Addict

Mahogany maple syrup
runs in spider web lines.

My father never uses the stuff, he
eats pancakes, powdered, butter moist.

When I was a child, he knew more of straightness. Lines and razors were friends.

One night he tried to die by his hand. A girl
jumped before he walked to the ledge.

Her mangled body wore the rails like a girdle,
her limbs so thin they became a blood putty. Angel,

her name. They had to lift the train to take her out.

Abandoned Home, Montana, 2007

Assumption aubade

Daughters, beware the dawn.
Parting clouds strengthen for one
woman alone, tiptoeing on wisps.

Delight in meats that simmer,
spill out fine juices for heaven
employs no cooks or butchers.

Count stars from pitched rooftops.
Call the moon to twist herself
into a grin you share together,

or if you be unabashed, sing her open mouthed.
Glorify in Hecate mysteries
with or without the serpent guide.

Daughters, beware the dawn.
Wail it away for death deals tarot cards
on your doorstep at rising sun.

This your love, your life, your future.
Cheeks pale as demise runs forward
so ride your own stallions now

through thin curtains over waters
salty from the work of fishermen.
Defy your fathers, mothers. Claim bewitchment.

Dawn points you to life’s duty,
twists your arm to the end.
What I’d give to be unbound now
that I am dead. What I could do at night.