wet breeze
coming from the trash

the orbs in the graveyard
I could not stop for
or the moon and its glow
or the open water thru
the trees
the glow come
out of my mouth

the radio autopilot
dead by me
put Bonnie “Prince” Billy
on over and over
into the night
hear it on the
way back
sad country tune
“I am lost”
behind the car
of the one who once was my

the Mexicans on
the couch talking
to each other in
Spanglish, seeming
like a dream
or insanity, not
understanding to
understanding bits of English
at ends of sentences

my old dog hearing my
voice on the radio
from 3,000 miles away
via internet
coming into the room,
searching for me
that just isn’t right:
spooking the animals
a balloon put down my
brother’s throat
into his esophagus to
open it up
ridged like the inside
of a mouth
let his insides take that
and let his heart be
lifted up


  1. Evan · April 3, 2009

    Poetry galore! That’s a lot of poems in one day, L. I particularly like this one. Very evocative. I can almost smell the wet trash bags.


  2. LP · April 6, 2009

    Thanks Evan! Usually stuff gets stored up in my journal for a while, then I type chunks up all at once.


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