After My Glorious, Dreamless Infancy

The closest I can get
to the essence of childhood —
that season of shallow fractions
is an unforgivingly early
morning — the dull eyes burning
with the lingering heat of a campfire 

The invisible birds chirping
with no knowledge of
my bedroom 

Setting the alarm clock
is the saddest video game
my fingers ever play


There is a special kind
of joy when something
doesn't happen 

Especially something you
spent the whole day
thinking about 

When these events disappear
your expectations are given
back to themselves 

Like an audience member on The Price Is Right
who neither won a Kawasaki jet ski, nor
suffered the embarrassment of an uninformed
estimate on the cost of Gordon's Frozen Fishsticks

Social Porcupine

A thumbtack converges
upon itself in a point so fine
it is totally invisible
and just beyond the tip 

We all know how sharp you are
but has it occurred to you
that the elbows of your monologues
might be stabbing everyone with puncture
wounds too small for bleeding?