Why We Can’t Have Nice Things

two hundred-three dollars mid-august
cried for luck this bourbon contribution
of next steps, some rings, baby names
& the western slope which is burning
and the one plays it out in lonely wind
for taciturn gods in full opera voice
just back from gathering folks
in stoic imaginations of the neighbors
police calls through rainy sundays
who makes this ratio of yin and yang
five years and misplaced address book
for our only meetingplace is these events
thunderless when you are entertainers
we hold the fire back for you to cross

Grand Entry

like a new decade can stop us
who are plumes that wait your city
for one last drive of unlikely settlers
in a radio today i cry for war moms
searching night for a single pause
no quick sleep in a hotel of jingles
it is an engagement of mixed couples
that say to dance you don’t need regalia
this time to push the sun up another day
we paint and dream a new nation reveals
full dress for a twilight prophet
who converses history of western fire
when power is the remaining sense
in silence that frightens the rest

Witness Protection

your phase of life is all drag
queens who scream in tree limbs
scratch three times with struck eyes
we all need our own voodoo
bump with public transportation
we all keep falling down
this is a new temple of violence
that passes for twenty year secrets
that will never be made for television
and we rummage margot kidder-style
this faux direction in my back alley
we combat and meet with sincerity
huddled sympathies behind laptop screens
our closeness composed of digital lines