the stairs

ghost to ghost

we lie on the stairs

ugly, burnt orange carpeted


I work my way up her neck

she says: “That’s more like it.”

but does not kiss me back


she wants to hear every story

behind the pictures on the wall

and she leaves little notes tucked

inside the clasp of my bra


then I see her black hair

filled with wind from the west

as she makes her back door exit

Me Watching You Watching God

Did you build your A-frame house

with a foundation of wrath, regret

its point in the early summer dusk

looking over the top of my head

while I sit, feet in the creek

wondering how far back your copy

of the New Testament goes

Phoebe (Liquid Sky)

I dreamt of elderly snakes lunging
stapled underbellies in my hands.

I woke and drew red lipstick
on my eyelids in memory
of Phoebe (who drove her ’69 Beetle
off the expressway)

Mom said her rationale was out
on a Liquid Sky excursion;
I thought her exit convenient–
coincidental, on the eve of evil