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It has been:
16 years since I sat in a pizza parlour drinking shots with first names until I threw up.
29 years since backyard relay races and goodie bags.
5 years since I sang karaoke with a spider costume on.
8 years since she blindfolded me and drove me to a cornfield and then a castle.

Forgotten Narratives Part 2

In case you were wondering, the world actually ended last year, and we are now in those last remaining flashes of light, the last gasps of air, the few flickers of vision before it all goes black. Throes. Spasms. Contortions. It is an illusion, like the chicken's head on the ground, detached by the farmer's axe, watching her own body run around the yard for a few more laps, wondering "What...is...that?" before the last spills of life blood drain from her neck. A painless, final, hallucinatory reality.

And all of these pieces fit to prove it: the deer on its hind legs, reaching for leaves, its antlers too new to fall off, stretching over the wire fence, the neon green women running, a coyote in the middle of their pack, dazed but unafraid, accustomed to the sounds of Nike Plus.

Those beings, now: An order.
The Deer eats the Leaves,
the Coyote stalks the Deer,
the Neon Pack consumes it all:
Everything in its path.

And our long shadows stretch out before us.

Our tears of joy are not because we are happy, but because we long for a happiness that has passed and we can no longer grasp. The child near the river, jumping at the sight of the lizard he's only seen in pictures, his squeals convulsive and involuntary, (and down, off to the left, the sun's sharp whiteness rebounds off the river) the lizard calm, the father's hand just there, just grazing his shoulder to say go ahead, reach, son reach, but to to say I'm here I'm here here if you need me son son as he reaches down son to new reality too too new real.

A joy I can't understand, a joy I can't hope to even remember, tears of joy.

And our long shadows stretch out before us.

Proud to be American Cheese

Proud to be American Cheese is indignant about its ignorance.
Proud to be American Cheese must be eaten, or the terrorists have won.
Proud to be American Cheese takes national anthems at sporting events very seriously.
Proud to be American Cheese is heavily processed, has no discernible flavor, and is loaded with calories.
Proud to be American Cheese contracts mercenary corporations to do its dirty work.
Proud to be American Cheese will park, go to Wal-Mart, drive 100 yards across the parking lot, park again, and go to Lowe's.
Proud to be American Cheese's color does run, contrary to popular belief.
Proud to be American Cheese hasn't read a thing by Mark Twain, but has seen the Disney version of Huck Finn.
Proud to be American Cheese doesn't pick up on the racist undertones of most of its rhetoric.
Proud to be American Cheese is why they hate our freedom.
Proud to be American Cheese is proud that the French talk bad about it.
Proud to be American Cheese melts smoothly due to a heavy reliance on oil.
Proud to be American Cheese would gladly stand up next to you and defend her still today.
Proud to be American Cheese is true Americana.
Proud to be American Cheese is made in China.

Will they call your name?

They said there would be silence as they showed the pictures but the mournful music lingered. I know because I listened on the radio, their faces obscured by choice in technology, leaving violin swells. But I see them, sepia toned, faded into, on blogs and Facebook feeds. Anonymous names of former students, former children with dreams, sold out by their teachers who gave them few options. Immigrants chasing now chased and dead.

The Weight of Water

The story of the basement flooding: When
the rain came down for days and days,
the sewer grates were overflowing, and
the carpets were indelibly stained.
The bottoms of the boxes couldn't take
the weight of water, so, when we lifted, all our stuff fell into
the pool below. And so floating in
the shit and piss with
the leaves and sticks
the rain brought in were

all our childhood memories,
all our A's on our papers,
all our baby books and clothes.

Rhinoceri: A Study

A 

rhinoceros's eyes are on the side of its head, and a 

rhinoceros's skin is made of scales. But they don't categorize by a 

rhinoceros's eyes, so its a mammal instead of a lizard.

My babies make 

me who 

I am. And on a bike ride 

the clouds doubled 

the size of 

the hills like 

the sides of rhinoceri and we rode through olive grove's sticky roads to 

the valley where berryessa lay.