Poetry

On my way to the fertility clinic,

                                  I pass five dead animals.

First a raccoon with all four paws to the sky
               like he’s going to catch whatever bullshit load falls on him next.

Where is the drug to drug this feeling out of me, the drug 
to drug away the fear of drugs and what they steal from me 

I’m driving down to Tennessee, but before I get there, I stop at the Kentucky state line to fuel up and pee. The dog’s in the car and the weather’s fine. As I pump the gas a man in his black Ford F150 yells out his window about my body. I...

The anemone of your dream blooms
inside the vacuum of space.
In your pocket of black wind

He says he’s never really stopped
speaking to God. Says it’s in his DNA, asking
for things.

When my body blew open
the shadow-glass cloud
galloped through me, glittered

I count gulls until they spasm
into numbers, until I grasp
a number never uttered.

At night in the field, I felt the curvature of a palpable
time around me, felt the dark
foam of the waveform rise and collapse

It is easier for people to think I wanted
a dick swinging between my legs.

It makes more sense that way instead of the
facial hair that came at the same time

The summer after, a storm
split the sky over Hergla and I wanted to be in it.