Originally posted 12/10/2013.

Let me introduce myself: 
cigarette jump pulse back digger,
game pack smoke rider,
riding my warp plane; you can
call me Knife Wheel Gyroscope.
This packing crate, also my home,
cradles my vision
while I’m stretched on
my musical daybed,
on my hard head spin journey,
flash memoried
with past and potential mates,
crystal mythology partners; 
I am a priest of the church
of the hole in the pocket,
an elder of the problematic filth;
to you, of course,
I’m something else: reminder, 
caution, guardian bad faithless stinker,
your nearly forgotten uncle —
yes, I’m something, all right — 
a something 
you wish was elsewhere.

I apologize. Is that better?
I’m the problem, yes indeed.  Is that better?
I’m Knife Wheel Gyroscope
and I approved this message 
of mess and presage.  
Is that better?
Are you better?
Fear and dislike this poor something
if you must.
I’m not moving on.
I’m Knife Wheel Gyroscope
and this packing crate is home 
and home is here, not elsewhere;

if you thought of me, ever,
ever as something other than
“make that something go elsewhere,”
you’d know I belong here as you
belong here, dear pup;

you’d offer me your compassion
if I were enough on your mind to organize
a solution for, that is, if only like you

I had a wallet thicker than a hippo tongue with a hyperthyroid bankroll;

if I were not a me, 
not a dirty him
or trash heap her,
an I with calm eyes;
if I were only not
Knife Wheel Gyroscope
and if this packing crate, also a home,
did not cradle this vision, I’m certain

it would be easier being you right now.

Originally posted 2/7/2010.  Very loosely inspired by a true story.

Sam beat the hell
out of a ghost last night.
His fists grew tangled with cobwebs
and soft blood.

He beat a man
he saw as the vessel
in which resided
his hated father’s soul.

When the body
hit the ground Sam did not stop
but kicked it and broke it
until the bouncers pulled him off.

Then the poor vessel got up
and shoved a knife into Sam
before anyone could stop him.
Sam didn’t die, though —

not right away.  It happened
in the ambulance
on the way to Milford
and Sam got a sour laugh

when his dad
was waiting for him
when he made the leap
into that space.  He

would have leaped
at him if he’d still 
had solid arms,
but instead he just

hovered and snarled
with no material way
to resume the fight
right then.

Fortunately, both Sam
and the guy who killed him
have brothers,
so no worries.

In a day or two Sam Ghost will seize control
of his little brother’s body
and force him to square off with the brother
of the man who killed him.

He will move his brother’s arms
to smash at the face
of his demise and it will be
the face he always sees.

He’ll hear his father speaking
through the other guy’s broken mouth.
Shut up and fight me, his father will say
in the other guy’s voice;

fight like a ghost
in a man’s body,
the way I taught you
to fight.