeps and seeps
through liana-skirt tangle round devil's club feet
these soggy leaden jungles of our minds
stagnation and rendition from the dry mountains divine
— civilization's crime