Our First Honey Bucket

shit, I never heard her say before-

until the mustard colored liquid

splashed out of the gray painters

pail staining her jeans moist

an alcove, a closet, the perfect

throne room for the five gallon

urinal adorned with a black

polymer horseshoe shaped seat

forty below Fahrenheit and

you adroitly hover over an

unflushable portable rather

than voyage to a far

distant frozen outhouse

today my tinkle tinkles

into the porcelain lav

and I can hear her cry

out as the snow melts

the ground beneath her

feet sinking into an overflow

of amber dandelion hue discharge

Fridge Fungus

born in the back

under cover

squeezed between

and behind

more important dishes

green cloud bursts

fuzzy concave craters

hairy yellow spider webs

more microwave

and it’s edible

scrape the surface

boil the rest

who says science

can’t be tasty!

I Miss The Late 90's

Vintage was what mom bought on

sale from wal-mart, and the way

we wore it was grunge.

We knew what teenage spirit

smelled like and didn’t give

a shit about what you thought

about how it smelled.

There were no consequences

to smoking pot in an aluminum

foil pipe because you could

crush it when you were high enough.

Garage bands meant instant

stardom no matter how far

away Seattle was- crank the

distortion and rattle the foundation.

Innocence was biking to the grocery

store for more mountain dew then

pressuring friends into shoplifting

condoms, which would quickly be

tossed in the parking lot garbage can.

Summer bombs in the backyard

meant boyhood not terrorism.

Weekends up late for Bevis & BH

then Pinfield’s head-bangers ball.

Foreplay in the White House was

fun, if you didn’t get caught; but

without internet, who really cares.

Some rich kids computers looked like

microwaves and stealing their TI-eighty

something calculators were

worth one good app.

Melancholically the ought’s brought
post-punk, artificial intelligence, and
prevailing winds of an eternal post-life. 

My Endless Winter

(the year with no spring)

they swore at the late april dusting which fell last night but me this morning i’m in the garage melting more yellow s3 hydrocarbon hot wax into the pores of my skis so that this afternoon i can sketch choppy v-shaped tracks into the isothermic corn through the rolling shoulder shaped birch hills hoping for it to never end as i glide into may

my hop dog

He used to sit outside my classroom window,

Wishing his day away beneath the Brooks Range,

Wondering when I would return from the

Red double doors and let him free.

Still he would follow me, if I let him,

All the way to my new school.

Let’s make him our class mascot

The eighth graders would cheer.

Instead my yellow dog waits, guarding

His own one-acre domain.  I arrive home

And feel his lick on my cheek, his furry

Neck resting in my lap, my hop dog. 

Thinking Like A Mountain

I stood in a field of caribou though they did not see me, but
saw only themselves.

I lingered at the bank of the river, knowing springs ice

was but a jam just around the bend.

I looked down upon a village from a mountain, but

saw none of the pain.

I saw a fires orphans drift skyward, sailing towards

their relatives waiting distantly above.

I followed the caribou tracks, but they only

lead me back to where I began.

what's missing

his collar came off

sometime last week,

you got drunk

and took it off

she says,

now the dog

is collarless and free,

i wish i was free,

i think

Why Do We Call It Breakup When It’s More Like Hanukah?

out of the slush my deck

finally emerged today

along with a dog collar,

half chewed bathing suit

assorted beer bottles and cans,

somewhere out there still is

my grilling spatula,

a Frisbee and

several dozen pounds

of partially thawed dog poo

Alaskan Earth Day Conundrum

Today we wanted to plant a tree,

But couldn’t find a snow shovel.

I biked to work, but slid most

Of the way across the ice.

It would be better served, too

Postpone today until at least May.

Or maybe June, but then the kids

Will say, why can’t we have

Earth Day everyday?

Good Glide

we slide across the snow,

winters final flakes,

i squint or go blind,

my edges chop

fresh corduroy,

this is my spring,

i think, good glide