ALL THE WRECKAGE WE’VE WROUGHT

i don't know what tomorrow brings

the breathless ache
of begging pardon from the departed
or the lips of beautiful boys
in dive bars pressed to poem

taught me it's apt to be neither
the good or the bad 
or the absolution desired

how many hours
did i chase both
(hours and hours and hours and days and
weeks and months and years)
to find myself

here there is both
and you
and us
tomorrow

November 2, 2020

nesting

it feels like it's coming back / inside / a subtle shift / same as before / different / every time / shifted to the counter / to make room / boil pasta / never replaced / no one would care / why should i / who even has a decorative kettle / boy / it's easy / to shift / outside / tangible / nameable / the kettle / so i shift / the apotheosis above the headboard / clear my head / get a little / crazy / fuck alphabetizing / the books / deserve a little elbowroom / a shift / outside / doesn't fix inside / maybe i can / trick it / it's alright / i guess / no / it's right / just right / for now

September 9, 2020

Big Dominquez

Petroglyph panel, Archaic style (1000 B.C.) | Dominquez-Escalante Conservation Area (03/15/2021)
On the weekend COVID-19 hit my town, 
we descended into a canyon south of its outskirts 
named for the friars Dominquez-Escalante.
Their troop never explored this monolithic crevice, 
crossing the Rio del Tezon some forty miles north-east,
but the mythos of destruction claims much of the barren West. 
  
I wonder if aisle fourteen of the supermarket back home 
will suffer a similar fate? 
  
Two crows guard the trailhead, 
harbingers of a destiny inescapable.
Even here life has retreated to some secret refuge
from the coming storm. It is only us,
the whistle of riverbank grass, the eroded boulders 
of a dry inland ocean. The quiet.
  
We march on looking for the remnants of a people 
delivered by coyote. Sinawav has escaped
through his hole in the heavens. 
  
On a boulder face, hidden behind juniper and sage,
petroglyphs portray a mural of past abundance.
Melted snow-capped mountains run across its length
giving life to a forest of horned ungulates,
bear prowls the periphery,
the sun follows a reassuring arc.
  
Did they record this breadth of life 
in anticipation of its demise? 
Did they know the white man would bring his disease
back then, and now? 
  
How strange to panic about our history.  

March 15, 2020