another midwestern summer’s night

it’s six thirty and the sun is still
high on this fourth day of summer. my
brains bake with little water and more
bourbon and an oven at four fifty with
a homemade pizza circular, stationary,

I sweat, type. I
cook, thinking about ice sheets, and dream
of a self, dull blade in hand,
shearing off the tops to fill my glass
and spreading my breath;
a dense fog, wafting
glacious and slowly filling a

all quiet on the midwestern front

spit purple into the bathroom
sink. grin at the lonely and
tired man with purple
teeth who is in there as
well. you, wanting

a meteor to blaze through the
atmosphere. him, just wanting
you to be happy. to
grow old with success, with
lineage. shut the light

on him, head to kitchen with
a see through 750 and a cork
that has fallen on
hardwood, next to radiator. six
other bottles lay horizontal
on rack; everything is sleeping but
you. look over at empty blanket
bundled bed. look up at a
painting you made. head is

lowered and lids are
heavy. it’s quiet except
for that man in the
bathroom who already knows
what you are going to
do. hand moves toward another
bottle. uncork, toss down by
radiator. in teeth stain
pull, head to the

bathroom and shut the door
on the man, muffling his