some scratches



the lighter wouldn’t catch


Now Playing: My Radiator in a One-Man Show

some scratches

Now Presenting a One-Man Show: My Radiator
Every night mid-November through mid-April
Run time: approx. 8 hours

Water runs through the old metal bones
Spews hot liquid from its mouth
Steams, puffs
Taps offbeat into a steady drum, gallops into thumps
Suction of air from water draining from a never ending creek in a bathtub
Rain tinkering down a thin metal gutter
Cries like hungry baby crows

It’s windy and there’s a thunderstorm. The way the water hits the pipes, it’s like I’m in a small glass box outside watching and hearing it happen all around me. I should be grateful the hot water spewing from its mouth isn’t coming down on me.

There’s a blizzard coming and the lines between reality and dreams are blurring again.

As I fall asleep my snow booted feet hit black ice. I slip lying in bed, lift my feet up with a jerk as if they received an electric shock. My heart races, I was only about to fall asleep. Not fall. My radiator sounds like a never ending storm. Trapping hungry baby crows while they cry.

Joint Tension

some scratches

At night I
Clench my jaw
Top teeth against the outside of crooked bottom ones
A clinically diagnosed overbite
My tongue feels the roof of my mouth
The length of my jaw bone tightens

A black cable falls loosely outside of my window
It brushes and smacks
Against the white vinyl paneling
The sound of an attic ladder being pulled down
And the weight of its contents
An arthritic tendon and overstretched bone

I hear the creaks and scrapes and the tension
And at night, I clench my jaw

End and Beginning

some scratches…

When I met you last, we knew.

the radiator hisses
her white cat licks its lips
a cold drop on his tongue
from the sharp point of an icicle

i was here
the outline stain of an orange maple leaf declares
smudged and erased little by little
by the black rubber sole of his shoe

her itinerary for twelve hours of daylight:
be outside.

cherry blossoms brag
perfume is the perfect cover up
for imperfection

once, thrice, six times a spin
of a driedel

With this our past, we begin.