early morning

He sprinkles sunshine just by being
and I'm summer grass growing thick:
softness, strength and water.

after a shower

water drips down my hair
onto my arm
and it feels like crying.

Train to Brugge

A little boy's lower back
reminds me of you,
and I think about child pornography.
I know it's wrong
to still think of you
after all this time,
but I do and can't help it.

night driving

The road into Charleston smells sour
marshes of sweat from the back of a man who needs a shower,
blueberries left to rot on the bush.
As soon as skin touches air a film forms
damp and sticky
after sex feeling
blowing into my car window.

Yesternight

My throat was bubbly
and now my paper's yellow
and it doesn't make much sense
(or cents, come to think of it...)
"It was written by an ex-prostitute,"
makes me want to look into it
and "she was kind of stupid" makes me want to stand up and leave.
You have to, sometimes, when you feel these ways.
I think I have to go home.

new semester

mean green fighting machine
what are you if not where you have been
we play tough but we're bound to break in
now come on in and call me a friend.

Lines

If I were waiting at a post office, there would be a line.
Instead it's in Dutch and my number's coming up fast.
Two more and I'll have spoken.
Until then, scribbles in Bruges.