canned fruit

i wanted no washed grass but the 
world’s largest sprinkler straddles 
over acreage no fresh fruit on your 
advice i bought canned pineapple

to keep from starving TSA took it
from my bottle-green suitcase 
so i took aurora borealis with 
open eyes this time but they said 

she was contraband they made 
her remove the rings from every 
starry finger and we are both free
as far as the fence but now i can’t 

look up lest i see ceiling fan after 
ceiling fan now i can’t look up or 
else it’s always sunset on some 
hillside where you stare at the 

curling paint while i read and 
reread one last page paragraph 
in last light i’m forever the last 
reader i last like canned fruit

invasion

i think i'll kill the summer day by day
i'll drag my feet through milk-
drowned flowers and write 
poetry with their damp 
excess on the floor
twirling my toes on 
kitchen tile swish (i will)
swish (not go) swish (away)

i’m building an armory in the broom 
closet i’m mixing propellants in the 
pantry i’m going to cover my bed-
room walls with blue drawings 
of every entryway exit and 
window of god’s house 
and when i leave this 
time if i leave this 
time i’m taking 
back my key