from Vasectomajestic
//
Homesick, I think of being home
sick on another couch
outside this voyage’s
interminable vessel. I ache
for the ease
of living then, listening
to the litany of Bob Barker
imploring the daytime audience
to have our pets
spayed and neutered and participate
in the ritual of it, the call,
the response, the dinette sets,
the trips to Fiji, all things
Broyhill. O fatal flaw, O
poetic justice, my O-
face my downfall, my cheap
thrill, my easy out, my pop fly,
my cherry pie. I’m writing
with abandon, hope hanging
on, even outside these gates.
I’m writing on the fly, flying
through, doubling up on days,
day counting as I’m doing
anyways,
on the couch and killing
time, whittling
the long nights
down to size, soul-sick
but sticking
it out and putting
in the work, no shortcuts,
no going over, no
one-dollar bids, no spoilers.
Homesick, I think of being home
sick on another couch
outside this voyage’s
interminable vessel. I ache
for the ease
of living then, listening
to the litany of Bob Barker
imploring the daytime audience
to have our pets
spayed and neutered and participate
in the ritual of it, the call,
the response, the dinette sets,
the trips to Fiji, all things
Broyhill. O fatal flaw, O
poetic justice, my O-
face my downfall, my cheap
thrill, my easy out, my pop fly,
my cherry pie. I’m writing
with abandon, hope hanging
on, even outside these gates.
I’m writing on the fly, flying
through, doubling up on days,
day counting as I’m doing
anyways,
on the couch and killing
time, whittling
the long nights
down to size, soul-sick
but sticking
it out and putting
in the work, no shortcuts,
no going over, no
one-dollar bids, no spoilers.
from Vasectomajestic
//
Muck about with me
in the Sunken-Cost Fallacy
in the journey
toward home. No Nostradamus
but my homecoming,
that old Nostos sense, my homing
beacon, is my comely
draw toward
pheromones,
turning aside
from wanderlust
from bloodlust
forsaking obsession
forgiving
forgoing
forever. To re-woo
my Penelope
not with hubris
not with guile
not with straight-up
bullshit
but with a wobble
of willful
and mortal
vulnerability. With victuals
meager as these
who wouldn’t call
in reinforcements? I subsist
on esperance,
finding deep-fried
feathery bits at the bucket’s
bottom, the chicken bones
ominous as ever, threatening
to splinter in the eager throat
of the wayward dog. Speaking of,
is it wrong
to await my own Argos
to recognize me and see past
these beggar rags? She’s under
exile herself after a trial
by fleas
and while we’re working
on getting control
of that, she’s not much
welcome. Still, one night
I left her
up out of the washroom
and she moseyed
her way
over to me
on my one true vessel,
the couch, and she nuzzled
her way
to me and I felt
seen
and wanted
for the first time
in at least
a few days, fleas
be damned, fleas
and all just
making the company
merrier. The couch
a hop, a skip, and a jump
years in the making
back to the bed
on the other side
of the house,
back home
on the other side
of the world.
Muck about with me
in the Sunken-Cost Fallacy
in the journey
toward home. No Nostradamus
but my homecoming,
that old Nostos sense, my homing
beacon, is my comely
draw toward
pheromones,
turning aside
from wanderlust
from bloodlust
forsaking obsession
forgiving
forgoing
forever. To re-woo
my Penelope
not with hubris
not with guile
not with straight-up
bullshit
but with a wobble
of willful
and mortal
vulnerability. With victuals
meager as these
who wouldn’t call
in reinforcements? I subsist
on esperance,
finding deep-fried
feathery bits at the bucket’s
bottom, the chicken bones
ominous as ever, threatening
to splinter in the eager throat
of the wayward dog. Speaking of,
is it wrong
to await my own Argos
to recognize me and see past
these beggar rags? She’s under
exile herself after a trial
by fleas
and while we’re working
on getting control
of that, she’s not much
welcome. Still, one night
I left her
up out of the washroom
and she moseyed
her way
over to me
on my one true vessel,
the couch, and she nuzzled
her way
to me and I felt
seen
and wanted
for the first time
in at least
a few days, fleas
be damned, fleas
and all just
making the company
merrier. The couch
a hop, a skip, and a jump
years in the making
back to the bed
on the other side
of the house,
back home
on the other side
of the world.