Three Poems

SAME THING

Talking to yourself

is really just

practicing all the cool shit

you might say to someone else

or maybe

wouldn’t waste on anyone else.

Either way, you know?

THE STARS LOOKING DOWN AT THE CEMETERY

The stars looking down at the cemetery say

thanks for tucking in their stunt-doubles

but they’ve already escaped to the sky.

Like attendants in a dark

slowly-filling theater

the spectacle of which is me & you,

& infinite other things

that don’t really need to happen

but will.

The cartoon continues.

A WOLF IN SHEEP’S CLOTHING WITH THE HEART OF A LAMB THAT’S HOLDING A BOMB

Cut your heart out

if it gets too big.

& shrink it down

in dark rooms.

Most arguments can be ended with,

‘What do you want from me.’

So can most days.

I like to think about the pile of dirt,

towards which we walk,

when something stupid is bothering me.

On the way,

but not done yet.