Wednesday, April 30, 2014


He’s the stoned kid in
the hustlers backpack,
giving cards to violence
because that’s just
the thing you do.

Take that body as the
largest collection of Matt
landscapes, and remember
to say his name, always,
out loud when he comes.

The thought of today didn’t
come to me in exactly the same
way it did yesterday, but then
again, I wasn’t so made of fear
as I am now, hearing the horn.

It’s easy to piss off an old guy
who always waves his hand
at you, crowing in a voice that
sounds like death dying, even
when you’re just crossing a street.

You part your proof as you do
your hair:  straight, but slightly
to the side. You saw a great ass
and you called it bad, but that
was just because he wore cool