Reflections, of sorts, in verse, of sorts.

Month: February, 2012

My Ego

So could you like,
show me around
the gym? he asked.
And help get me
into shape? Sure,
I replied. He was
bookish but thin,
you know the type.
I’d like my wife
he admitted
to like my body
again. Only I
don’t want, he
warned, to get
as big and veiny
as you. I smiled,

nodded like
I understood

then wondered
what made him
think that
he could.

photo Jo ©2012


Round 15

Skin ‘cross my knuckles split and broken
bare chest steeped in horror
I tear through sinewy cobwebs
raise craggy fists
and fight
the world back to its corner.

photo Jo ©2012

Secret me

Secret me
behind an unforgiving deadbolt
lest I run away
in a moment of haste and panic
steal me

photo Jo ©2012

Take Me

Take me where I wouldn’t go
Encourage me with nails and heavy breath
Let your walls become the painted force that leans overtop me
Let splinters be reminders of how I loved

photo Jo ©2012

Bride of X

I hunt for you with
new hands through dirt
and clay, rotted root and rock

then you are here and
another’s heart spews hot
used blood through cold
and borrowed veins. Now mine.


photo Jo ©2012

New Boots

arrived in a box today.
One looked fine and new and
ready for its work. The other sagged
as if boiled first then worn
inside the earth. A pedal mystery
served inside a cardboard coffin.

After much pacing and kicking ’round of well-heeled suspects
a peg-legged sex pot or hopscotcher
feigning flapping pink flamingos was my best
elementary guess.

photo Jo ©2012

Bombastic Blasts

Bombastic blasts and punches
rolled across half-bitten tongues;
Jesus, look at my bloody
hands, wrists, arms —
Lower your fists, you fool.

photo Jo ©2012

Don’t Be Afraid

Don’t be afraid, I hear
an inflated bikini tell the kid
poised a foot away from the water,
scanning the surface for the guts
to jump in.

But why wouldn’t he be
scared to shit
out of his mind,
never having leapt across an edge
And her
shouting to forget everything;
forget even himself
and the bubbly way his jelly gut would spread across that pool
if he exploded upon landing
slick atop the water
red, then pink as he dissolved
toward her.

Come on, I’ll catch you, she goads
her donut-fed hope for memories.
It will be fine.

And so the kid
he jumps
although he knows it is a lie.
it always is.


photo Jo ©2012

Two Screws

Doing push ups and dips off a chair in the hotel
is fine by me
but chin ups
are tougher.

The bars hanging across closets are
poorly made and even more
poorly secured into walls.
Two screws.
That’s all they use.

In New York’s Columbia University dorm
I used to do hundreds of
chin touches a day
and that old closet bar never
never squeaked,
just brought me up
then down
as long as I could make two fists around it.

Why don’t they build anything strong anymore?
I suppose
clothes don’t weigh that much
now or people
wear less than they
used to.

photo Jo ©2012