Bluebottle

Day three, five a.m., and you're back
and I live to be the one to kill you.
Your tongue probes filth along my lips
and sucks the sleep from my eyes. I dream

On Returning to the Old Schoolyard

It starts here; square one,
the weakest seldom make it passed.
All vie for square four;
the maker of the rules, queen
of the court. Foursquare bully;

It's Not Me Who's Crazy
(it's those damned rats)

It happened like this:
They were there
on the table. (No, I didn't imagine
them again.)And no, I didn't see
their eyes; they panic-flee

Arms shoulder deep in heating vents
recover three pennies and a backdoor key.
An overturned sofa dispenses
enough coins for a Coke
and a chocolate bar.
No pens. No pencils

Five years ago I got out
of vacuuming for two weeks
because that heap of plastic poofed
its dust and plagues into the nasal paths
of hackers and wheezers.

She's an easy target from this deerstand.
With a click I can shoot her, capture her
mealing in the cornfield, leaves pleated
against her brown, spots fading

He boasts that he rescued a maiden
bound to a rock by the sea; broke her
chains, and petrified the beast
who was promised a human sacrifice.