Grateful to have a poem, "How to Wreck a Day," included in the spring/summer issue of Mojave River Review.
Here's a link to the issue:
https://issuu.com/mojaverivermedia/d...rb_AIVvY_ON9pg
If you have any trouble opening it, this is the poem:
How to Wreck a Day
The amber moon shines
like scotch and soda shines.
Like Midwestern manners.
You know I’m right, you’re wrong
about time. It didn’t break
up with space. This bowl of pale
cream is good. But the weather isn’t
losing sleep. You’re wrong.
You know I’m right. This season’s
team of tears is just another
violent veil. I do appreciate
the calendula. It does fill up
the hollers with spring’s warm
handoff of power to summer.
You know that isn’t true.
The fairest pharynx of them all
isn’t yours. The hammering
of hammers doesn’t come
from any place you name. You
know, I’ve been where liquid
needles fell from clouds like
this bowl of pale cream.
I know that woman. In a dark
and childish heat, her yawp
is wrong. She talks and talks
about her dreams. You know
inside her dreams she keeps
apartments for the dead
and her crazy truths, don’t you?
You’re right about soap bubbles’
moist reflections: vitamins
and razors. Yes, yes. I know gas
prices are wrong. I’m sorry if
you think your boyfriend does.
An optometrist wouldn’t know
a nictitating membrane if
he blinked one. Did you
know I’m under water? Could you
not stare at me like you’re
a screen of ghost bamboo; what’s
true around the wrong I’m in?
I didn’t know what’s better
left unsaid doesn’t take
too kindly to a cornered light
in the Midwest. Did you?
“This changes everything,” said
morning. Right now, for all
I know, is an empty bed.