Three Sonnets

Hot Ham Water




                  Beggars stole our sense:

sensibility. We stole their loaves


 of bread white ironed t-shirts

                  brown leather shoes


the news of bridges, iron

fired caskets. Roaring train track clickety


clack. Smack to blame it on

                  distances of sidewalks


between our hands. Nordstrom’s

shopping bags. Our rags


stretched over



tonight, our house: charades 

be there





To:     From:

Subject: Concerning Recent Church Bullshit.


I’m sorry you left on the fastest east Garden

state wind to Oregon


the desert deserting you

an ugly organ piping,


you there.

like a too-quick-two-buck-chuck-blinding-mirror-dinner.


said we’re done here.

I’m moving to Arizona now, you hear?


Fine. I’m sorry your back was a cutting board

because (we all do a little cutting every now and then)


At least your kid’s in soccer practice

what color are the Jersey’s?



I remember silk screen

snow, dotted toothpick pine


trees. Aspen’s softly

raining yellow leaves


Red sleds. Black-top-stove-top

chimney hats


smoke the color of

November streaking



April’s embers.                                    


Then there were the zombies:

bone gnarring marrow splitting venom greening, spitting



—they ate us all.





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