It was Her Only Rodeo. 

Shaking, gnawing, self-assured,

bubbling over, imploding down 

into the crushed leopard booth, 

pulled onto the dance floor by

"I Wanna Dance with Somebody" 

cemented to the world soul 

by "Cranes in the Sky". 

Here are some contours of the scene: 

1) a cut and pasted fuchsia rose cutting 

the air over the alley way 

2) a mob of free radical gentrifiers, loose 

canonical priests misinterpreting codewords and flesh texts. 

But nailing it occasionally. 

3) anxious escape valves. Pull. 

When you pull the anxious escape valve, 

you encourage her to steal Muji notebooks 

as "a prefigurative politics of the Kingdom of God."

Somebody's gotta do it; somebody's gotta take that 

chance, first living: is 8 seconds on a bull, Lane Frost died for 

your sins, is your only chance and you've got an abundance. 

 

Gannon

My brother played that ring toss

At the Wyoming County fair

Over and over and over until 

He won me this off-brand Barbie 

I'm telling you he went back several times

Aware of my baby dyke fixation 

On her pink hair, pink cowboy boots,

Gold lamé tube dress - a stunning

hollow plastic hooker icon that I 

couldn't turn away from I quietly 

wanted that doll so badly and

I know what love can look like

He kept tossing rings until they landed. 

Reversals

today I rode 

a train that drove backwards
a brief pause
after it went forwards 

retreating back for a moment of confusion and unexpected camaraderie 

and somehow an excuse to pull down masks, but why 

I don’t know
then it paused again
returned to forward motion
But her mask stayed below her chin

as she unwrapped golden chocolates
I sat stewing, trying not to glare, wanting to scold her
Ask her
Why can I see the bottom of your face?

phone call after phone call, talking and spitting

aerosols spewing

a conductor passing, not noticing 
but when she spoke to the train car, 

I stumbled, a slight panic

trying not to look her way

so she might speak to someone else
What stop is this? 

now she was looking right at me
I mumbled back. 
What stop is this?
Highland Avenue. 

maybe I was glaring 
rewind 

go back so I can 

insert what I wanted to say here. 

Across The Metaverse

Abject frustration bleeds into search terms

are people becoming stupid

not more stupid or stupider.

My cheeks, hollowing out

should my bones show 

as posh, haughty,

and come before the eye rings,

deflect from these dark

moments in the server

or my concerned look

from behind the blinds

for the pink haired teen

who walks past and hasn't

realised it's cold out.

She could be tough,

or oblivious, or doesn't care 

but this is not

evidence of decline.

I see new things and think

well, yes, in the wrong hands,

but whose hands, 

mine?

I'm texting friends

and asking about legacy.

It's unfair that this is it, now,

our leavings,

sickening seeds.

I feel cheated out of not under my watch

because what should I have watched out for,

kairos time just couldn't have wished to meet

its chronos of the same grim predictions pulling back

to -

it's me, in 1999, 

I'm searching for,

ready to be ripened by choice,

to be burst by choice and draw

power in choice, 

choice,

maddened by it,

me

in 1999,

scrawny quarry leading a merry dance, 

alone,

through Europe into the sea.

I'll run my dogs to death,

shame a crew into certain doom

at the north west passage,

because if there is ever a chance

to look and see

The Creature, floating away on an ice raft

never to be seen again,

in whose wrong hands, mine, 

held the chicken and the egg.