3 Poems

A KIND SEIZURE

I’m vast,

Riding in a car into a telephone pole.

I call the nothing all.

A winter weed is a dick tree.

Scattered winters see the lights that eat

The mean.

A pleasure half full of private deathbeds

Rides over pickled cellphone trees.

I’m desperate to turn around.

PEOPLE DIE

Tiny insides of the dawn

Materialize and I love

The veins of all seagulls.

And then there’s my neighbor’s refurbished kitchen floor

With patterns of all the seagulls I’ve ever seen.

The master of the kitchen floor

Has left me to decay.

TRUE LOVE

I need money because I can’t feel

The body that doesn’t need it.

I feel money because I need

The body that doesn’t need it.

I feel money and I don’t feel

The body that needs it.

My body needs money because

It doesn’t need it.

Money needs money because

It can’t feel it.